#pearl river park

[petitworld]

Pearl River Park, Guangzhou, China

[looseygoosey66]

[rabbitcruiser]

New Amsterdam (later renamed The City of New York) was incorporated on February 2, 1653.    

[elleoat]

Last few images from Reelfoot lake.

[genjv4rse]

𖥻 THINGS — enhypen ◌ ִ ۫ ּ

syn ; things enha reminds me of !

heeseung !

dangly earrings, pendent chains, skinny ripped jeans, rock guitar, clubbing, late studio night, concerts, rainy empty street, love songs, specs, ice cream, deers, rainforest, going over the speed limit, long drive, polaroids, balcony, tattoos, collage campus, basketball, getting into fist fights, breaking rules, warm breeze, kisses, sharing earphones, untied shoelaces, sleeveless tops, cross jewelries, chase atlantic songs

jay !

red wine, ball dance, guitar, empty kitchen, champagne bubbles, tuxedo suits, runaway, black cat, fashion magazines, gold jewelries, camping, eucalyptus, biking, biker jackets, street racing, late night walks, city lights, porsche, cologne, the weeknd songs, loose tie, fancy restaurant, chanel bags, iced americano, home, long hugs, words of affirmation, eye contact, autumn, posh music, v necks, opera, musical recital, marriage, ancient churches

jake !

pancakes, golden retrievers, empty parks, cardigans, picnic, wolf pups, landscapes, abstract art, lip piercings, makeout sessions, mornings, cream, sheets, swimming, sand castles, tree houses, venus, varsity player, rings, clashing waves, sun shinning through curtains, backyard, champagne, sparkly eyes, netflix and chill, forehead kisses, caramel fudge, winter, jb songs, garden, lilies, lipstick stains

sunghoon !

sculptures, greek mythology, snow, ice skating, pointe shoes, swan lake, ice rinks, rhinestones, vampires, sharp canines, royalty, huskies, novels, cruise, 90s songs, ear muffs, moon phase, poetry, dandelions, maple leaves, vanilla shake, pearls, penguins, blush, lucid dreams, confessions, lullaby, archangels, romance movies, boyfriend coats, monsoon, hair blowing because of the wind, moles, tears, old love, unrequited love, ribbons, weddings

sunoo !

sun, tulip field, solar system, marshmallows, tteobokki, street food, shopping, karaoke, smiles, cute stationeries, stickers, secret diary, cheek kisses, mufflers, red foxes, bratz doll, playdate, selfies, carnations, easter, boba tea, bestfriends to lovers, cherry blossoms, lip gloss, skincare, disney shows, late night face timing, gossiping, watching kdramas, sanrio stuffs, blowing bubbles, photo booths, texts, horizon

jungwon !

kittens, valleys, teenage dream, gold fish, aquariums, subways, cds, headphones, empty bus rides, babybreaths, holding hands, first love, taylor swift songs, messy hair, vacation, countryside, group study, constellations, piggyback ride, dimples, converse, empty classroom, sheep cubs, indoor plants, mini cactus, namsan tower, han river, late fall, vintage hand written letters , young love, romcom, kitties

ni-ki !

graffiti, sunsets, baggy pants, late night dance jam, empty beach, bicycling, sea shore, ear piercings, watermelon, summer, slow dancing, grass field, bungeoppangs, duck chicks, disneyland, ps5, arcade, puma cubs, eskimo kisses, bracelets, youth, climbing fences, skipping school, skateboarding, mangas, school festivals, footsies, cute band aids, oversized attires, j-rock, night sky, laughters, slice of life, teenage, playfulness, photo booths, anime, shoujo manga

© aenfilmz / 02072023

taglist ; @solarwoniii @shiningstar-byulxx @wtfhyuck @ichiibunztwt @enhawhoreist

[valleydean]

Sweet Science [a Heavyweight timestamp]

Part of 12 Days of Smutmas Read on AO3 | Read Heavyweight For River

Part One: Sleigh/Slay

These days, most of the fans stood outside the arena, straining their ears in an attempt to hear the commentator’s booming voice from within over the honking car horns on the street. Somehow, they would find out the results of the bout and swarm beneath the marquee for the victor’s autograph—for a chance to relive even a fraction of the glitz and glamor that had slipped from New York’s grasp and shattered on the floor like a delicate pearl necklace.

In hindsight, the roar of the 1920s was always bound to be silenced. The ‘30s were more of a whimper.

Supper clubs shuttered their doors. Speakeasies were a memory of the past since the repeal of Volstead. Central Park was a city within a city, made of tents and campfires, as more people failed to pay their rent. Most couldn’t afford to feed their children. It went without saying that they no longer had the money to spend on frivolous things like tickets to boxing bouts.

Castiel had certainly felt the difference in his own wallet. Even as a four-year heavyweight world champion, the money was dwindling. The cash prizes were mere fractions of what they had once been. All over the country, fighters had to hang up their gloves and find day work in the factories and mills, vying for spare cash along with the rest of the masses huddled at the tall fences, hands covered in soot and oil.

Dean had even started picking up shifts at the car garage beneath Winchester’s Gym. Castiel had found himself alongside Jack in the shipyards of Brooklyn more than once, hauling imported goods from the barges to trucks. There, no one bat an eye at him. He was treated the same as everyone else who had been fortunate enough to find a wage for the day.

It was safe to say the glory days of boxing were over.

But, walking through the crowd of fans under the marquee beside Dean that night, it was easy to pretend they were still in the halcyon heyday of the sport. Dean had won his bout by knockout in the ninth round. There hadn’t even been the need for an eight count. The commentator had cheered through the speakers, “Pretty Boy Winchester slays the competition and wins the night!”

The crowd pressed in, practically throwing themselves over the barriers, waving pens and pieces of paper. All of them were wrapped up in patched coats and mended, dulled clothes that were at least five years old.

“Mr. Winchester! Mr. Winchester!” they shouted, trying to get his attention. Flashes from handheld cameras washed out the bandages and red cuts on Dean’s face in bursts. Stars were in Castiel’s eyes just from looking at him.

“Mr. Novak! Over here!”

Castiel scribbled his name on whatever was shoved into his face as quickly as he could. Distantly, he wondered how many of these autographs would be sold to make ends meat. Usually, he’d be happy to help feed a family for a day or two with nothing but his signature, but not tonight.

Half of his attention was constantly on the car waiting for them in front of the sidewalk. He needed to get home to pack. It was late, and he and Dean had planned to get up early to drive upstate.

In lieu of Christmas gifts that year, he and Dean had rented a room at a mountain house an hour outside of Manhattan. They would be there through the New Year. It would do them well, Castiel thought, to get out of the hustle and bustle of the city for a while. Besides, now that Sam and his wife, Eileen, had moved back in, in conjunction with working so much, it had been some time since Castiel had Dean all to himself. He was looking forward to it.

More than that, he was impatient for it. Logically, he knew rushing Dean wouldn’t bring the morning any faster, but it was worth a shot.

He shot Dean a look, silently telling him it was time to go. Dean seemed to get the message. He took a step back from the barrier and the hands reaching for him and shouted, “Merry Christmas, everybody!”

The crowd delighted in that, even though it was the day after Christmas.

Castiel waved toward them in general before beelining to the rumbling car. Exhaust coughed out of it into the late December air. Dirty snowbanks melted to slush on the sidewalks. He slipped into the backseat and shimmied over to the far door. Dean got in after him. The driver closed the door after him and started walking around the car. While he was out of sight, Dean grabbed Castiel by the tie and yanked him in for a hard kiss. Castiel melted into it.

He lingered close to Dean’s lips while he said, “Congratulations.”

The driver’s door clicked open, and Dean pulled away. It was a shame. Dean was so warm. The chill of the night hadn’t left Castiel’s bones yet. He rubbed his hands together. Out of sight from the front seat, Dean clasped his hand atop Castiel’s thigh and dragged it up and down.

The car started moving.

“Extra cash is gonna come in handy for New Year’s, huh?” Dean said, patting his breast pocket where the envelope of his earnings was stored. After his team was paid, he was left with a little left than $100. “I mean, gonna have to set some aside so Sammy and Eileen can buy groceries for the week, but—” He shrugged, like it was of little consequence.

Dean was no stranger to living with limited funds. He’d done it for most of his life. But Castiel had thought those days had been over for him. Dean deserved to not have to worry about such things.

“We can have a nice dinner at the inn’s restaurant. My treat,” Dean finished with a grin.

Castiel tried to smile at that, despite the guilt mixing inside of him at the reminder of their limited funds.

There was something Castiel had wanted to tell Dean during their trip, but he didn’t know how Dean would take it. After all, it wasn’t exactly the ideal time to retire.

But it wasn’t just the sport of boxing that had crested its prime. Castiel had, too. He was thirty-three years old, and every punch, every blow, every injury was taking a toll on his body more than it had before. His recovery time seemed to take longer after every bout, and many of the aches remained inside his body, becoming a part of his muscles and bones. He was getting slower, more tired. He’d even fractured his jaw again last year, and the bone still hurt when it was cold out.

He was getting old. At least, too old to be a professional athlete. It had taken a long time for him to let go of his pride and admit that to himself. After that, it was easy to make the decision.

He’d already told Michael and the rest of the Garrison team: next year would be his last.

It was time for a new champion to take his place.

He’d been putting off breaking the news to Dean. But he was running out of time. Balthazar and Gabriel were set to make the announcement public in the first week of the year. Castiel was tempted to let Dean find out in the papers, but that would only make Dean angrier. It was probably a bad idea.

“Well, then I’ll buy the most expensive thing on the menu,” Castiel attempted to joke.

Dean scoffed out a laugh. He squeezed Castiel’s leg and let his hand rest there, high up. His thumb stroked the inside of Castiel’s thigh.

The motion made all the dread of telling Dean about retiring drain away, at least for the moment. Castiel only focused on the heat of Dean’s touch. He met Dean’s eyes, seeing the suggestive curve of Dean’s lips and the way his eyes darkened.

Castiel became even more impatient to get Dean alone for days.

///

Bear Mountain House was a stone and wood structure in New York’s section of the Appalachian Trail. The spacious grounds were home to scenic overlooks, hiking trails in the warmer months, an ice-skating rink, and hunting and fishing cabins.

As Dean’s Chevrolet wound its way up the mountain, Castiel watched men coming in and out of the camps of hired workers. They tended to the grounds and roads, blasted rocks from the mountain to load into trucks to take the overlook tower they were constructing at the summit. Most of them were no doubt from the city, sending money home to their families when they could.

In the picnic area, the laborers huddled over the bowls of soup and bread that were being ladled out from a giant pot for lunch. There was a line of more hungry men waiting for their turn. The fluffy snow blanketing the mountain range was jarringly picturesque around them.

The view was much more fitting when they reached the mountain house. The inside of the lobby was both rustic and opulent with its high ceilings and grand fireplaces. Carolers in overcoats serenading the guests the lounge area with an angelic rendition of Silent Night.

Their room, when they reached it, was expansive, with furniture made of light wood and tartan blankets on the bed. The walls were paneled, and paintings depicting nature hung from them. Across the room, velvet curtains were drawn open over the large window. Castiel put his bag on the bed closest to the door and wandered over to peer out at the vista.

The sky was clear blue over the barren, snow-covered trees. Without the obstruction of their leaves, Castiel could see a glimpse of the gray Hudson River. Mountains rose up in the blue distance. It felt like they were lifetimes away from the city.

In fact, so high up, he felt as if he was floating far above the entire world. On top of it.

It may very well be the final time he ever felt that way.

Below, people in winter gear waded through the snow. His eyes landed on specks of tourists sledding down an incline. Others were ice skating in the rink. But what drew his attention the most was the red sleigh gliding over the snow, its bright color sticking out like a neon light. Horses pulled it, giving the visitors inside a ride. Castiel could hear the jingle of its bells muffled by the window.

Behind him, Castiel heard Dean set his own bag on the bed and pace closer. Two warm arms wrapped around Castiel’s middle. Dean pressed his chest to Castiel’s back and pecked a kiss on the back of his neck. Then, he hooked his chin over Castiel’s shoulder to look out the window.

“Not bad,” he remarked. Then, a touch more excited, “Hey, check that out.”

“The sleigh?” Castiel asked.

He felt Dean nod. “That’s pretty awesome. We should do that.”

Castiel set his hands over Dean’s on his stomach. “We can do whatever you’d like,” he promised. “Later.”

Dean hummed. “You got something in mind in the meantime, baby?” His mouth, hotter now, was on the back of Castiel’s neck again.

One corner of Castiel’s lips pulled up. Anticipatory heat curled through his abdomen. He turned around in Dean’s arms, circled his own on Dean’s waist. He splayed his palms on the small of Dean’s back. “Yes,” he answered before kissing Dean deeply.

Dean groaned contentedly into it. He tightened his arms around Castiel and turned them around, their shoes and knees knocking together while Castiel let himself be led. The back of his legs hit against the bed. Dean lowered him down on top of the covers. Castiel’s legs were bent over the end of the mattress. He rounded one hand around the back of Dean’s neck, used his fingers to card through Dean’s hair. He kissed Dean’s face, careful to give gentle attention to the cuts and bruises.

Dean hummed when Castiel kissed the bruise on the bolt of Dean’s jaw. Dean always loved when Castiel kissed his wounds.

“I love you,” Castiel whispered to him. Even after all these years, it was a thrill just to say it.

“You a sleigh?” Dean asked, apropos of nothing. He lifted his head slightly, grinning salaciously down at Castiel, who frowned in question. “’Cause I’m about you ride you.”

Castiel sighed at the terrible joke. It only made Dean rumble more in laughter. Castiel felt the vibrations of it where their bodies were flush together.

“Fine,” Castiel relented, yanking at the back of Dean’s shirt. He played along, “We’ll need a slick surface for that.”

Dean wiggled his brows, his green eyes alight and beautiful. “Got just the thing.” He pressed another long kiss to Castiel’s lips before getting up with a grunt and moving to fish through his luggage.

Castiel shimmied up the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. It wasn’t long until Dean was back. He tossed the jar of Vaseline on the bed and straddled Castiel’s lap. Dean unbuttoned Castiel’s shirt the rest of the way, kissing him again all the while.

Castiel took his time with Dean, just because he could.

Outside, the tinkling of the sleigh bells rang through the cold air.

[doctorsiren]

Country Gavin is the culprit behind every case. Not just in AA7

He sent Cindy Stone home early

He tipped off Redd White that Mia was close to stopping him

He was the paparazzi that took the picture of Jack killing his co-star

He caused the DL-6 earthquake.

He helped Damon Gant keep Lana under control

He gave Maggey and Dustin the suggestion to go to the park

He caused the car crash that killed Ini

He caused Big Top (somehow)

He gave DeKiller the idea to kidnap Maya

He helped Dahlia steal the poison

He helped Atmey blackmail Ron

He helped Glen Elg make the virus

He stole the diamond Dahlia lost when she fell into the river

He helped Morgan get the letter to Pearl

And that's just the trilogy! Somehow he cause every case in the series!

the idea that he caused the DL-6 earthquake is so funny to me

[bebemoon]

CASTING MUTUALS IN SPOOKY MEDIA FOR HALLOWEEN, PT. II

@rosedenuit ~ lucie klavel (livid)

@greylette ~ vicar amelia (bloodborne {video game})

@god-infected ~ the enchantress (suicide squad)

@kissing-the-abyss ~ sally hawkins (the shape of water)

@goblins-riddles-or-frocks ~ anna valerious (van helsing)

@myfashionburden ~ valerie (red riding hood)

@seaymph ~ carole (repulsion) | luna (mark of the vampire)

@fairyinjeans ~ amma crellin (sharp objects)

@medievalanchoress ~ thomasin (the vvitch)

@celibacy-or-death ~ morgan le fey (excalibur) | lucrezia borgia (the borgias)

@korekassandra ~ ofelia/princess moanna (pan's labyrinth)

@blushslip ~ frankenstein's bride (bride of frankenstein) | ernessa (the moth diaries)

@moon-rivers ~ lucy harker (nosferatu the vampyre)

@eliseeatydendivu ~ virginia merrye (spider baby)

@pearltiare ~ debbie jellinsky (addams family values)

@bloedkoraal ~ india stoker (stoker)

@blushedpearl ~ elaine parks (the love witch)

@drksign ~ dark!galadriel (the lord of the rings: the fellowship of the ring) | olga (the northman)

@mothprincess ~ pearl (pearl)

[rotworld]

2: Warped Reflection

(previous)

on your way to prismville, you find an empty town.

->contains mild gore, dubiously consensual touching

.

.

.

One of the trees isn’t a tree. You’ve been keeping an eye on it since you pulled over. 

Lunch is your leftovers from Henley Creek. You reach into the box you keep strapped into the passenger seat, half a dozen eggs cushioned by checkered cloth, and watch the thing creep closer. It’s the only cottonwood in a line of aspens. Spindly, bare branches swivel and twitch without wind to move them, bending at joints they shouldn’t have like radio antennae. Even when you’re looking directly at it, watching its gnarled bark shift ever so slightly ahead of its neighbors in the smallest, slowest inchworm increments, your brain struggles to recognize this as movement. It leaves no tracks, no trailing roots or dragging mud in the earth behind it. It seems like it’s always been where it is now. 

The eggs are ripe, the shells crunchier. The jam-colored insides form clots of salty pearls that split on your teeth like roe. You lick a cloudy dribble of yolk from the corner of your lips and use your last napkin. It doesn’t look all that different from the other crumpled balls of bloodied tissue stuffed into a trash bag in your backseat. You lean over and pull your hand-drawn map out of the glove compartment, adding a tree with wiggling, finger-like branches to the blank space between Henley Creek and Prismville. You don’t plan on backtracking, but someone else coming south might need to know. While your right hand sketches, your left hand rests in your lap, wrapped in bandages. The pain comes and goes. You feel dead-end sinew twitching, trying to move something you no longer have. 

Home is northeast, your heart says. You start the car and pull back onto the road. In the rearview mirror, you see the tree’s trunk twisted and bent. Every limb, every twig, every prickly little branch has curved downward, grasping like aerial roots for the empty space where you were just parked.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: NEVERLAND BY LA SCALTRA]

There’s rain just briefly. Water sprinkles the windshield and glistens on the road. There’s a peculiar odor you can’t identify. It smells the way ice tastes or wind feels, whispers and almost somethings. You see shapes in the road and have just enough time to stop, tires squealing, the eggs in the box knocking against each other. It’s a woman in a brown shawl and two young children clinging to her skirts. They walk slowly. She tilts her head, staring directly into your headlights. The wicker basket on her arm is full of thorny weeds, wildflowers and budding, sepal-wrapped eggs. You hold your breath and don’t move a muscle until she and the children cross the road and vanish into the underbrush. 

The highway narrows, three lanes merging gradually into a single rough, uneven road. There’s a river ahead and a covered bridge across. Ancient wooden planks groan and rattle beneath your tires. It’s colder on the other side. You see a rust-eaten sign wobbling on metal stilts, jutting out of an overgrown flowerbed. Something corrosive has taken a chunk out of the corner and bit through the gold lettering, leaving only “LCOME TO NEW RIDGEWAY.” A mirror is propped up against one of the signposts.

The fog thins but only a little. You drive slowly between brick apartment blocks and gently lit storefronts. For a while, you don’t see anyone. Not on the road. Not dining under the striped cafe awning on the corner or in line at the burger drive-thru. Not along the riverwalk, or at the post office, or at the crosswalk. There are a handful of cars parked on the street but no one inside. But there are mirrors—thousands of them. Full-length rectangles lean against utility poles and sidewalk trees. A row of small circles in brass frames line an alley, echoing infinite reflections at one another. Hand mirrors dangle from a fire escape, ribbons tied around the handles and looped through the metal walkway. 

The abandonment seems recent. Lights are still on. The grass is neatly manicured. “Free Bagels!” proclaims the local bakery’s chalk sign on the sidewalk, the door propped open. You poke your head inside and think you spot movement behind the counter, but it’s just a mirror.

Your bewildered reflection stares back at you. It cocks its head sharply like a curious bird. Then it smiles.

You’ve got one foot in your car and the keys in the ignition when something stirs the fog. A person, the first you’ve seen here, slips out of an alley. Glancing back and forth and ahead and behind him, he walks casually but quickly like someone afraid to draw a predator’s eye. He’s thin and delicate-looking, tugging nervously at the long sleeves of a black turtleneck sweater, long blond hair feathering across his shoulders.

He’s at your window in just a few long strides, knocking softly but frantically. His voice is muffled and he’s nearly whispering but you catch what’s probably “please,” “help” and “be here soon.” You’ve neither rolled down your window nor unlocked your car but he’s presumptuous or maybe desperate, crossing quickly to the passenger side. He tugs uselessly at the door handle and peers at you with wide, teary eyes.

Your fingers perch on the button to unlock the door, indecisive. Then you hear the dragging; stone grinding against stone. A woman lurches through the fog, her suit jacket hanging open and her tie loosened. There’s blood on her shirt but something else, too, watery and dark like motor oil or ink. She moves with a lopsided, lumbering gait because of the sledgehammer she’s dragging behind her. 

“Please,” the man says, louder this time. “Please, please, please don’t leave me out here, please!” The woman moves faster. She wraps both hands around the sledgehammer’s long wooden handle and you make your choice. 

The doors unlock and the man flings himself into your passenger seat. He’s startled by the box of eggs but quick enough to catch himself against the dash when you slam your foot on the gas. The woman doesn’t give chase but you don’t slow down, watching for anything else moving in the fog. 

“Thank you,” the man says. He’s crammed himself into the space in front of the passenger seat, folding his arms over the egg box and peering up at you. “Thank you so much. Can you just—I don’t live far from here. Take a left at the light there.”

“Is it safe?” you ask him. 

“Yes. Everything’s just fine as long as you stay inside. Follow this road a while. I’ll tell you when to turn.” His jeans are fraying at the knees and he picks at them occasionally, his nails unusually sharp. He lifts himself just high enough to peer out the window occasionally but mostly he looks at you. His eyes are vivid green. “Why did you help me?” he asks. 

“Why?” you repeat, not expecting the question. “You thought I’d just leave you there?” 

“You thought about it. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” He plucks at his sleeves again, tugging at them until they cover all but his fingertips. “The Drift is dangerous. So many things pretending to be people. I could’ve been one, but you let me in anyway. Ah, it’s this turn coming up. Go right.”

“I like to see if I can help,” you say. The suburbs are just as dead as downtown. The bins are out for trash collection. A garage door is wide open, an unwound gardening hose snaking around the back of the house. You think you see curtains move in an upstairs window, but you aren’t sure. “If I have to fight, I’ll fight. But I try to help first.” 

“It’s that one. The house with a birdbath on the lawn. I’m Elisile, by the way,” he says, managing a small smile. Then he frowns. “You look…disappointed.” 

“Oh, no, sorry,” you say quickly. “Just lost in thought. This one, you said?” 

“Yes, this one.” He’s watching you while you pull into his driveway. “You’re…one of those, aren’t you? Not just a courier, but…you look so normal…” You put the car in park and unlock the door, not looking at him. “No, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…I used to have a friend in the Stillwoods. She was one, too.” He winces as he squeezes himself out of the small space and gets out of your car, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs. “Sorry. And thank you again,” he says, offering a soft smile. His eyes are an earthy brown. You blink, startled. Was that the color they were earlier? “I’d ask you to come in but I don’t have much to offer,” he says. His soft laughter dies in his throat as his gaze shifts down the street. You see a car in the rearview mirror, screeching erratically down the street. 

“I should probably go, huh?” 

“No. She’ll run you off the road,” he says quickly. “Come on. We’ll wait her out.” 

You don’t like the idea of leaving your deliveries unattended but the car swerves onto the curb and into the grass, smashing the birdbath. Elisile practically drags you with him up the steps. He doesn’t stop to fumble with his keys. It’s unlocked. He doesn’t think to lock it behind him as you stagger into the entryway so you do it for him, slipping the deadbolt into place just as something hard and heavy slams into the front door. 

“We should be alright now.” The house is silent. Dust dances in a beam of strangled sunlight. The hallway is furnished with soft carpet, potted plants and a decorative glass dish sitting on a narrow table off to one side. Elisile watches you take in your surroundings. He’s smiling. Not in a cruel, menacing way but warm and comforting. He looks delighted when you notice the mirrors lining the hall. “I never did explain what happened here, did I?” he muses. “You never asked. That’s so…unusual.” 

Elisile takes a step forward and you lurch back, stumbling. There’s a pile of shoes beside the door. Adult’s and children’s. The welcome mat has little paw prints running across it. 

“You have to be careful with mirrors in the Drift,” he says. “You know all about that. Special glass, special chemicals. Your car’s all up to code, but in New Ridgeway? These are the old style. Thinner. Easier to move through.”

“Why?” you ask, feeling blindly behind yourself for the doorknob. You’re not careful and slam your wounded hand against it, pain radiating all the way up to your shoulder. He’s coming closer but he’s not stopping you. His eyes flick down to your bandages with interest. “Why would you—why fill a town with them?” 

“Why do you help people you shouldn’t, child of the road?” 

Your fingers fumble with the deadlock and that’s when he lunges. He goes for your hand, squeezing the tender, throbbing spot where your little finger used to be and slamming you up against the door. He’s cold against you. His breath is frigid and his skin leeches your body heat. 

“I’ll tell you why,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Because you’re trying to go home but you can’t, so you take what you can get. And they’re close enough, aren’t they? When you’re lost together, you almost feel safe.” You twist out of his grip, fumbling with the lock just long enough to feel his cold fingers ghost across your shoulder. Two stumbling steps out the door, you freeze.

The woman you saw before is right there, clawing to the door on her hands and knees. She’s bruised and bloody, her sledgehammer lying in the grass by her feet. There’s something on top of her. It’s a person, you think. It is, for just a second. Then it shifts and shimmers, fractaling into other shapes. Human, animal, celestial bodies, unnatural angles, it wraps a hand—a claw? A tendril, silver and reflective—around her throat and pulls until she arches uncomfortably, tilting her head up at the thing with a scream caught in her chest. 

Elisile’s fingers curl beneath your chin and he guides your gaze back to him, standing beside you in the grass. “You’re more like us than you are them,” he says. “There’s no home for you here. There never will be, no matter how useful you are.” 

“Home is northeast,” you tell him. Your voice quivers. His gaze softens with pity. The woman in the grass reaches out with one trembling hand, the other clawing and pulling at the thing around her throat. It squeezes tighter. Its changing fingers and feathers and insectoid limbs hold her head still. Something sharp pricks the corner of her eye. A gushing wound spreads across her forehead. The thing starts to settle, shapes smoothing, colors flattening. It has her eyes.

“I can be your home,” he offers. “I can give you everything they can’t.” His eyes are deep blue, and probably not his. He leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek. It’s cold and sharp. You feel a bead of blood slide down your chin. When he cups the back of your neck, you push him away. You hear him sigh as you rush to the woman, past her and the thing and the toppled birdbath, grasping clumsily for the sledgehammer. It’s heavy and the space of your missing finger still stings. The metal wedge drags through the dirt as you struggle to lift it with your fumbling grip.

“You’ll never find it,” Elisile says, the kindness gone from his voice. His words are flat and emotionless but that welcoming smile and those warm, changing eyes remain. “You’ll search forever. You’ll wander until you die. You’ll do everything they say but you will never be welcome. Do you understand? No matter where you go, child of the road, it. Won’t. Be. There.” 

You swing the sledgehammer and the thing shatters. Shards of light and cold and wriggling shape burst apart with a shrieking hiss, black blood spattering your face. It’s cold and stinging. Trying to wipe it off your chin cuts up your fingers. The woman heaves and sputters, clutching her bruised throat. Blood trickles from a gash across her forehead and drips into her eyes. 

Elisile is gone. The door to the house is wide open. The sledgehammer slips from your trembling hands. 

“Hey, are—are you still there?” the woman says hoarsely. “I saw you earlier, right? In town? I need help getting to my car. Like, now. Before it comes back.” She tries to stand and winces, catching herself with her hands. She’s keeping her weight off of her right leg. “God, I must look insane. Listen, I’m not one of those things. I'm cleanup crew. Check me! Glass mimics are cold to the touch and they don’t sweat. I’m bleeding red, right?”

She’s warm when you sling her arm over your shoulder and help her to her feet. She makes a pained sound and leans more of her weight against you. There’s a leather messenger bag in the passenger seat of her car and papers scattered around the back. Her medical supplies are in the trunk.

“Hey. Whatever it told you, don’t sweat it,” she says. “They like to fuck with people. It’s all mimicry, just copying stuff they’ve overheard. They don’t really get humans, you know? They don’t know what we feel, why we do things.” 

“Right,” you say weakly. 

“Ugh, I need a shower. You know what the closest town is? There’s fucking nothing out west.” 

“Prismville’s somewhere north, but—” 

“Civilization! Thank god.” She slaps a few bandaids on her forehead and wipes the rest of the blood on the sleeve of her suit jacket, tossing it haphazardly into the backseat. “Talk later, alright? You lead, I’ll follow. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You nod, dazed. You don’t have it in you to argue. You hear the woman’s car stutter before it starts. She gives you a thumbs-up in the rearview mirror. You hesitate before pulling out of the driveway, glancing up at the house. There’s no one there. The mimic has retreated for now, moved on to easier prey.

You rub the cut on your cheek where he kissed you. If no one else had been in danger, if you’d been all alone, would you have let him hold you? Would you have let him sink his teeth into your lips? Your neck? Somewhere even more tender? Would you have given him your eyes if he promised you somewhere you could always come back to, knowing it must be a lie? 

Home is northeast, says the heart. Your throat constricts and it’s hard to breathe as you ignore the pull and drive due north instead.

(next)

[themakeupbrush]

Binibining Pilipina Palawan 2023 Regional Costume

Just like Pluning, a native Palaweña, who dreamt of having the love she always wanted, Binibini 6 - Angelica Danao Lopez resembles a perfect representation of a Palaweña dreamer.

Angelica's costume is a creative representation of her roots where she came from - the last ecological frontier, PALAWAN.

The main inspiration of Binibining Palawan's national costume is the rich marine life and majestic atoll reef of a UNESCO World Heritage Site, The Tubbataha Reefs.

The cave represents the only attraction in the country that is complete from mountain to sea ecosystem, the World Reckoned Seven Wonders of Nature, Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park.

The sequin embellishments adorned with faux sea weeds, topped with aquatic plants and orchestrated with beautifully made corals signify some of Palawan's riches.

Her bodysuit and accessories are made out of precious pearls and crystals to represent the wealthy resources that lie beneath the grounds of Palawan.

The complete ensemble that is innate and symbolic to its land and its people is thus now called "PERLAS NG PALAWAN".

[softpawpup]

things otter regressors might like 🦦

pools and swimming

seashells

fish

science fairs

parks

rivers and streams

waterparks

arts and crafts

pearls

clams and oysters

googly eyes

dangly jewelry

sunshine

[looseygoosey66]

Stone Gossard And Regan Hagar On Bookending Brad Via Pair Of New Releases

Since forming in 1992, Seattle rock outfit Brad has released six albums, experimenting with voices and sounds which allowed them to operate outside the grunge groundswell developing around them.

Driven by the soulful, one of a kind vocal of singer and pianist Shawn Smith, Brad’s music has always maintained a sense of honesty, the singer’s earnest delivery and thoughtful storytelling defining their best work.

Sessions for the group’s 1993 studio debut Shame, newly reissued to celebrate the album at 30, moved notoriously fast, with Brad emerging with a self-produced album in just 17 days, the result of a highly collaborative songwriting process.

“I think Regan has been using this word more often. But he talks about inception and how he’s so attracted to art that is sort of the first moment or the first time that something reveals itself,” explained Brad guitarist Stone Gossard, referencing Brad drummer Regan Hagar. “I think we had that on the first record in spades,” he said, looking back at Shame. “Because we were just jumping off a cliff saying, ‘Well, let’s make a record. We don’t have any songs but I know we can do it in 10 days. And we’ve never heard this bass player before but I bet he’s gonna be good! And we’re gonna go in a studio and it’s probably all gonna work out.’ And it actually did!” recalled the guitarist. “And the reason why is because we had that spirit of sort of dreaming and collaborating.”

Smith passed away tragically in April of 2019 at just 53 years old, the result of high blood pressure and a torn aorta shortly after the start of sessions for what would become Brad’s sixth studio album.

Processing the loss of their friend and bandmate, Brad reconvened to finish the music that makes up the new In The Moment That You’re Born, now available on vinyl and for online streaming, a collection of ten songs which includes a Brad take on “Stars n You,” Hagar revisiting his work alongside late singer Andy Wood in the group Malfunkshun.

“To me, this record is the most similar to the first. So, it’s interesting that they’re bookending each other from our career as it were as a group collectively,” Hagar observed. “The early tracks, it was 17 days of just kind of throwing ideas down and that kind of collaboration - working through songs in real time onto tape,” he said of the Shame sessions. “This latest record is actually a collection of those moments through the past decade really, where we had gotten together for a weekend at a time to throw ideas down - always with the intention of getting together later to finish,” Hagar explained. “When we did get together to finish, Shawn wasn’t with us any longer unfortunately. So, it remained rawer and more like the inception of the songs than some of the other albums. Which, I think, looking back at it now, lends itself so much to our first outing, the Shame album, that it’s poetic in a sense.”

Both the Shame reissue and the new In The Moment That You’re Born album are now available via Gossard and Hagar’s own Loosegroove Records, a label they ran together between 1994 and 2000, relaunching the label in 2020 in partnership with music distributor The Orchard, a forward thinking entity focused on great music which drills down on the lost art of artist development.

I spoke with Stone Gossard and Regan Hagar about the legacy of Shawn Smith, the cathartic process of wrapping up In The Moment That You’re Born and bookending the Brad story in surreal fashion via a pair of new releases. A transcript of our phone conversation, edited for length and clarity, follows below.

Jim Ryan: Stone, when you and I spoke in 2020, you mentioned that you were hoping to get this last Brad record out. Here we are almost three years later. I imagine it’s a difficult process but is it cathartic at all seeing it out there now starting to find an audience? Does that bring closure at all?

Stone Gossard: I think it’s cathartic. And it does bring some closure for sure. The process was three years and I think it was appropriately long in terms of sort of all of the things that needed to happen to sort of move through the process of listening, finalizing and bringing back the sort of key players that are going to be part of the decisionmaking in terms of Brad and Shawn’s estate and Lucy his partner. And just kind of getting everybody to see the idea and to approve. So that was a good process for us.

We got deep listens on a lot of tracks that we had recorded over the last five years. And I think we went in with the mental attitude of, “How do we move through this like Brad would move through stuff naturally?” And I think we were able to do that. Leaving it raw and loving elements that are sort of unpolished - but also sort of messing around and tweaking stuff and flipping it over and trying new stuff.

It gave Regan and I a chance to spend some time with Keith Lowe. Keith was a major contributor on the songwriting end of this record, which is a great, great thing. We really got to sit in the studio together and just listen to these old tracks. And spend some time together and think about Shawn and how much we miss him and how much his musical energy and his kindness and his humor and his view of life - just how much we appreciated that. And it was a good process. And I think in the end that the record turned out great.

“In the Moment That You’re Born” is the first single and it’s kind of one of the best Brad songs that I think we’ve ever written. It has an element of Satchel in there, which is Shawn and Regan’s other band. It’s heavy and it’s soaring and it has one of those lyrics from Shawn that sort of transcends and that can really bring a lot of meaning to a song. So, it was a good process.

Regan Hagar: I appreciate Stone’s answer there. It was quite an experience losing Shawn. And then going through and listening again gave all of us different ears for a moment. And just hearing Shawn’s message was coming across so much clearer in his absence. It was an interesting experience - very fulfilling.

Ryan: I was listening to the album again this morning. I think there’s a real honesty in Shawn’s lyrics. And I think that’s something that very much comes across in his vocals too - they’re so earnest. What sort of struck you about hearing him deliver these new songs as you started to reapproach them again after a few years?

Stone: Earnest is one word. I do think there’s very little between Shawn’s singing and sort of the very present sort of emotion of what he’s going through. I don’t know what the right word for that is. In terms of my experience with other singers, and just in music in general, his ability to sort of summon that kind of energy out of the universe in terms of being able to crystalize his emotions into a vocal melody, and even a vibration in his voice and how his voice comes across - it’s very pure. And it has an element to it that’s just undeniable when you’re in the room with it and when you’re listening to it. In the moment of creation, Shawn is really at his best. He really has a superpower there.

Ryan: I know that writing Shame was pretty collaborative. But by the time you get to this one, everyone’s just busier. There’s so many more things in play 30 years later. But, at least initially, how did these songs start to come together as you guys started kicking around the idea of a new Brad album?

Regan: To me, this record is the most similar to the first. So it’s interesting that they’re bookending each other from our career as it were as a group collectively.

The early tracks, it was 17 days of just kind of throwing ideas down and that kind of collaboration - working through songs in real time onto tape. This latest record is actually a collection of those moments through the past decade really, where we had gotten together for a weekend at a time to throw ideas down - always with the intention of getting together later to finish. So, when we did get together to finish, Shawn wasn’t with us any longer unfortunately. So, it remained rawer and more like the inception of the songs than some of the other albums. Which, I think, looking back at it now, lends itself so much to our first outing, the Shame album, that it’s poetic in a sense. This record reminds me of the first experience in its raw nature.

And the fact that we’re looking at a collection of song inceptions. And not that they’re not finished, but a lot of times in the studio you’ll redo things several times or add parts. And that wasn’t necessarily the case. The bulk of these songs are really just one or two passes with the band in the studio. So, it’s fun.

Ryan: Regan, what was it like revisiting Malfunkshun? How did you guys go about putting a new spin on “Stars n You” and kind of reapproach that track?

Regan: That was actually Stone’s idea. It was one of those weekends where we just got together and only did that song. And we had been apart for quite a long time at that point. It wasn’t initially going to be on the record I don’t think. In our first setup it wasn’t there. I had a really good time kind of revisiting that. Shawn was such a fan of Andy’s that when he approached it, he sounds to me very, very much like Andy. I can barely tell the two apart on that particular track - which is pretty phenomenal. As opposed to thinking he didn’t have an angle on it, Shawn shows amazing respect to Andy on that track. It’s been a good experience.

Stone: I knew how much that song meant to Regan and Shawn and I. And I think at the time it was like, “What’s something that can sort of remind us of where we came from? Something that’s fun that really could sort of reenergize our collaboration in a way?” Andy Wood was one of the most powerful, amazing sources of love and joy for all of us - everyone that met him, including Shawn. Invoking one of his songs just felt like the right thing to do at the time, you know?

Ryan: One of my favorite tracks on the album is “Without Guns.” A bit of a message there, some pretty powerful storytelling. But musically it’s great too. Am I hearing saxophone on there?

Regan: Yes! So, again, that’s a sketch. Sometimes Shawn would just vocalize what he thinks a melody should fit into a verse section and then would come back and do that later. This was one of those situations where we had a missing verse and we asked Hans Teuber, who had done some various horns and assorted instruments and keyboards and stuff with us on that album, to go in there and jam with Shawn’s scatting as it were - just kind of vocalize his idea. And it ended up just being really cool having the two of them run consecutively together. That’s what I’m thinking in my mind’s eye right now when you bring that up is that I really love that second verse where it’s Hans on sax and Shawn kind of scatting. It’s really amazing.

Stone: It’s great that you brought up that song. Because that’s definitely like a wonderful sort of - it’s not a Frankenstein but we started out with... I think Shawn did that as sort of a late night drum machine, one guitar and threw a vocal down where it was like, “OK. Here’s just kind of a crazy sketch…” But the more we listened to it, the more we fell in love with that character. The song has this... I don’t know what the right sort of word is. But this sort of homemade quality of it and… I don’t know. It has sort of has this quality to it that’s so nasty and broken and unpolished and unvarnished…

Regan: Like a drawl.

Stone: Yeah. It’s like he’s channeling some character from some place that is not Capitol Hill, you know? It’s great.

Ryan: Regan, you directed the video for “Hey Now What’s the Problem?” There’s this cool combination of vintage horror film imagery, cool pop culture moments, footage of the band - what were you going for with that video?

Regan: Right. I had initially been so excited about that track when it was first cut that I just threw together a bunch of my - I have a collection of pop clips. I am a bit of a videophile. This must’ve been six or seven years ago but I cut together all of that stuff without any of the band in it. Just running on excitement from cutting the track and listening to it and what Shawn was singing about, I just started getting the imagery of kind of how ridiculous some of those quote unquote “spooky” things are to people. And I found it somewhat ludicrous. So, I had just started comping that stuff together. And it sat for a bunch of years. And then when we finished the record, and it was time to generate some videos for it, I thought, “You know, I want to change that - but keep the same vibe.” But I ended up going and refreshing it with a bunch of clips of us playing that we had just to kind of bring it up to date. But it was just kind of goofing off with pop video stuff, which I really very much enjoy doing.

Ryan: Well, Regan, I think it was you that used the word “bookended” earlier. And that’s exactly the word that was in my head this morning. What a surreal way it is to sort of bookend this Brad story with the Shame reissue plus the new album. What did each of you learn in the process of working on both of these albums and taking a rare look like back like that in the depth you have throughout?

Stone: I think Regan has been using this word more often. But he talks about inception and how he’s so attracted to art that is sort of the first moment or the first time that something reveals itself. And I think over and over again through our careers, particularly with Regan and I, and with all of the bands that we’ve played in, when you first get together and you don’t know what anything is and you’re having this moment of like, “I’m free to be myself and I trust these people and I know that I’m safe...” I think that has been shown to us to be true again and again. The nature of the best stuff is when people let their guard down and come together collectively.

And I think we had that on the first record in spades. Because we were just jumping off a cliff saying, “Well, let’s make a record. We don’t have any songs but I know we can do it in 10 days. And we’ve never heard this bass player before but I bet he’s gonna be good! And we’re gonna go in a studio and it’s probably all gonna work out.” And it actually did! And the reason why is because we had that spirit of sort of dreaming and collaborating.

And I think the last record was the same in the sense that I think we came into the studio in those last sessions when Shawn was still with us and I think at the time we thought, “Well, what haven’t we done? How should we collaborate?” And I think the thing that we did was say, “Well, Keith Lowe, you’re a great player. You play some riffs.” And some of these Keith Lowe riffs that he brought out allowed us to kind of play in a different way than we normally played. And we layered those. And then Shawn Smith would come in and layer it in another way that we didn’t expect. And there was a generosity to the process that I think really comes across in the music.

So, long story short, I think it’s that inception and collaboration are those two things that really generate the most in the least amount of time.

Regan: I feel fortunate. And to see the absoluteness of it now with Shawn’s passing, I just feel thankful. And I’m glad that, though difficult at times, the band really stuck to doing what we wanted to do. And sometimes that was trying to please each other, sometimes it was trying to please ourselves. But I like that we did it together. We’re such old friends in a sense. It’s rare - being old now and realizing that it’s a little bit more special than we realized. It feels good.

[b0nten]

BLOOMING FLOWERS SPRING CAN’T FEEL

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ what more is there to hate when life takes away the one you loved the most?

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ for my bae @insomniac-jay <3, took so long because i tried to do the best research i could, and because i never liked what i wrote until today. also! if you squint, it’s slight naoto x reader but it doesn’t really matter. i hope you like it!!!! not proofread

you still can’t grasp it, it sort of feels surreal.

just like this morning felt, when you put your kimono on, and did your hair. hina loved the way you looked in traditional clothing, she said it made you shine.

and albeit you two’s pictures flooding the tachibana home, you were still surprised when her mom rang your doorbell to gift you a box, feeling slightly heavier than the last silk garment they had given you while you and hina were still in high school.

“please wear it, y/n-chan, ” ryoko’s voice was just as gentle as you remembered it growing up, but it was sad, “they make you…shine.” and full of anguish.

you could only nod, swallowing back the thick saliva that was gathering in your throat, blinking back the tears with the same eyes ryoko knew how to read as if they were her own daughter’s. reaching out for your hand longer than usual, she only smiled.

you still didn’t quite grasp it, not even when you put on your pearl necklace, and locked your front door, heading down the apartment block’s stairs, like usual.

it was like your normal way to school, and later, uni, and even later, work, walking exactly 100 meters and riding for 7 minutes and a half, before switching lines at otomachi, and riding for another 5 minutes. this time only, you had to take the south exit instead of the north one, and stroll for thirteen minutes, passing by a park, a bakery, two liquors shops and some sky-rise towers.

“welcome.”

it was different, because you entered the funeral home, where the assistant, ready to guide you to the high-school colleagues category, was interrupted by naoto. he simply took your hand and walked you over to the rest of the family. you were used to seeing naoto on saturdays, not fridays or the both of them. you had seen him yesterday, at the wake, when it was friday, so it almost went like any other day. or that’s at least how your mind put it.

and when you were sitting down, eyes glued to the monk’s back as he chanted out the prayers, naoto’s hand still found a way to get to yours, firm touch against glass skin, afraid he’d break it any minute now.

and now you sit between your younger brother and his mother that took you in when you were at flourish in your heydays, deafly listening to a monk chanting a sutra for hinata. you glance over at her and can’t help but think how beautiful she looks in the matching kimono, and how much hina resembles her. resembles, not resembled, she’ll now forever keep her beauty.

you heard japanese people experience three religions in their lifetime: birth as shintoism, marriage as christianity and death as buddhism, but you didn’t even go through one. hell, hina herself only went through two.

and whereas ryoko always told naoto to stop hurting the table because even the piece of wood had its own life itself and the boy silently complied, you were stuck figuring out what it is that you believed in. you believed in kindness. the kind of kindness hina showed you, that was the firm conclusion you accepted, so now you could only pray that the afterlife was going to show her the same gentleness and love she gave the world, her journey smooth in crossing over the sanzu river and mind clear in choosing the paths she takes, making it easy for her soul to find serenity.

you wake up once you’re signaled to join the incense rite. with slightly shaking fingers you pinch up the dry fragrance, touching it against your forehead. amidst blurred vision and hours of unslept time, you see masato wipe a ghost of a tear with the back of his crisp black suit. you set the incense in the flame bowl, and walk away, next to the parents, pupils blown and face puzzled, as if you don’t know what the world you live in is. you see familiar faces; old classmates and family friends of the tachibanas’ that you got to meet long time ago, cousins, teachers, and ex-coworkers. you think you notice some of them staring at you, what is she doing here? — what is she doing there? — next to your best friend’s family.

naoto definitely sees them, he definitely notices their judging looks, but today he can’t do justice. he won’t, because he likes to think he’s partly come to terms with his sister’s death, but no matter what, police academy never prepares you to lose your sister when you least expect it.

he throws a quick glance over his shoulder, reassuring himself you’re still there although you don’t look or feel like you’re there at all, bones wrapped in flesh, wrapped in soft black silk. you start to think maybe there is something wrong with you.

grief is a weird emotion with no textbook manifestation. there is no right or wrong way to feel following a loss. but why don’t you feel anything? why do you know that it’s happening, but you’re not fully in yet? why can’t you scream or cry or whimper or fake a smile. why has your whole face been frozen this whole time?

people come and people go and like an old charlie chaplin movie on repeat, the same action you have done repeats itself a million of times fast forwarded until your mind goes blank. you feel black-and-white.

naoto taps your shoulder. “do you want to see the body?” he eases you into it. he was always such a gentle soul.

you try to say something but choke on the words. he sees, eyes widening as his muscles tense. you only nod, and he walks with you to the casket.

maybe if you see it, your mind will take on it. you’re given a flower, the white chrysanthemum you dreaded to even think about, and the same happens to naoto.

the people in front of you all put their flowers in the casket, small step by even smaller step allowing you to approach her face. it’s just the same, except it isn’t glowing, or happy or doing anything. she’s not singing, she’s not moving. she’s dead. you know it. but why can’t you acknowledge it?

you reach into the deep inside pocket of the kimono, a neatly kept, small picture grazing the white coffin. you don’t ponder, and lay it next to your friend.

naoto freezes when he sees it. he took it, the day is burned into his memory so deeply that if he were to ever lose his reminiscence, this is the only recollection he’d have. it’s you and his sister. you’re dressed in kimonos — that was your first time wearing it — and you were excited. just fresh into spring, you both chose to wear pink: hina’s dress had delicate camellias on it, scattered playfully all around the fabric, while yours had orange blossoms intricately all across. it also was your first time wearing getas; your feet hurt so bad he had to call his dad to carry you home by the end of the festival. he didn’t mind it though, because you had fun that evening.

he reaches for the picture and looks at the back.

“doesn’t this kimono make her shine, naoto?”

“yes, it definitely does.”

scribbled on the thin paper are some almost unrecognizable kana and kanji, but naoto knows what they say by heart. he slips the square into his sleeve and puts his flower in his sister’s casket instead.

not long after everyone is done saying their goodbyes, the tachibanas and you head to the crematorium. ryoko holds your hand as she picks up the bones and sets them in the urn, and you try your best to soothe a mourning mother’s aching heart.

once everything is done, you pass the envelope to the receptionist. it’s a little over a million, and you see it on the woman’s face that she knows it too, by the width of the wrapping. you didn’t notice how much money it was until you recounted it, half an hour before leaving your apartment, so you just left it all there. no 10.000 bills, no crisp bills, at least that.

she hands you the little bag with salt, tea and snacks and you bow before leaving the crematorium.

“y/n, wait!” a voice you know very well shouts after you, tall silhouette speeding from the building into the same darkness you’re headed into.

“mom said to walk you home.” naoto looks down at you gently, as if he’s your big brother and not the other way around.

“you know you’re not actually my older sister, right?” he interrupts your exact thoughts, “we’re the same age, you were fortunate enough to be in the same grade as hinata, that’s all.” he taunts, taking you back to your salad days.

you smile approvingly and he doesn’t hesitate to take the gift bag from your hand, and walk right beside you.

the air is grim and you still feel a little bit unreal. you feel limitless, but like a void, rather than the young shoujo manga protagonist you always dreamt of being, and you can feel it in naoto’s breath too, how he tries to not let the anger drown him out. you know it’s unbearable for him too.

halfway through the walk, he breaks the silence.

“i’m glad you finally learned how to walk in getas.” he admits, and you look up. a genuine laugh stifles from your throat and his face lights up.

“naoto,” you say, “these are zoris. i wasn’t going to attend a funeral in geta sandals.” explaining, you watch his face drop in embarrassment.

“yes, i totally saw that…!”he stutters but continues to joke, hinting at the past, talking of hina as if she’s still there, next to you. in passing moments of silence, you feel overwhelmed, guilty.

faith’s a game of cat and mouse, and you play it just like you want. you laugh with naoto and you realize it’s nice to feel this sense of .. belonging. in between numbness and denial, he made your day a little better. he took some of the burden off, he ripped some of the weeds growing between your lungs, letting you breathe normally again, granting you a peaceful moment in what felt like a lifetime since your best friend died.

you step foot into the apartment building, giddy and smiley, but it all vanishes once you look around. it’s dull, it’s ugly. and you feel like you’re right next to hinata. that’s how she made you feel every time you came back from a night out in the city, arm slung around her shoulder laughing at everything she said, almost knocking over the both of you.

you look around as you climb every step and somehow, the laughs and the joy all seem to disappear in the place you spent some of the most time with her.

when you reach your front door, it feels almost surreal again, because instead of hina behind you, it’s the boy you grew up with. he looks nothing like her — he takes after his father — but he feels so familiar that when he stops you from entering your home your breath hitches a little.

“don’t forget to throw the salt.” he reminds with a slight lecture in his voice, like his sister once said “don’t forget to change your shoes.”

so, when your wrist brushes past your shoulder-blade, your zoris break under the memories you shared along the way and the ones etched into the walls of the hall.

you tug at your necklace as you finally let yourself cry.

you finally know it’s real, even more so, because you feel not one, but two familiar presences engulfing you in warmth.

one strokes your hair with the palm that keeps you pressed into his shoulder, while the other hand looks at an old photograph, and the second hugs you both, wanting to lecture you with the love and gentleness of an older sister that didn’t get to say her part.

[elleoat]

Reelfoot Lake. Tmax 100 in a Pearl River TLR.

I like tmax well enough but I think I probably would prefer using some traditional grain film stocks after this. The images just don't have enough character sometimes. Might just be offputting being behind a crappy Chinese TLR lens.

[aimeedaisies]

The Princess Royal’s Official Engagements in September 2023

02/09 The King and Queen, Princess Anne and Sir Tim attended the Braemar Gathering at the Princess Royal and Duke of Fife Memorial Park. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

03/09 (not counted) The King, Queen, Princess Anne, Sir Tim, PM Rishi Sunak and Akshata Murphy attended the Divine Service at Crathie Kirk Church. ⛪️🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

06/09 (unofficial) Princess Anne, along with the Prince and Princess of Wales recorded a special episode of the Good, the Bad and the Rugby, with Mike Tindall, James Haskell and Alex Payne at Windsor Castle. 🏉

07/09 As President of the Riding for the Disabled Association, visited Digswell Place Group, Digswell Place Stables, Welwyn Garden City, to mark its 50th Anniversary. 🐎

As President of UK Fashion and Textile Association, visited MAES London Womenswear Manufacturer. 👗

Sir Tim represented Princess Anne at a Service of Thanksgiving for Sir Matthew Farrer (former Solicitor to the Late Queen) at St Magnus-The-Martyr Church in London. ⛪️

As Patron of the South Georgia Heritage Trust Princess Anne and Sir Tim, attended the Return of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s Quest Crow’s Nest Service at All Hallows by the Tower, followed by a Dinner at Trinity House. 🗺️🍽️

08/09 Participated in a Meeting via video link in her role of Chairman of the International Olympic Committee Members Election Commission. 🎥💻

11/09 At Gatcombe Park;

Presented The Princess Royal Award and Royal Dairy Innovation Award. 🏆

Held a Management Team Meeting for the Chaffinch Trust. 💼

Held a Management Team Meeting for Give Them a Sporting Chance. 🏏

12/09 As Patron of the Boston Stump Restoration and Development Appeal, visited completed restoration work at St Botolph's Church in Boston, Lincolnshire. ⛪️

As Patron of Magpas Air Ambulance Capital Campaign, opened a new Air Base at Alconbury Weald. 🚁

As Patron of Maritime UK, attended the London International Shipping Week Tenth Anniversary Reception at Mansion House. 🚢

13/09 In Northern Ireland Princess Anne;

Attended the Department for Business and Trade’s Northern Ireland Business Summit at the International Conference Centre Belfast. 💼

As Patron of the International Sheep Dog Society, lattended the World Sheep Dog Trials at Gill Hall Estate, Dromore. 🐑🐶

Unveiled a Royal British Legion Community Bench in Dromore Square, Dromore. 🌹

Attended the Department for Business and Trade’s Northern Ireland Business Summit Reception at Hillsborough Castle. 👔🇮🇪

14/09 Attended the British Equine Veterinary Association 2023 Congress at the International Convention Centre in Birmingham. 🩺🐴

As Patron of the Butler Trust visited Stonnall Road Approved Premises in Walsall. 🏠

Opened the Firefly Woods at Dorothy House Hospice, Winsley House. She unveiled a firefly dedicated to her late parents. 💡

15/09 As Patron of the Restorative Justice Council, opened the Restorative Justice Council Inaugural Northern Ireland Conference in Belfast, Northern Ireland. 🇮🇪⚖️

As Chancellor of the University of the Highlands and Islands, attended the North, West and Hebrides Annual Graduation Ceremony and Celebration of Success and Achievement at St Peter’s and St Andrew’s Church, Thurso. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🎓

18/09 The Princess Royal, As Guardian of Give Them A Sporting Chance, visited the Rivertime Boat Trust at the River and Rowing Museum in Henley on Thames. 🦽🚣‍♀️

As Patron of the National Transport Trust, attended the Annual Awards Ceremony at Fawley Hill Transport Museum, Henley-on-Thames. 🚂🥇

19/09 Visited the Our Cow Molly icecream parlour and dairy farm at Cliffe House Farm, Dungworth, Sheffield. 🍦🐮

Launched the Ethel Trust Community Barge PEARL at Victoria Quays and attended a Reception at the Quays Hotel Sheffield. 🚤

As Patron of the Royal College of Midwives, visited Doncaster Royal Infirmary Women’s and Children’s Hospital. 👶🤰

20/09 As Patron of Police Treatment Centres, visited the St Andrews Centre in Harrogate. 👮‍♀️

Visited Claro Enterprises Community Workshop, Harrogate, to mark its 30th anniversary. 🎂

Visited Woods of Harrogate Limited Fine Linens Company in Harrogate. 🧖‍♀️

Visited Hollybank Trust Care Centre, in Mirfield, to mark its 70th Anniversary. 🩺

21/09 Visited Jaguar Land Rover Halewood Vehicle Plant to mark the 60th anniversary of its opening in Liverpool. 🚙

As President of the British Olympic Association, attended an Executive Board Meeting in London W1. 💼

22/09 With Sir Tim opened the Aberdeen South Harbour Expansion Project at the Port of Aberdeen. ⛴️

26/09 Held an Investiture ceremony at Windsor Castle. 🎖️

Opened the renovated Old War Office Building, Whitehall in London. 🏢

Attended the Royal Warrant Holders Association’s President’s Reception at Westminster Abbey. 📑🍾

As Patron of Mercy Ships International, attended a 45th Anniversary Dinner onboard The Elizabethan, sailing on the River Thames. 🛥️🍽️

27/09 Held two Investiture ceremonies at Windsor Castle. 🎖️

As President of World Horse Welfare, attended a Reception at Hyde Park Barracks, Knightsbridge, London. 🐎

As Patron of Opportunity International UK, attended a Dinner at Evercore in London. 🌍

28/09 As President of the UK Fashion and Textile Association, attended the Sustainability in UK Textiles Conference at Drapers’ Hall, London. 👗

As Founders’ Patron and President, of the Benenden School & Society, attended the Centenary Global Conference “Inspiring Future Female Leaders”, opened the Seniors’ Courtyard, launched “Benenden 100” Centenary Book and attended the Benenden Society Reception at Benenden School in Kent. 🏫

29/09 Attended the Rededication Service of Southport War Memorial. 🫡

Total official engagements for Anne in July: 47

2023 total so far: 353

Total official engagements accompanied by Tim in July: 5

2023 total so far: 75

[kpophubb]

❥ 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝘠𝘰𝘶, 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 // уαηց วυηցωση ♡

"𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦." ᰔ

ꕤ 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝖺 𝘁𝘂𝗹𝗶𝗽,

𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝘀𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗺." ꕤ

✼••┈┈┈┈••✼♡✼••┈┈┈┈••✼♥︎✼••┈┈┈┈••✼

With jungwon’s busy schedule and the boys always being around you like bees, it was hard for the two of you to get together and spend any romantic moments like normal couples your age did. Which is exactly why, today, jungwon had finally taken a day off and decided to take you out on a day outing, to the next city ofcourse, to make sure no one you knew could bother you. He bought you colour-coordinated matching outfits and planned the day ahead, before sweetly asking you to accompany him on his romantic, surprise date.

Throughout the whole day with you, jungwon had been awfully giggly. It wasn’t a matter of bother, if anything, it melt your heart to see the way he kept subconsciously wiggling his head from side to side from joy whilst interlocking your hands tightly on the train. You had just finished your lunch and ice cream date and now, you were headed to a riverside park to watch the sunset together like he so dearly imagined.

He looked beautiful. To put it simply, the sight of his pulled up black hair and glassy skin was too mesmerising to not affect you. His eyes were always sparkling like pearls, and they appeared even more appealing when they bore the tender and deep love for you he had for you since day 1. The faint scent of his cologne lingering on his jacket and the way the corners of his mouth tilt into a reassuring, sweet smile was already an enough treat for the day. You glance at him longer than needed today, to absorb the scenario and realize how you were so in love with him and your heart was so full of him, that you could hardly call it your own anymore.

“We’re here y/n” he whispers in his gentle and raspy voice as the train stops and you’re jerked back to your reality that was finally better than your dreams. Following his lead while still holding hands, you follow him out of the busy train and gasp as you walk into the chilly roads in early winter with the love of your life.

In about 15 minutes, you reach your destination. It was a grassy, spacious park with almost no crowd, the kind of place jungwon adored the most for you guys. A place he could be himself in and show his affection for you, without hesitation and ofcourse interruption.

He then looks at you with an expectant smile and you dissolve at his cuteness, leaning in towards his face and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek like he was silently yearning for. “Thank you for the day, wonie.”

In your life, jungwon was both a peace and a storm. For he steadied you and stirred you both at once with that angel smile.

—————

You find yourself a comfortable place on the dewy grass a few minutes later, and you settle down peacefully there sitting on the cool grass with jungwon’s head on your lap. On the speaker that he bought with him for the occasion, his slow love song playlist was playing and over the horizon you could see the golden sun slowly amalgamating with the river, casting its hazy glow on your faces. It was as if the whole nature was dancing to the rhythm of your love and you and jungwon were since the beginning created by the universe to always come together.

You guys were like the rain and music. And the world had never created a more magical pair.

“Wonie. I’m so lucky to have you.” You brush your fingers through his silky hair and lower your face to press a kiss on his forehead with your lips.

“I think about you all the time.” You confess from your overbearing love.

“Mhm.” your words make him smile like a reflex action. The same heart warming, peaceful smile he had on his face ever since he fell in love with you. But this time you see a blush creep over his rosy cheeks as he takes your hand in his and begins kissing your each knuckle from endless adoration.

“Hey! Atleast tell me you think about me too.” You scoff displeasingly at his lack of response. However, it was a false pretense cause you were sure as hell melting from his pure skinship he was initiating right now.

“Okaaay..” jungwon begins to laugh, tilting his face on your lap to face you sideways. “If you asked me how many times you crossed my mind. I’d say once.”

“Cause you never left.”

That’s about all you hear before you feel his body pressed to yours the next second and his lips down to your own. It was a soft peck, too fast to even process and when you blink, you notice how he got up in lightning speed and is now resting one of his arms draped around your waist while his other free hand caresses your jaw.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me y/n. And I never knew I could hold this much..love for anyone in my heart until I met you.”

He says honestly with a soothing voice, looking directly into your eyes. His gaze was burning beneath your eyes and setting your soul ablaze, but you’re overtaken by the warmth of his fingers brushing past your cheek and landing on your mouth. With his thumb, jungwon strokes your wet, soft lips before pressing your foreheads together.

“I love you.”, you both simultaneously whisper, absorbing eachother’s presence down to your bones to preserve this sweet feeling till your lifetime.

Within a second, his mouth makes its way to yours again and you’re drowned in the sweetness of him for another time. His lips move within yours swiftly, his hot breaths fanning your cheeks and his heartbeat being your background melody, easing up your entire body with overflowing emotions. You wrap your hands around his neck possessively, dragging him inwards towards the kiss, to intensify his dizzying taste. The taste you could get tired of never.

His kisses feel surreal. Like fire within your bones, he sets your heart burning with a longing temptation. The soft sensation of his lips sinking into yours and the intoxicating feel of his tongue darting inside your mouth, it’s as if every part of you that came from a dead star is alive again. He had his own unique way to paint stars over your skin till you’re lit as bright as the dazzling moon.

You break away from the kiss momentarily and open your hazy eyes to absorb the magical scene of his face, aglow in the golden rays of the setting sun. And before you know it, he has his hands wrapped around your waist and he pulls your leg over his lap till you’re straddling him intimately. Then, he proceeds to kiss your cheeks, nose, chin and each of your eyelids ever so softly.

“Y/n.”

“I never believed in forever before. But with you, forever exists.” He smiles fondly at you, the light making his eyes reflect with a glow that was enough to illuminate you for the rest of your life.

“Which means. I will love you forever, yang jungwon.” You chuckle and rest your hands on his shoulder, brushing your noses together and laughing at the way you were being cheesy like fourteen year olds in love.

But isn’t that how love was supposed to be? Young, intense, deep and free.

The music in the background plays, and with your lips reconnecting another time to renew the kiss you were never gonna be able to stop, you close your eyes as you drown in his sweetness and your body melts into his embrace. You hear the lyrics of your favourite song become the new harmony of your movie-like-romantic scene.

“Way I feel and the way we kiss,

Feels like nothing else in the world exists.

We think happy is expensive, but everytime I’m with you

I relearn

It’s the invisible things that I, that I love the most, I love the most

It’s the way that I feel when I hold you close

Everything else, yeah it comes and goes

But it’s the invisible things that I, that I love the most

So let me hold you close.”

Indeed. With yang jungwon, every second was happiness in its purest form. Like nothing else mattered when you were in love with him; you were lost in a world with only you two. The precious things that he taught you could change your life for good, forever. The precious things, that are invisible but live in your heart. The precious

Feelings of love.

Of you and him. :’) ♡

Till eternity.

✼••┈┈┈┈••✼♡✼••┈┈┈┈••✼♥︎✼••┈┈┈┈••✼

🄰/🄽: 𝖧𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌! :) 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 🥺🤍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 & 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀, 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀 & 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝘀 ! ^~^ <3

Tagging : @boowoowho @wonieweb @miraculouspabu @unh0ly-dr3am3r @yjjungwon my jungwon ladies! <3

@miyoung07 @cloudcutter @kpoproyal