ᶜ˖⁺ taeyong l。 - Roleplay Republic

Personal Message

lee taeyong

Whatever you're thinking about.

Take you like
a drug, taste you on my tongue. Ask me what I'm thinking about,
.... Go ahead, and cry, Little Girl.

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july

"I feel,"

homoual

◉

young warlock

◌

hopeless

●

voodoo ♥ mama

○

Mine

lover

Unwanted ⌘

His world was doomed from the very first cry that left his lips, a babe born to a cold mother, and a father who wouldn't ever look him in the eye.

He was a despicable boy in eyes that didn't match his own. The cerulean blue of his father's distaste pouring deep from his iris. His mother had laid in a pool of her own blood, having taken her own life in the throes and woes of the realization she could no longer keep.

So close, she was, but the babe was born, but not still like she had planned. His mother was a victim of forced adultery, something she couldn't live with. His hair transitioned from stark black to silver as the days grew on, and his father, couldn't bare to look at him. Shipping him off to school far, far away, different schools that pulled at his knowledge, schools that wanted to quell his inner urges, and only coming home to his father's warmth.

. . .

The warmth that was stung across his cheek, of course. It was an odd beginning, his witchcraft. Having stared long enough at his father's best shoes, wanting so badly to hurt him in any way he could. Wanting to punish his father for the whips that mar his bottom, the lashes that decorate his spine ...

And the scent of burning leather was imminent. His lashes hurt worse the next day, when his father discovered the accident.

A Blessing ⌘

Nothing hurt worse than being reminded that he wasn't wanted, being told he could never be good enough. It was then that he took it upon himself, just a thirteen year old boy, to run. Run as fast as his worn, ripped soles could carry him.

Run until his legs gave out, and his lungs hurt, and he couldn't run any more. His feet were decorated in blisters, his throat on fire from the lack of water, his steps a stumbling mess of dehydration, and his stomach a knot that was eating itself from the inside out. All he remembers was a flash of silver, and a smiling face staring down at him.

He wished it was his mother, he was dying, surely, he was dying, there was no there reason for it. It was days later that he woke up in a shop that scented of multiple metals, and an overpowering, yet calming, aroma of lavender. The smile from the man across from him wasn't concentrated on his person, but on the cards he held in his own hand. Taeyong's throat was too sore at that point, he couldn't even speak, ask where he was.

His questions were answered by a lulling voice that urged him to sleep once more, fingers from an unknown person delicately running across his lids, and his sleep had never been more perfect in his life. The city that had become home was where his powers bloomed - horribly, might he add. Constantly blowing things up in his face, never having the concentration to keep up, setting the plants on fire and having to stomp them out, screaming and wishing the fire would go away in a flurry of thrown up hands, and lots of water.

One may catch him every morning thanking, and apologizing to the plants in Alakabloom.

His current residence is .. Unknown, by most, that is. Some see him wandering around the Shaman's Smudge, others see him bouncing in the halls of school, lackadaisical and ever wandering. Never leading on to the scars that tattoo his skin, or the aged look in his eyes.

He tries, with his magick. He tries to impress one woman alone, and no, it's not the silver haired beauty that had saved him. It's a woman thats name, title, progression of magick should frighten.

But a woman that he holds dear.

And a woman he would gladly call Mother if she ever gave him the chance.

+ trxsh atelier