Description
jung jaewon
"すえっ目都以あて手尾や模保ッセルコヘらん離素擢らりひン。"
trivia
trivia
trivia
trivia
est 00.00.00
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♥
bliss
chromonicci
finesse
chromonicci
shift
chromonicci
infinity
chromonicci
anticipate
chromonicci
Friends
fantasies&dreams
1
There are instances where he feels drawn to the past, dreaming such vivid landscapes that frolic in the midst of colors and details that he could never begin to fathom, such richness only seen on television that he can't quite place his finger upon. Hopes and expectations, lost to the wind as he's revisited the places his dreams brought him to, taking pictures of devestation, of crumbling forests, and unforgiving structures. There are plenty of places that the line of his work can bring him to, but never any that bring him back to those sweat inducing dreams that he longs for each night, graced with only the mere kiss of a hint of what could have happened. Inklings and people he swears he shouldn't be able to conjure up - the human mind can't begin to create such features out of the blue, relying on forgotten faces in one's youth. Perhaps, it is though that's the case, he often ponders, night after night, laying up at the glowing stars he's stuck to his ceiling. To bring chase to those dreams, his eyes close, being plunged into the gamboling phosphenes once more。
hankos&horses
1
The clutter of chickens skittering across the floor, scuffling up dust and rocks and riling up the cats that hang from their perches, lazy as ever and full of mice, are one of the few sounds that surround. The clishmaclaver of persons scuttling about from stall to stall, his mother waving her handkerchief towards his father, yelling for his help to gather the boxes. 'Too frail,' she reminds him, as she holds her back, before recruiting him in her quest to get her two men together. His mother is a genius, in her own respect. Couldn't read, nor write, like the nobles that wander up these streets once or twice, but could construct things, for lack of better word, out of nearly nothing. At the moment, it's just a simple lie, that 'thing' being as sweet as her back aching, and her lovely boys jumping to her aid and offering her to rest. It's then that he takes a box ahead of his father, filled to the brim with the crop of the day, harvested in the early morning and brought to the street market in hopes that it would sell for the day to day, struggling economy.
There's a whinny of a horse, and a few shouts, the stray horse on the run nearly toppling over him. Pushing him over, and having the box crack open on the floor, apples strewn about, stomped, caked in dust, and he can hear his father shouting. For what, he's not sure. Whether it be for the money that was lost for the day, or for his own safety, became a mere background noise as a smile so lusterous, and eyes so warm, come into view. A man, holding his hand out to him, robes screaming of nobility, helping him to stand and making his heart race quicker than that of the steed that's no doubt across the market, reaping all sorts of havoc of its own.
The first of his dreams are always so vivid, with sturdy hanoks of years ago, and a language he barely knows as his own, aged, and much more poised. A harder time, and yet, even though he's never taken an in depth history class, nor met a man with such a face, his heart still aches. And when he wakes for the next morning, the face is gone in his mind, unable to will it to the forefront, for the human's mind cannot comprehend faces that they have not met
... yet。
gunshots&good-byes
1
'The blasts of gunfire makes his ears ring for the nth time, dropped into a trench with his fellow countrymen, holding on to the last bit of ammunition they have. Not much, given how many of them look to each other with sorrow in their eyes, goodbyes left unsaid on the tips of their tongues. Not often is he frightened, but this leaves him shaking, his body lighting up with goosebumps under the fluffy armor that has done nothing to protect them from the bullets flying. There's a signal, a go ahead, a clear for them to run, low to the ground, a safety promised in the guise of plumes of smoke, just for them. Just for them. He doesn't know how bad his legs have cramped until he's running alongside his men of colors, holding his own gun to his chest, keeping low to the ground and never going properly straight. It's stupid, really, if someone really focused their fire, but for the sake of fear, and the adrenaline running through him, he'd follow every lesson taught.
Although, the lesson of betrayal is not something he knows. The lesson of lies, and fear, fear on the man before him, resting on his knees and blubbering about his own life, over theirs. Another blast of gunfire, and he doesn't feel the pain until he's laying on his back, and staring up at the sky. He swears, in his last moments, that one of the last faces he sees is awfully familiar, wearing different colors, but ever so commanding.'
When he wakes from the dream, his heart is heavy, and his chest hurts, feeling the kickback of a shotgun on his . It's not weeks until after that dream has thoroughly left him does he properly register loud sounds again, and although he wishes to see the face of him once more, he can never conjure it up on his own。
personality
1
Scrollable box, put as much as you want. 等素尾よ区譜ら以等舳魔てなへあミマタソ瀬目もたふおほらけ屋派ほお津手絵屋絵譜二個尾擢留うて以いやにや区の課遊テネヤふえふ手夜擢留以譜雲保かちか無知絵以ふ。鵜差保舳、保すターアフョおミテークチマ尾野個名そ。 さとらのぬきんの尾区アメッ魔他区二、無御雲ゆよらろ御巣無無。そ。めネユツスなうゆに擢いやきみ譜素区ぬそむも。無留離瀬樹と夜譜鵜絵目ふまとさっはに、くゆらてねりけりてチチリナウメメ保ゆ「鵜御区」樹差雲ユレメウセ模擢尾ヒカラ名屋魔等都屋らるつさつはしまいヘホモケフ。
section : name
1
lover's name
status ◦ 00.00.00
"すえっ目都以あて手尾や模保ッセルコヘらん離素擢らりひン。"
Scrollable box, put as much as you want. 等素尾よ区譜ら以等舳魔てなへあミマタソ瀬目もたふおほらけ屋派ほお津手絵屋絵譜二個尾擢留うて以いやにや区の課遊テネヤふえふ手夜擢留以譜雲保かちか無知絵以ふ。鵜差保舳、保すターアフョおミテークチマ尾野個名そ。 さとらのぬきんの尾区アメッ魔他区二、無御雲ゆよらろ御巣無無。そ。めネユツスなうゆに擢いやきみ譜素区ぬそむも。無留離瀬樹と夜譜鵜絵目ふまとさっはに、くゆらてねりけりてチチリナウメメ保ゆ「鵜御区」樹差雲ユレメウセ模擢尾ヒカラ名屋魔等都屋らるつさつはしまいヘホモケフ。
section : name
1
coded by peaches