grandmother's fairy tales

Ageless (Cloaked)

She turns from me
Her ears cocked beyond my sight
I look with her
Night coming, purple, muted

In distant lands
It swirls with wind, and she smiles
Blooming clouds rise across seas
Brushing her storm-colored hair

Wind has met her unawares
And I cannot reach this place
Magic dances of nature
Bowing gentlemen

I yearn to join her, descend
In cloaks, the twelve princesses
Down to lands unknown
Last of her sisters to go

@katrinnac

6

siwon1987: good day for good friends. 

special1004:  ..#Meeting.. #superjunior#sj#슈주#슈퍼주니어..

shfly3424: It’s been a while (since we gathered) ^^ #superjunior #Holiday 

kimheenim:  Indeed there’s a difference to the one Teukkie posted. Your editing is amazing for sure

Yesung’s reply to Heechul’s comment: Of course! Colour is the most important ~

Yesung’s comment on Leeteuk’s IG post: Hahaha, unique teuk

Yesung’s comment on Siwon’s IG post: Hahaha, maswi (masi but cutely)

eunhyukee44: I’ve also photoshopped. i love you my members #superjunior #sj #슈퍼주니어 #suju

Yesung’s comment on Hyukjae’s IG post: Hyuu.. (sighing noise)

Hyukjae’s reply to Yesung’s comment: Aesongie (c)

kimheenim : I was worried that I would be up there because all the members were up yesterday!! as expected, kim heenim do😏😏
Yesex it’s like grandmother who plays a fairy tale👵👵
#SuperJunior


hey anon! i took a slightly different spin on your prompt, because dan literally can’t smoke/do drugs anymore, and arin has said that he HATES the experience of weed, but i DO know that arin is adorable when drugged the fuck out on cough syrup (all of this brought to you by the dead rising 2 playthrough, what an #iconic series) so you get some sick snuggling instead! i hope you enjoy it. if not, reprompt me and i’ll come up with something else for you <3


“Achoo!”

Arin laughs as Dan looks down at his hand, which is now covered in snot. It’s almost midnight and they’re still recording, despite the fact that both of them are sick and full of cough syrup. Arin maintains that Dan infected him with what they’re calling the Super-Cold, though Dan denies it. The laughing turns into a hacking cough within seconds.

“Dude, this is so nasty! Fuck.” Dan sighs and tries to wipe his hand on his jeans. “It feels like every hole in my face is leaking some sort of fluid. I swear to God, my brain might start oozing out of my ears if my sinuses don’t clear up.”

“Ugh, gross,” Arin says, followed immediately by him sniffling atrociously. “We’re out of Kleenex in the Grump space,” he adds, addressing the lovelies. “So Dan and I have been using whatever we can to stop the flood of mucous.”

“Yes, Arin, I’m sure Ross appreciated you wiping your face on the back of his shirt.” Dan starts laughing, but it immediately becomes coughing. “Fuck, I hate this.”

“I know, man. We should go get some spicy soup after this, clear out our faces for a while.”

“Ooh, you know what I want? Matzoh ball soup. And some good bread to soak in it.” He sighs, making a face of pure longing. “That, and a hug from my mom. That’s the real miracle cure right there.”

Arin puts an arm around Dan’s shoulders, and Dan leans into him with a happy little hum.

“Well, I’m no Deb,” Arin says, as Dan snuggles further into his side, “but I’ve been told my hugs are pretty…sick.”

“Arin,” Dan complains into the fabric of Arin’s shirt, “please refrain from punning about our suffering. I feel like I’m gonna die. I think my brain is fucking evacuating onto your shirt through my nose.”

“Y’know what?” Arin glances at the timer and makes an executive decision. “We can be done for tonight. I think the lovelies will understand. And I can one hundred percent feel your snot spreading across my chest.”

Dan sits up and gives Arin an apologetic, sleepy smile. “Yeah, okay. G’night lovelies! Please forgive us.” He looks so concerned for a moment that Arin leans in and kisses his cheek, which makes him blush—or he’s just red from being sick. Either way, he’s adorable. Arin pats Dan’s hair a little and then gets up to shut off the capture and everything.

“I wasn’t kidding about soup,” Arin says, as they’re leaving the building. “We should go find you some fucking…Matzoh ball soup. There’s that 24 hour deli like a mile from here, I bet they’ll have some.”

“Dude, really? Sweet,” Dan says. “You’re the best, man.”

So, they drive over to the deli, which is open and has Matzoh ball soup. Dan smells the soup and almost starts crying. He leans into Arin’s shoulder and talks about the time he got the flu and his mom made him soup and let him watch movies all day and sang to him to distract him from how feverish he was feeling, as Arin tries to tell the little old lady—maybe five feet tall, like, really, the kind of old grandmother you see in fairy tales—that they need two soups and some nice crusty bread. She gets the gist and tells them to wait at a tiny, wobbly table in the corner.

Dan slides down into his chair so low that his and Arin’s knees bump under the table. “Fuck, I can’t believe how much that smell gets to me.”

“After the Grump space, I think any good smell might make me cry,” Arin says. “But yeah, it does smell delicious.” He knows that’s not really what Dan means, but they smile at each other and the truth doesn’t need to reach the air. It’s been rough for Dan, being so far from his family for so long. He’s such a family guy, and despite everything about Jersey, he loves going home. That’s really it—Arin loves his family, but Florida isn’t home anymore. For Dan, Jersey still is.

The old woman brings over their soup and some bread, and Arin pays her for it. He leaves a huge tip, only partially because his cough syrup-soaked brain doesn’t want to do the math.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Dan’s ankle with his foot, “we could probably, fucking, fly Avi and Deb out here for a week and write it off as a business expense, as long as they, like, took a selfie for the Instagram or something.”

“Really?” Dan’s eyes are wide with surprise.

“Yeah, man, of course. Maybe we could get Avi on as a guest. The lovelies would have a field day.”

“Aw, Arin,” Dan says, looking down at his soup. “Fucking…I love you, y’know?”

Arin can feel a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with soup. “I love you too, dude.“


hope this floated your boat nonny! i had fun writing it :D

my other writing | ao3 | send prompts here!

The Tests of Time

Paring: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Tags: gender neutral reader, POV reader, reader is a mutant, and also a secret agent with S.H.I.E.L.D., slow build, storytelling, radio communication, compliant with Captain America: The Winter Soldier, featuring Winder Soldier too, Bucky has issues, a few words in some languages (Russian, Polish), set both before and after Captain America: Civil War, heavy angst, fluff. 

SummaryMaybe it was because you were the only one who had connected the dots - who had figured out that the angry angel and the flighty one-handed man were the same person.

Word Count: 3,975

Posting Date:  2017-04-24

Current Date: 2017-06-16


Originally posted by littlemisssyreid


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My turn now. The story of one of my insanities.

For a long time I boasted that I was master of all possible landscapes– and I thought the great figures of modern painting and poetry were laughable.

What I liked were: absurd paintings, pictures over doorways, stage sets, carnival backdrops, billboards, bright-colored prints, old-fashioned literature, church Latin, erotic books full of misspellings, the kind of novels our grandmothers read, fairy tales, little children’s books, old operas, silly old songs, the naive rhythms of country rimes.

I dreamed of Crusades, voyages of discovery that nobody had heard of, republics without histories, religious wars stamped out, revolutions in morals, movements of races and continents; I used to believe in every kind of magic.

I invented colors for the vowels! A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green. I made rules for the form and movement of every consonant, and I boasted of inventing, with rhythms from within me, a kind of poetry that all the senses, sooner or later, would recognize. And I alone would be its translator.

I began it as an investigation. I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.   
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Arthur Rimbaud

Image: Sergio Albiac



She’s back!!!  This weeks Animal Alphabets Fairy Tale Edition is L for Little Red Riding Hood.  She might look familiar cause I’ve used this character a few times in other pieces.  I liked her so much, I just had to bring her back for this weeks topic.

I liked absurd paintings, pictures over doorways, stage sets, carnival backdrops, billboards, coloured prints, old-fashioned literature, Church Latin, erotic books badly spelled, the kind of novels our grandmothers read, fairy tales, little children’s books, old operas, silly refrains, naive rhythms.
—  Arthur Rimbaud, ‘Alchemy of the Word’ in A Season in Hell.

For a long time I boasted that I was master of all possible landscapes– and I thought the great figures of modern painting and poetry were laughable.

What I liked were: absurd paintings, pictures over doorways, stage sets, carnival backdrops, billboards, bright-colored prints, old-fashioned literature, church Latin, erotic books full of misspellings, the kind of novels our grandmothers read, fairy tales, little children’s books, old operas, silly old songs, the naive rhythms of country rimes.

I dreamed of Crusades, voyages of discovery that nobody had heard of, republics without histories, religious wars stamped out, revolutions in morals, movements of races and continents; I used to believe in every kind of magic.

I invented colors for the vowels! A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green. I made rules for the form and movement of every consonant, and I boasted of inventing, with rhythms from within me, a kind of poetry that all the senses, sooner or later, would recognize. And I alone would be its translator.

I began it as an investigation. I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

— 

Arthur Rimbaud, Second Delirium: The Alchemy Of The Word

.

… I invented colors for the vowels! A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green. I made rules for the form and movement of every consonant, and I boasted of inventing, with rhythms from within me, a kind of poetry that all the senses, sooner or later, would recognize. And I alone would be its translator.  I began it as an investigation. I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

Meeting Chris in Beaverton, OR

So today was my 2nd time to attend a Chris Colfer book signing and it was in some ways even better than the first. As everyone notes, he’s gorgeous in person. He looked kinda tired, being on the last stop without a break before finishing up in Los Angeles this weekend, but very happy and still possessing that amazing intense interest in every person who came up.  This is a man who truly does appreciate the people who love his work.

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