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Tae Jeong

As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder.

0 · 476 views · located in Fae Realm

a character in “Aes SΓ­dhe”, as played by Verix

Description

ImageTAE JEONGxxxxxxxx
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β—’
β—’β—’ n a m e : xxxtae jeong

β—’β—’ a l i a s : xxnone

β—’β—’ b i r t h p l a c e : xxx daejeon, korea

β—’β—’ a g e : xxx24

β—’β—’ s e x u a l i t y : xxx unknown

β—’β—’ e t h n i c i t y : xxx korean

β—’β—’ r o l e : xxx halfling

β—’β—’ o c c u p a t i o n : xxx chemistry tutor

β—’β—’ p r i m a r yxxp o w e r : xxx creation

β—’β—’ s e c o n d a r yxxp o w e r : xxx rememberence

β—’β—’ t h o u g h txxc o l o u r : xxx#040c14

β—’β—’ d i a l o g u exxc o l o u r : xxx#9fa2a5

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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths


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β—’β—’ a p p e a r a n c e

PERHAPS --it’s in some vain attempt to reconcile with himself that he’s very much real β€” with tired eyes and an even worse soul β€” that Tae finds his house to be haunted with mirrors. Each fractured reflection displaying a different facet of himself that he desperately wishes to wash out in light. To let the sun repair his damaged skin, to blind any mistakes in his eyes, to let the heat warm the coldness in his countenance. He more than wants it, he needs it to survive.

Dark ink has made a home in his skin and has settled in like an old friend long gone. Tae cannot help but look at them in curiosity for each line has a story attached that he can’t quite remember. The only tangible memory being the deficiency in his bank account the night after.

He can’t be too disquieted however, for the delicate writing on his hand displays words he cannot read β€” but somehow knows inartistically what it means β€” and the roman numerals reminds him of time in balance β€” unchanging and forever lost. How dearly he wishes to remember the fond drunken depictions rather than the one conscious tattoo he’s acquired during the day. A single rose on his neck brands him as forever hers, despite the scrawly raven designed to cover up such a mistake.

Black consumes him, and dresses Tae like he’s constantly attending a funeral. He prefers to wear his hair in front of his eyes, and will only slick it back when attending to his job. He attempts to cover his tattoos in large jackets and turtle neck sweaters; guilt and disappointment weighing heavily on his shoulders. He has no need for prying eyes watching his every move β€” judging him just as he judges them.


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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━There was something marvellous as well as pathetic about him.


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β—’β—’ p e r s o n a l i t y

PUNISHMENT xxxhad never been so divine as it did in the moment his words became entangled with hers. Cold words for an even colder person, his heart fluttered with the thought of a person so thoughtfully made for him that any imperfection within himself could bring him to his knees in despondency. Tae wished for cruelty, and it was cruelty he received. For what is more fitting for a man of vicious contempt than a counterpart exactly the same.

She ruined him in the most perfect way. Her words left scars and scabs in his soul, so deep that he was sure that when he died his ghost would follow hers. To heaven or hell, the difference would be minimal for paradise was lost the moment he said hello.

But it changed him β€” and for the better he supposed for he no longer walks with an air of faux sophistication, or bares his teeth in the face of humility. ( How carefully he had crafted a man worthy of sin only for it to be shattered with an even crueler vice. )

Now, his words choke him when he talks, and he finds solace in art and routine. He walks with his eyes cast downward and only looks up when asked, not for a lack of discipline, but because he’s afraid he might catch himself in the same position as before. Haughty and without remorse for the world around him.

His own penance comes in the form of silencing his thoughts (from one extreme to the next), and as a reaction has taken up art to quell the need to express himself. His mother would be aghast at his lack of pristine skin, but then he remembers she’s dead and her opinion does not matter anymore. Not like it used to when his life was dictated by her standards.

Cowardly, his mother had called him, and cowardly he has remained. For as much as he dismisses her in his thoughts he cannot defy his mother without the help of an addictive sedative β€” namely, that of the alcoholic kind which to him seems so sweet. So sweet in the people he’s meet due to it, and the elation he feels of finally being set free. Without inhibition he no longer sways from one end of the spectrum to the next, he’s finally in the middle right where he belongs.


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━━━━━━ the thought of all that life might have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple activities with a kind of pity.


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β—’β—’ l i k e s

parks x black ink x cotton shirts x stylish hatsx milk caramels xxx watching the sunset xxx dancing xxx statistics & info graphs xxx paint mixing videos xxx lofi xxx long drives xxx scientific drawings xxx gelato xxx reality tv xxx sketching xxx drums xxx walking alone at night in the city xxx art museums xxx xxx roller coasters xxx whales xxx fruity cereal xxx blue and purple xxx concerts xxx

β—’β—’ d i s l i k e s

sweets xxx english language xxx ukulele xxx poetry xxx
motorcycles xxx sprite xxx new jersey xxx pizza xxx avacados xxx eclairs xxx massages xxx ferris wheel xxx roses xxx cough syrup xxx the notebook xxx green xxx rock music xxx crunch bars xxx tango xxx chemistry xxx clickbait ads xxx craigslist (he loves it) xxx poodles xxx most lizardsxxx


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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death.


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β—’β—’ s t r e n g t h s

SCIENCE xxxAlthough he may dislike chemistry, there is no denying that he fairly apt at it. Because of this he has gained an appreciation for the scientific method and has applied it to almost all aspects of his life. It only took him 20 tries to keep a plant alive, but now that it is - it's never gonna die.

ART xxxPerhaps not in the traditional sense, but before he decided to major in medical chemistry, he tried his hand at wildlife biology. From there he became very proficient at observing and recording his findings.

DANCE xxxTae learned to dance while still in a relationship with Rose. They had taken a couples dancing class, and it was the one thing he refused to let her destroy when they broke up. Mostly in part because she was terrible at it, and he was almost a natural. Petty.


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β—’β—’ w e a k n e s s e s

FINANCES xxxHe saves his money, pays his rent, but he has a horrible habit of spending his money while drunk on tattoos he definitely does not need. His bank account has dipped below zero a few times because of this.

ALCOHOL xxxTae has a bit of a drinking problem, and it's one he's not one to quit. Sure his liver may suffer, and he has increased his chances of dying younger - but hey, he's here for a good time not a long time, right?

INTERACTION xxxIt seems almost comical that Tae, who wishes to never get close to anyone again, should spill his heart out to the first person that asks how his day is. He needs help.


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β—’β—’ m a g i cxx &xx EQUIPMENT

CREATION xxxAlthough Tae doesn't know or has utilized his powers, his main ability - creation - will be able to make real of whatever he has put to paper. It does not work digitally, and is limited to things that exist in the world. As a newcomer of his power, he can only create one illustration a day, and if it's bad then it comes out exactly as he has drawn it.

REMEMBRANCE xxxHe will have the ability to perfectly remember every detail of a scenario that has happened within the last three hours. How long he can remember varies, and at this stage he won't be able to recall for very long due to migraines and strained vision.

E q u i p m e n t xxx The only thing he carries with him at all times his is wallet which contains a fiver dollar note, and a picture of him and his mother when they still lived in Korea.


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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange.


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β—’β—’ h i s t o r y

TO RECALL xxxhis childhood would mean to remember the child he was before, and all the tragedy that comes with it after. It’s not a hard task, for he’s reminded daily of his own inadequacy; but to mention both his mother and of Rose would only twist the knife deeper into his proverbial bleeding heart. He’s tired, and would rather see himself destruct than to recall those loathsome days when his soul was wrecked by havoc.

( Her hands trembled in the dying light of day and moved quickly over tattered pieces of clothing and vintage photo sets. She seemed so sickly, and yet so full of hate that Tae could only recoil in shock when his mother began to cry. Her body moved as if she had been thrown overboard into a tumultuous sea and the only thing stopping her from an easeful death was reprisal. Toward whom, Tae did not ask that night or the days following after. )

He’s forgotten his past, and has done incredibly well by doing so. He does not linger on the fact that the apartment he rents is too high for him to afford, having been originally intended for two people, or how the bakery beneath him smells of freshly made eclairs. A pastry he has and always will loath. Don’t mind the fact he has an insatiable sweet tooth, for now he finds the french delicacy too bitter for his tastes and too creamy to be pure.

( Red wine had never been appealing to him, but with a glance to Rose he was doomed to fall in love with it. He drank with all the care of a man parched, and only prayed to God he would not sin more than he would have to. An acerbic influence to his palette numbed him to the poison in her veins and lead him to addiction. Her violence did not stop at objects or his form, for more cruel than her actions her words was the only thing to kill him. )

Now he lives a life of mediocrity, striving to stay simply alive. He works as a tutor for students who cannot comprehend the basics of chemistry, and attempts to be a freelance artist with a store of his own. It’s a fruitless effort however, for as soon as his art is up, he is just as quick to take it down. The world doesn’t need another sad artist. The world needs a chemist.

( His mother died with tears in her eyes not from the fear of death, for if anything it seemed to be a relief to her, but because her son would continue his existence in the way she wished he wouldn't. How awful it was to hear with her dying breaths, a stream of ceaseless apologies. For him to become an artist, would be her second greatest shame. To have raised him would have been her first. )



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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am.


c h a r a c t e rxxs h e e txbyxxxlayla
f a c e c l a i mxxxkim jisung
p l a y e dxxb yxxxverix

So begins...

Tae Jeong's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Orhien Naena Character Portrait: Amaya Kyotsuki Character Portrait: Mariko Kimura Character Portrait: KazimΓ­r Ε Ε₯astnΓ½ Character Portrait: Aurora Kinski Character Portrait: Ryu Se-Ri Character Portrait: Alize MorleaΓΊ Character Portrait: Cullen Lawrence Character Portrait: Kelvin Woods Character Portrait: Petunia Griffin Character Portrait: Illyana BΓ‘rΓ‘ny Character Portrait: Ryu Yeong Character Portrait: Tae Jeong Character Portrait: Lilith Averescu
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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#, as written by Layla
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▁ β–‚ β–ƒxxxH I G Hxxxxxx ▁ β–‚ β–ƒxxx31/12/17 : 1100xxxxxx▁ β–‚ β–ƒxxxW H E R ExxxW O R L D SxxxC O L L I D E
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xxxxxxThe moon released its cold, blue breath. Her sisters followed; speckles of starlight coming to life across the cold expanse overhead. And like a milky way on earth, the faelights that hovered untethered to mortal devices illuminated a path deep into the woods. Human passersby steered clear of the forest that emanated terror and demise, ushered away by a cleverly crafted glamour.
xxxxxxThose that dared venture into the sprawling canopies and distant shadows would find a mirageβ€”an illusion that broke like water when prodded. And through this unseen wallβ€”magic. For on the final night of every year, exiles and Fey without allegianceβ€”or "freefolk," as was polite to call themβ€”gathered in the fringes of New York City to celebrate the end of the earth's rotation.
xxxxxxThrough the veil were colours unseen by the human eye. Beads of light hung from the branches of ancient trees, their fingertips caressing the tips of faerie wings. A river snaked through the celebrations, spelled to bubble with a thick and cloying liquid of darkest gold.
xxxxxxFey danced to music that swelled like waves and descended in waterfalls. An alluring flute murmured its tune from the fingers of a sylph, urging lost humans to dance their worries away. Until their feet blistered, bled, and broke.
xxxxxxThe couples and groups twirling to the symphony were immune to such temptations, as they, too, had been forged of impossible things. A little blue boy giggled in his mother's arms as she twirled him 'round and 'round, her lips peeling back to reveal small, pointy teeth that could shatter human bones. Another girl blushed, her skin morphing into the emeralds and mahoganies of the trees behind her as if she could disappear into the belly of a trunk.
xxxxxx"Oi, watch it!" shouted a manβ€”who was also a goat. Thankfully, from the waist down. He glared over his shoulder at the rather ordinary looking fellow stumbling past him. The subject of his distaste grunted and waved his mug of honeyed tea, its contents sloshing over the sides and between his fingers.
xxxxxx"S'ry," he murmured, scrunching his nose. Suddenly, a sneeze erupted from him, the strength of it tossing him backward into a crate of candied apples and lifting the skirts of some wayward ladies. They squealed, sending of breath of frigid air that melded his hand to his mug.
xxxxxx"Oh, come on," he groaned, rolling onto his side and falling to the dirt. He blinked. And squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them. Closed. For surely, he must be mistaken. Or inebriated.
xxxxxxFor through the thicket of bushes and leaves, a set of ruby orbs peered into the revelry. But before the man could yell, the redcap scuttled away into darkness, leaving only a murky memory in its wake.

▁ β–‚ β–ƒ β–‚ ▁


xxxxxxAmaya peered through the lens of her microscope at the bronze watch on her worktop. Joji hummed overhead, the tremble and thump of his synth filling the old antique store with contemporary music. Amaya exhaled to his croon, and wiggled the burnisher into the bezel of the old watch.
xxxxxx"Hey grand- Shit!" A cacophony of tumbling wood and smashing metal followed his expletives, ending with the sharp punctuation of his pained wail. "Ow, ow, ow!"
xxxxxxAmaya did not look up from her work as she said, "That's $6,410 worth of priceless artifacts you just knocked over."
xxxxxx"My femur! My femur!"
xxxxxx"Is decidedly less valuable," she murmured, slipping the watch's crystal face over the dial. "What are you doing in my shop, Ishaan?"
xxxxxx"What most people do in shops? Buy things?" Ishaan emerged from behind a glass cabinet stuffed with various deadly instruments and one too many skulls. "Though I can't imagine how anyone finds anything in this place. When was the last time you organised?"
xxxxxx"It's organised."
xxxxxxIshaan looked around him at the various texts and materials littered throughout the store, all of which seemed to have been placed without reason. A cluster of feathered pens sat beside a fraying Jack-o'-lantern; a pile of rare manuscripts were poised precariously atop a sealed bottle of indiscernible liquid; a frightening puppet with only one eye hung beside a brilliant chandelier of molten gold.
xxxxxx"Right," said Ishaan.
xxxxxx"Well?" Amaya prodded. "Out with it."
xxxxxx"We need Pandora's Box for the New Year's celebrations."
xxxxxxAmaya lifted her head to pin Ishaan with her black stare. She raised a brow. "Do you?"
xxxxxx"Well, yes. Obviously. Because I just said-"
xxxxxx"It was a rhetorical question."
xxxxxx"Oh."
xxxxxxMoments passed, the silence interjected only by the soft ticking of the watch Amaya held in her hands.
xxxxxx"Soooo..." Ishaan began. "Can you do it?"
xxxxxx"Yes."
xxxxxx"Will you do it?" he clarified.
xxxxxx"What happened to the box I gave you last year?"
xxxxxx"Uh..." Ishaan smiled sheepishly. "We broke it."
xxxxxx"How?"
xxxxxx"Gertrude was gassy."
xxxxxx"That literally explains nothing."
xxxxxx"Gertrude is part orc."
xxxxxx"Oh. That explains everything." They shared a slow nod of understanding. Without warning, Amaya stood, wiping her hands on the cloth strewn over her chair. "Don't break anything or I'll sell your organs on the black market to make up my losses."
xxxxxxAmaya glided between the mountain of objects seemingly without care as Ishaan tiptoed behind her. She ducked, disappearing into a narrow passageway that opened up to reveal a marginally wider door. She twisted the handle and stepped in.
xxxxxx"You don't lock it?" Ishaan asked.
xxxxxx"Why? Would you steal from me?" she replied.
xxxxxx"N-no. Geez. Of course not. Please stop looking at me.”
xxxxxxA flood of cold air greeted them. Colder even than the Winter beyond the store's four walls. The room glowed with an eerie blue light. This was Amaya's real collection. The priceless Fey objects and relics beyond the innocuous storefront that declared this place the Home of Intangible Things.
xxxxxxPotions swirling with incandescent hues perched on shelves etched with ancient runes; a wiry potted plant emitted an eerie glow in a corner; a book whose cover shifted with every minute hovered within a glass dome. Yet Amaya ignored all these as she approached a box the size of her palm. She lifted it, peeling back the velvet cloth that encased it.
xxxxxx"Here," she said. "You'll owe me a favour for this."
xxxxxx"Yeah, yeah. I know the rules. But," he chewed his lip, "we were actually hoping for another favour from you. Could you, maybe, attend the celebrations and call upon the box yourself? Its sister was so unruly last year. We had no idea how to get it back in once we'd opened it."
xxxxxx"Put three objects of personal value into the box and call-"
xxxxxx"Yeah, we got your instructions last time. But those rascals inside are hard to wrestle."
xxxxxx"You'll have to pay extra."
xxxxxx"Already on it." Ishaan waved his arm. "My sister has a gem from one of the late king's crowns. So, deal?"
xxxxxxAmaya tilted her head, fixing him with her stare. "Deal."

▁ β–‚ β–ƒ β–‚ ▁


xxxxxxThe box held within it collective memoriesβ€”whispers of another time before the courts had been forged and anarchy reigned. Four powerful faeries had gathered to forge an alliance, carving into a map the lines of their rule. The Courts embodied the balance of the natural world. The seasonal courtsβ€”Summer and Winterβ€”would share the earth's cycle, shifting their power to reflect changes in the climate. The courts of Dark and High would create chaos and maintain order, so that the world would not fall into excess. A High Lady or Lord would command each court, with their mates at their side.
xxxxxxAmaya stood at the centre of a clearing, where a crowd had gathered in anticipation of the night's ritual. The midnight hour neared.
xxxxxxA strand of alabaster hair fluttered into Amaya’s line of vision. She beat her papery wings and the small gust that followed lifted her hair from her face. Her off-the-shoulder dress swished around her ankles, their opal colours changing in the dim light that emanated from the faelights.
xxxxxxAmaya paid her audience no head as she twisted the box’s moving parts, spinning the sundial leftward untilβ€”like a setting sun that had met its endβ€”it was eclipsed by a silver moon. She spun both ends of the box until the flourishing green tress met its barren twin on the other side.
xxxxxxPandora’s box unlocked.
xxxxxxA burst of red light blinded the Fey, and when it retreated, a chorus of cheers rose from them. Scarlet figures of smoke and vapour danced above their heads, wielding small swords and spinning in skirts that left faint trails behind them. The musicians began their symphony.
xxxxxxAmaya tilted her head upwards to watch the memories unfurl, her eyelids fluttering shut against their brilliance. The glow of the figures bounced off the crescent moon on her forehead, the curved mark scattering the colours into a kaleidoscopic dance.
xxxxxxSuddenly, a small red dancer turned and screamed.
xxxxxxAmaya's eyes snapped open. She turned as the people forged of red smoke raced with a fervour, screeching as they fought to return to their box. Large figures of flesh and bone rose behind them, their forearms encased in metal, their faces cloaked in armour. They wore the uniforms of the High Court's royal guardβ€”a legion sworn to protect the faerie on the throneβ€”but their magic did not solely belong to the High Court. A faerie with a swarm of straw-blonde hair threw a column of flame into the throngs of Fey fleeing the woods.
xxxxxx"Give us the Halflings," called a woman in copper armour. "And we might consider granting you exiles and traitors a merciful death."
xxxxxxAmaya had stilled, enraptured by the woman's familiar form, and the emerald eyes that peered from the slit in her helmet. Airell. The girl had been her friend, once. Or as close to a friend as one could find when one was imprisoned in a tower.
xxxxxxThe luck fae had warned her of this. KazimΓ­r Ε Ε₯astnΓ½. He had told her of the late king's downfall and her role in his child's resurrection. He had said with some mirth that she owed him a debt. He had saved her life, he'd claimed. When he was just a child, and she the prisoner of the High Lady of the Dark Court. She had not wanted to believe him, but she did remember him. The small boy with smaller antlers who had come to her cell and offered her luck.
xxxxxx"Feykiller," Airell intoned. "I did not expect to see you. Today must be my lucky day."
xxxxxxAmaya turned and ran.
xxxxxx"Fleeing again, are we?" Airell called out. "Where is the Blood Moon our keepers worshipped?"
xxxxxxAmaya darted between the trees, whizzing left and right until Airell's flames vanished behind her.
xxxxxxA little blue girl collapsed to her knees. "Mama!" she wailed. "Mama!" But the Fey around her did not stop. They had become cruel in their haste to survive.
xxxxxx"Hold on to me," Amaya barked. She wrapped her arms around the small girl, who clung to her with a grip that was unexpected of such a small creature, and ran.
xxxxxx"This way!" she called out to the faeries fleeing aimlessly through the woods. "There's a path that leads out of the forest into a human Walmart and cave on the way should we need to hide. Follow the trees with the crawling vines and blue flowers until you near a small ravine. Quickly. Quietly."
xxxxxxThe Fey stumbled through the darkened woods, a petite Summer faerie emitting a tentative glow to illuminate their path. Amaya looked over her shoulder to see the faeries who had stayed behind to fight the invasion, and those who were sprawled on the ground. They were much too still.
xxxxxx"Found you."
xxxxxxAmaya twisted, flinging the small child forward and into the thicketβ€”better bruised than deadβ€”as Airell lobbed a dozen black arrows toward her with nothing but a thought.