beauty, terror.

there is a certain magic about a girl who is like a knife. she is taut skin, draped over bones. sculpted out of marble, she is baroque-fleshed and holy.

[goreprofonde]

- Angela Carter, The Lady of the House of Love.

[godsqeed]

throwback drabble! (probably around 2015? 2016?) @baudellare​

“you said we came here for the beach.” 

there’s a hint of annoyance in her voice; tension, too—though it is hard to pinpoint which emotion ran deeper. he is convinced that he’d be able to figure it out if he tried, but finds himself far more interested in the colors that brighten the wall in front of him. when a minute passes, the female speaks up again. this time, he is certain it is frustration that is overruling. it is easy to recognise what he’s grown used to.

“casper, you said the beach would help me calm down.” 

a click of tongue proceeds his words, “i dunno, you don’t seem very calm to me.”

“and whose fault is that?”

Keep reading

[theotreptos]

Visit Original Link

[moonsseas]

Send me a ‘🎨’ for an aesthetic or mood collage for our muses.

Space / The Sun & Moon. for @baudellare

[baudellare]

undressed in the same way

the night sky slowly sheds its inky luster;

unbuttoning stars, unclasping the moon

letting darkness fall in great shifts of blue black.

and as moonbeam begins to spill from the horizon’s edge, 

she’ll slip into dawn in all of its silvery coldness.

a swan song flowing in gradients,

hues of midnight, rose, and ichor.

[baudellare]

🍻 “ do you regret letting me close ?”

FOR: @godsqeed

IN RESPONSE TO:  🍻+ the question you want to ask my muse for a tipsy, drunken ( honest ) answer.

it’s embarrassing, the way she can’t stop laughing and how he’s just sitting there– watching, waiting for an answer that’s fighting its way up her throat. acid and regrets and every single thing that she’s still left unsaid. god. now’s not the time or place to crack open. so she downs a glass of soda instead, washing all that darkness away and replacing it with overwhelming sweetness. artificial, the smell and taste of something manufactured. like the facade she’s trying to build again– a large “no entry” sign in bold red letters. chains all across it. no, casper. you can’t come in.

too late for that, haneul.

she squints and tries to see past the fluorescent crown he wears; bright white and pure in a way he has never been. at least, not in a way that she has seen. because not even in their closeness did he ever truly let her in. so yes, yes– there’s some regret. how she stepped aside and opened the door for him; here, here is everything about me. fears and insecurities– my envy, my vanity. how he took all that and slowly used it to break her down.

“i’d take back everything you know about me if i could.” she smiles and it’s like a sickle. hand gripping his own in a flash of anger. casper is the color of a bullet. gunmetal. gun powder. maybe he thinks of her as a moving target. a sliver of red in a forest of dark green. the crunch of leaves underfoot as she runs and runs and runs. maybe he thinks of her as ridiculous– an easy prey, something he can toy with before the final blow.

but maybe, just maybe she’s the final girl in this hunt.

and all he can do is chase her until his lungs give out.

“what about you, cas? do you regret letting yourself get close?”

[baudellare]

@automaticfurytaco​

She is not suspecting. Good, perfect. It’s time to admire the sight (and scent) of pastries laid out in front of them. This, admittedly, is not a sight he expected, but a sight he greatly appreciates. “You’ve done a good deed,” he manages to comment as he sets his helmet aside, now facing the mysterious paper bag and its secrets. Never expecting to receive physical gifts, the way his eyebrows raise shows just how much he didn’t expect anything (it’s the same thing every year, will he ever learn?). Curious he is, though. Especially after that reference to senior people and their tendency to freeze. According to that, he has been old for the past ten years already.

“Ya… Careful.” Sungil scrunches the bag gently and the only thing he finds out is that whatever it contains, it is soft. “Soft, not too special, but useful. Just like me.” The man peeks in the bag without asking for permission, fingers reaching to touch. A reaction takes a few more seconds to arrive, delight mixes with amusement. They know he is hard to offend. They, the people who have met him at least a couple of times and stayed around. She has, for some reason.

“What is this… Eggs and foxes, what are you trying to tell me? Foxy egg? Eggy fox?” He glances at her for answers, finding none within that split second he spends inspecting her. Of course, he jokes again. She is fine. “These are the only reason I’m now suddenly looking forward to winter,” he utters, smiling, while still feeling out the fabric with his fingertips. “Thank you, Haneul.”

(He’d hug her if he hadn’t just sat down in front of her. Later, then.)

She’d be the first one to see him sporting the new pieces of fashion. Knowing him, she’d not have to wait until winter. He will start freezing in the next two months.

“What are you doing here, why aren’t you asleep?” Early birds. It’s not the first time they’re awake and sharing thoughts the first thing in the morning. How accurate they are, that is up to the universe to judge.

foxy egg-- where does he even get these ideas from? haneul’s not the least bit surprised, but certainly no less amused. “aegi fox is more like it.” she’s got jokes, sure, and she lets them fly without much thought to how well they’ll actually land. but this one’s got her chuckling long before she even finishes saying it out loud. “get it? aegi? because you’re someone’s baby brother--” she really ought to sit down now, before gil’s saint-like patience runs thin. “and you’re most welcome. i’m just glad you like what i got.”

she’s sampled a few of the treats before he even got to the cafe-- considering how long it took him. something she would have questioned him about, but she supposes the birthday boy deserves a break too. “i was rehearsing and forgot about the hour-- as usual.” he’s heard this before; tales of woe about the job she loves and hates at the same time. “when i opened the curtains, the sun was already up-- i wondered if i should just greet you over the phone or make sure you get some vitamin d instead.”

it was 6 am when she left the studio. 6 am and everything’s just waking up-- accompanied by the sound of her own footsteps as she finally makes her way to the bus stop; imagining the trees and its birds yawning as a gentle breeze wakes them up. a sky so bright and blue; why would she want to waste a morning as beautiful as that? 

“isn’t sleep for the weak? or was it i’ll sleep when i’m dead?” her lips purse, fingers tapping on the toast she’s holding thoughtfully. scattering crumbs as she chases the answer in head. scene paused.

"sleep when i'm dead, you angels. i'll sleep when i'm dead. but until then-- that’s how the song goes, right? "

[vaninnavaninni]

Visit Original Link

[lesgardenias]

Camille Saint-Saëns — Swan (me as a music piece)

[eapoeism-archieved]

MARION

I made you a cassette recording. It’s a compilation of songs I used to listen to when I think of you. Plus a couple of things I thought you might like. It’s not Tchaikovsky nor Saint-Saëns, unfortunately, but they are pretty good if you are willing to broaden up your view in music.

MARION 

I think music can make things seem a bit more real, sometimes —if you know what I mean.

MARION 

 I’ve also included some break-up songs towards the end, just in case things don’t work out. Which, obviously, you know, that isn’t the aim, though, I’m gonna tell you, it is likely. Passion   rarely lasts, I’m afraid.

(Marion’s breath become shaky. He chuckles and shrugs off the feeling that is currently bothering him before continuing his one-sided conversation.)

MARION 

It’s not that I’m trying to say we are going to break up. God, I’m so shitty at this. What I’m trying to say is happy birthday and—

(He sighs, remain to continue the word that suppose to be included in that voicemail)

MARION 

… Я люблю тебя всем сердцем. Good night, or should I say good morning?

(Marion laughs)

[eapoeism-archieved]

SIX ACTS AND AN EPILOGUE set divided in two continents.

ACT I  END OF 2014 SET IN MOSCOW, RUSSIA

he doesn’t need to think, nor doesn’t need to feel (or so he believed)—as apathy drips from his tongue, his brain aches for the electric shocks of empathy, of love. yet, all he has is raging anger and a wish for a better opportunity to run away from the set on stone fate made by his father and granted by his mother dearest. all the life that he run away from, all those whom he push away, will inevitably be the death of him.

surely, everything will catch up to him in the end, won’t it?

but on the stage, she emerging. she is blooming, unfurling, coming alive. the creation of god that will be the killer of his nihilistic self, no? is this what they called love at the first sight? oh, don’t joke around with this. ha-ha-ha how funny this sound, a gentleman in love with a ballerina is almost a similar concept of a prince falling in love with a mysterious woman in the castle that run away by midnight. leaving nothing but her glass shoes, but when the show end, she left him nothing but a beating heart and desire to hold her hand.

she leaped, and leaped, and leaped and leaped. so his heart beat, and beat, and beat, and beat. then he is burned alive in a heartbeat. darling, what kind of a witch are you to be able to bewitched a witch.

(standing ovation for the lovely ladies of elysian! they are warriors without armors but their hearts and determination can bring a whole army of men down their knees!)

he lit his cigarette, waiting for her to come up by the moonlight. gracing him, gracing everyone with her presence of endless beauty — then finally, finally annabel lee come to presence her grace, her unworldly beauty to this sinful world. smiling and laughing and how it swooned his heart on sight.

“spectacular performance there, annabel lee.”

“pardon?”

“oh don’t you know?” 

the summer heat in a form of a white cloud, coming from the between of his lips. not a very pleasant smell when you are surrounded by honey and vanilla, a very contradicting view if anyone happened to passed by this side of theatre; like moth, everyone else likes the light, the very life of the high.

so he starts:

“it was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of annabel lee; and this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by—”

(the very presence of a thin smile, hesitant yet at the same time bring a sunlight in spring to the whole room just for two makes him pause in an awe.

good god, she is breathtaking.)

“—me.”

hint of amusement and delight crafted neatly on his face if the woman, the gracious woman in front of him notice how a man, a stranger in front of him is bold enough to keep talking and talking and talking endlessly to a girl he barely know.

“i was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea, but we loved with a love that was more than love— i and my annabel lee— with a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven coveted her and me”

“why are you doing this?”

“and this was the reason that, long ago, in this kingdom by the sea, a wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful annabel lee; so that her highborn kinsmen came and bore her away from me, to shut her up in a sepulchre in this kingdom by the sea.”

“the angels, not half so happy in Heaven, went envying her and me—”

(”i wouldn’t dare to lay my eyes on one of them.”

  “why?”

  “there is something not right and you know it.”

  “perhaps i love and desire —oddity, and weariness.”

  “you’ve been warned –we’ve been warned. they are bad news.”

  “bad new don’t always seem to be bad.”

  “you are impossible, marion.”

  “so they say.”)

she says: “stop.”

“yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, in this kingdom by the sea) that the wind came out of the cloud by night, chilling and killing my annabel lee.”

“you are ridiculous.” “but our love it was stronger by far than the love of those who were older than we— of many far wiser than we— and neither the angels in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee—”

“sir, you are not allowed to be here.” interrupted, they takes her away from him by their arms gently and with so many mystery lingered around her. protectively, oddly protective, watching him still as they take her away from her.

“sorry, i was—” he bites his own words. “it was a poem by edgar allan poe.” he says, instead. “only the best poem for the most beautiful woman in the world —poe, you dirty bastard.” their eyes met and he knows that she knew. that itself makes him chuckled, it wasn’t all went to waste after all. oh what a tragic end of a very light meeting.

“annabel lee!” he calls her.

“when the moon rise, a soul waiting patiently on the edge of the world. see the stars and you will know!”

then she disappears right before his eyes, but her smile–her smile remained in his heart. he hopes that one day he will meet her again. on the edge of the world –the beach, and when the moon is rising –full moon, mid month. see the stars and she will know –he will show her the world, the beautiful one.

[baudellare]

still not fully capable of writing anything just yet, but--

[baudellare]

“I look at the blanked-out faces of the other passengers-- hoisting their briefcases, their backpacks, shuffling to disembark --and I think of what Hobie said: beauty alters the grain of reality. And I keep thinking too of the more conventional wisdom: namely, that the pursuit of pure beauty is a trap, a fast track to bitterness and sorrow, that beauty has to be wedded to something more meaningful. Only what is that thing? Why am I made the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? Or, to tip it another way: how can I see so clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet-- for me, anyway --all that's worth living for lies in that charm? A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don't get to choose our own hearts. We can't make ourselves want what's good for us or what's good for other people. We don't get to choose the people we are. Because-- isn't it drilled into us constantly, from childhood on, an unquestioned platitude in the culture? From William Blake to Lady Gaga, from Rousseau to Rumi to Tosca to Mister Rogers, it's a curiously uniform message, accepted from high to low: when in doubt, what to do? How do we know what's right for us? Every shrink, every career counselor, every Disney princess knows the answer: 

"Be yourself." 

"Follow your heart." Only here's what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can't be trusted? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight toward a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster?

If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement, the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person? 

Or is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?”

( Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch )

[eapoeism-archieved]

lay with me, and look at the sky tonight. there’s no stars out in the open, clouded instead by the very thought of you and i and the flowers that you sew within my heart; it bloomed, it bloomed so beautiful, still. begonia, crocus, daffodil, lilies, irises. clouded instead by the very thought of everything that we should have undone before it’s too late.

[baudellare]

@automaticfurytaco

( text: neullie ) yeah how did you know, it’s just my subconscious texting while I catch some Zs

( text: neullie ) but, honestly…  maybe it’s the 70-year-old grandpa soul in me doing the wisdom talk

( text: neullie ) and making me wake up at 5 for no reason

( text: neullie ) leaving now

Sungil is in fact awake, staring out of the window with his eyes trying to get adjusted to the day’s demands. So far it is like any other morning he constantly deals with, except for the fact his presence is required elsewhere. Haneul, Haneul… Text messages may be deceiving, but she sounds way too awake. She probably didn’t even go home last night. Is that true? False? Something about leaving the building without having to worry about breakfast makes his steps a bit lighter. It’s still early, and he pushes his motorcycle out of the garage underneath the first floor apartments just to let others continue their sleep in peace. There are days when he truly anticipates the sun rising, as it welcomes him with warm kisses on the cheek. It’s dim outside.

His arrival raises no suspicion, not at first. The place looks right, but something is… off. That thought gets a sequel when he opens the cafe door to enter and sticks his head inside. The interior is different and an unfamiliar face stares at him behind the counter.

Are you looking for something, she asks. Yeah, my dignity.

That’s when the information he would’ve needed ten minutes ago reaches him, fashionably late and just in time to give him a motive for self-inflicted scolding. The information? The cafe he looks for, the cafe Haneul sits in, moved to a new location months ago. This, this is where it used to be. Dementia, is that you?

( text: neullie ) 5 mins, okay

He is lucky to have a motorized vehicle to drive, and by the time he finds his way to the place he should’ve been at almost 15 minutes ago, he is certain he has missed out on the good pastries. Sungil’s head peeks in from the doorway, the rest of his body refuses to follow until he spots a face he knows. All gloominess he carries drops among his steps as he approaches her and finally, finally takes a seat with a wide, tight-lipped smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

“I made it.”

did she believe he’d come in strutting within the next few minutes of her text? no. so instead of staying in her seat and waiting until he arrives, she does what any good friend would do: get first pick at the fresh batch of pastries being set out. it hasn’t been thirty-minutes since she’s arrived at the cafe and already, there are people lining up for it. what a dream that must be for the baker behind all these delicious treats. 

she gets two of each, with a few extra so they could both take some home. cannolis, pies, tarts, and tortes. strawberry sandwiches, an assortment of cupcakes-- and the carrot ones she hates. haneul eyes the slices with some disdain before moving past them, taking the last of the fruit and nut breads. it’s only after she reaches the second table that haneul realizes she doesn’t even know what sungil likes-- is he allergic to nuts? to berries?

when his text comes in, she hurries a bit-- grabbing a few more of the meringues, remembering that he had a niece he looks after. on the off-chance he sees her today, the treat might come in handy-- for appeasing a crying tot or an older sibling. with that, she makes her way back, plopping down on the worn couch completely satisfied with the small accomplishment she’s made. pastries: saved!

“and just in time, too. there almost was a pastry shortage-- so i already picked out some.” brow raise, mischief drawn smile. hoping he couldn’t tell that she’d just about dozed off before he arrived. the cafe crowd had grown since a few minutes ago, so she’s gotten more than a little self-conscious about greeting him in the way she had planned. instead of breaking into song, she greets gil quietly-- handing over the a paper bag containing his present. 

( choosing gifts? not quite her talent. an hour or so of searching online and what does she end up getting him? embroidered wool socks. one’s green with brown foxes on it and the other’s the color of wheat with a fried egg on either side. the peak of fashion, as far as she’s concerned. )

“it’s nothing too special, but it’s very useful. i heard old people get cold easily, so...”

[baudellare]

@avemort

a place like this reminds her of a deep blue sea her mother once read to her before sleep. how big, how blue, how beautiful it is. she told her that the water tell a forgotten tale to you, lulled it to your ears, inviting you to look more, more and more and more until your lungs filled with salt water, until you are reaching its floor (until you are out of breath, out of lives). sirens become friend, a friend who lure you back to slumber – eternal slumber. the sirens sing you a song and maybe that’s why the deep blue sea is so alluring, as if its tell you to come back home where you belong and that place is with the siren. no, no, no, home is up above the ground but you can’t help it can you? beauty is deceiving, irresistible.

what is she? is she a mermaid or is she the siren? agatha will never know until it’s too late.

but right now, she has plenty of time. plenty of it for her to fall deep into the ocean of endless beauty, perfection that is offered by elysian; yet she can’t help to feel out of place still.tchaikovsky—she doesn’t know what kind of chai tea is that. nervousness have eaten the best part of her, sweaty hand unworthy to touch the mermaid but still, it will be impolite to not shake hands with her. someone she believed to be part of elysian.

she wonders if holding her hand will make her zero-point-five percents as beautiful as the woman standing so gracefully. god, this make it even worst, she makes her feel like she is standing in the wrong way.

“agatha williams.”

ah yes. who is she? agatha williams, nervousness shouldn’t be her middle name. not ever. so she shakes hand confidently with haneul (ah, even her name is beautiful. look at her face, it’s doll-like. it’s too blinding—she reminds her of the meme she saw the other day where there is a man blocking the sunlight away from his eyes saying “they sun isn’t it too much?” that’s it. haneul is too much, in a good way).

“pleasure to meet you, ma’am? should i call you ma’am?” or maybe she should call her something fancy like mademoiselle. curse les miserables, now she has jean valjean and javert introduction song in her head. this feels like she is 24601 while she is javert. she is but a mere slave and haneul is a graceful, strong bishop. (who am i? who am i? a disappointment the lee will ever have, 24601 or remember me as agatha williams).

“oh you know that song of new toothpaste commercial!”

“hey, hey suzy q. what’s cookin with you? your teeth look whiter then new, new, new. my teeth aren’t new but my toothpaste is new pepsodent. get with it kid; new package, new flavor, new formula too. means brighter smiles for me and” she points her finger at haneul while laughing at her own self. “you!”

“you’ll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with pepsodent. the new formula with imp gets teeth much whiter, you can see! it cleans the stains and film away, 1hile irium fights tooth decay!”

she is definitely not going to get in now. it’s over. it’s over for her. sorry mother, she has been a disgrace for singing a commercial song in this fancy school.

agatha williams. now, that was a name she rarely hears around the elysian. she’s met her fair share of svetlanas and vladas, but agathas? no, not really.

“lovely name.” lovely face, too, now that she gets to see the girl up close. a little too nervous, perhaps. a thought she keeps to herself, but it wasn’t difficult to sense or see the tension brewing beneath. the handshake was brief, hardly comforting to anyone new to the company, but she has the time to make up for that. make sure their new student didn’t runaway out of intimidation or fear.

it has happened before, after all.

“just call me haneul. no ma’ams or madames-- i beg of you.” how cute. how refreshing. nothing like the privileged daughters coming from old money who enter the elysian expecting to be catered to. the headaches. the rotten apples or so she liked to refer to them. all glossy and lacquered red on the outside, but maggot infested on the inside. compared to them, agatha’s a breath of fresh air. a nice change. one that’s needed as far as she’s concerned.

though, perhaps, a bit too energetic given the hour. given how tired she was. still, haneul cracks a smile then a quiet laugh-- a few seconds too late-- after the younger finishes her little performance. strange  and surreal-- bits of the pepsodent song already stuck in her head. “that was... interesting.” she chuckles, clapping her hands together as she gathers every derailed thought. right-- she still hasn’t told her if she was applying for the lessons or not.

would there be any other reason for people to voluntarily visit the company, however? the theatre is a public place, but this building? hardly anyone ventures into it, given its distance. its seclusion is key to privacy, to the exclusivity the directress is adamant about maintaining. unless invited, everyone’s persona non grata. might as well call the place a prison-- a gilded cage. 

she’s learned to make the best of it, turning to her imagination when it comes to keeping boredom at bay. picturing all the unexplored rooms she’s overheard in many a conversation. all the different stories passed down from one generation of corps members to another. the red room, the white room. the apparitions, the phantom footsteps. tall tales, the lot of them. well, most of them.

“the lessons don’t start until next week, but since you came all this way-- do you want a tour of the elysian, mademoiselle agatha? i can give you insider information on what you can and can’t do around here, but you have to keep it hush-hush. okay?”

[baudellare]

@dreamsup

was he surprised? yes. was he surprised that she’d done this? no. it was more that there was an unexpected element here and the human thing to happen was to be surprised by the results of said unexpected element. so hongil barely had the time to take in the information of dogs didn’t even get a question in before haneul was telling him about the rest of this impromptu adventure. apparently made for them but planned entirely by her not so little innovative brain.

innovative and caring.

“for us you say, you know one sided decisions have broken up kingdoms before? created wars from misunderstandings and made peace impossible for years and years and years and–” and on and on, but deep breath first, then his laughter as he let her lead the way anyways. as he let her tug him down the road and took in instead what he could have been missing of the air of the day, if she hadn’t shown up to get him out of his apartment.

“an aggressive–” what had she just said? something he could use to tease her about he was sure, so he did. “chihuahua, is that what you just said? tiny and with a bite? am i about to meet a twin of yours?” he used the arm she had around his to give her a little tug towards him, nothing too harsh, a play along with his words. but also as a way for him to lead her to the door of the cab, he was prompt to open the moment it came to a complete stilled state and have her get in ahead, ladies first and this one was definitely part of the lot.

“i am capable, i have been trained for years. this is exciting now. maybe you should take more decisions for us and then inform me at the last minute more often.”

as for the shoes, he gave a shrug. they’d survive. he wasn’t that attached, no, something ingrained from not having much for long enough to stop needing it. not obsess over it. how old were these pairs again? probably bought last week because he’d liked the idea of replacing his old ones. not attached to material, but he seemed to go through them like the wind.

“i should get your words in writing and have you sign it. the last time i made a very spontaneous decision for us, you weren’t too happy with it. granted, i was taking you to a blind date with a human-- not an adorable pup. but, still! you can’t take your words back now.”

the ride to the shelter was hardly a quiet one, not with her regaling him with endless stories about whatever came to mind. like that one time she got locked in the changing rooms-- certain that it was done on purpose rather than accidental. or that time she ended up with 5 orders of chicken because the lady heard her wrong, but instead of giving it back she took everything home. suddenly, she was best friends with the neighbors she gave the food away to.

she only circles back to the chihuahua’s as they drew closer to their destination.

“as i was saying, i’m really hoping to find homes for these babies. maybe you could ask the guys at the station if they’re interested?” she urges, holding up a photo of both dogs on her phone. tiny little things with tan fur, one boasting what appeared to be a very awkward dog smile. "adorable, right? i remember someone on your team being an animal lover. he promised to introduce me to his pets, actually, but i haven’t said yes because... well...”

the building comes into view and her excitement wells up once more, squeezing his arm yet again. only to pause in thought, patting down his arm some more before squinting at the older. did he get thinner or was she simply imagining things? given the amount of time she hasn’t seen hongil, the latter seems more plausible but haneul can’t help but feel concerned anyway. 

a concern that she didn’t readily voice out, making a mental note to bring it up later and to check if he’s eating properly. she can’t even remember the last time she did an inventory of what he had in his fridge-- that’s how long it has been. that’s how busy she has been. her expression softens then, sighing as she looks at hongil. 

he could certainly use a feminine presence at home-- someone good at cooking. someone who can tend to him when he gets injured while working. someone who will cheer him up when he’s tired or if he’s in one of those moods she’s observed him slip into. someone good with dogs. she’s known him for what seems like forever and yet he’s never once talked about settling down or finding someone.

“speaking of introductions, is there anyone... you’ve been seeing lately? someone i need to meet?”

the cab comes to a stop and as soon as she opens the door, they are greeted by loud barking. so much so that she’s momentarily distracted by the spots of color flashing in and out of her vision. 

“oh, don’t mind that. they’re just excited for fresh meat.”

[frequentdreams-archive]

my own private idaho ( 1991 ) sentence starters || @baudellare || status: always accepting

“could i get four orders of large french fries - extra crispy - and some coke. and that’s all.” 

Ink tastes bitter, something he’s already known for months now but it’s brought back to the forefront of his mind as he listens to Haneul prattle off an order, somehow, while basking in the aesthetic of the diner they’ve found themselves in taking shelter for the moment, Cash’s pinky ended up between his lips, his chin digging into the palm of his hand, some of the ink on his body is permanent, what makes its way to his taste buds? 

Not permanent. 

It’s the start of a doodle he began on the tip of his pinky finger that travels down the lines of his hand, to the edge of his palm, sloppy lines coloring the beginning of his wrist. “Water,” he orders quietly after she’s finished speaking. Cash has high doubts Haneul will share her fries with him but the waitress doesn’t need to know that, he is more than willing to let her think Cash had Haneul order for the both of them leaving him to request his water. He watches her retreating form as he swallows the chemical down, sticking his tongue out a second later as if the air will take away the taste. 

“Are you celebrating something?” Why else would she ask for so much food?

[baudellare]

@frequentdreams

“rebelling-- not celebrating.” she corrects, pausing to look at him amusedly before sliding the tissue dispenser towards the other. “and you’re in on it. unless you’re on a new ink-based diet, which i definitely wouldn’t judge you for.” it’s a look-- she thinks to herself -- the purple-black staining his lips. very shelley-after-drowning, except cash is still very much alive and she really shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. 

so she turns her attention to the nearly empty diner and to what sounds of life there are. a medley of utensils, footsteps, and conversation. the smell of food being made. the artwork he’s been working on. “career change?” she jests, picking up the pen for herself-- a moment’s thought given to decorating her own hand in the same manner before opting for one of paper napkins instead. 

ink travels faster on a wet surface and she’s transfixed as it begins to spread. 

only for the napkin and her masterpiece to disappear under a plate of fries as the waitress starts placing her order on the table. haneul manages a quiet “that was fast-- thank you--” before the woman is off again to fetch the rest. 

“hey, cash-- how fast can you finish an entire plate of fries without choking?”