triggered.

“He saw the kind of beauty yellow flowers have growing over a carpet of dead leaves. The beauty of cracks forming a mosaic in a dry riverbed—

[clairehuu]

CLAIRE HU — ★ 

Journalist / Your friendly neighborhood demon ahem–gal pal

LIKE/REBLOG for a new friend 

literate - 18+ - original character

[taraxacumis]

[taraxacumis]

DIVINEFCX.

Hello from Woojung, for @taraxacumis​

   “Did you just say I was cute? I heard you, you said I was cute! What’s your name? Do you, uh, want to be friends?” The other said no such thing, completely flustered by Woojung’s outburst but truth was, said male noticed something was wrong, he saw the trembling. And he wanted to distract them as much as possible.

imaginative, this kid is. sarang adores cute things (secretively, of course) but she does not call cute things cute. ever. he—whoever he is—is the farthest thing from her muddled mind. his appearance is but a fleeting thought, blurred and contorted by odd visions. there’s a tingling in her fingertips and a muted buzzing in her ears vying for her attention. the numbness is relieved by purposeful trembling of the hands, the faint ringing is invincible. “in your dreams,” she comments dully, focus drawn to a point beyond him. she’s busy (mentally). too engrossed in what’s not there. she’d be gone if not for his voice.

shut up, she wants to say. because silence is what she needs, a moment alone to process. that’s why she’s alone. nothing is what she does say because he’s still rambling on and asking senseless questions as if she cares. the forgotten cigarette pinched between her fingers is but a limp log of burning ashes that flutter leisurely to the ground like swirling snow. she’s not supposed to be smoking, but, then again, she’s not. the flicker of a lighter, the clench of a cotton-like filter, it’s all done merely as a distraction. going through the motions helps.

trouble is an entirely different matter to consider when she’s currently struggling to gather her senses. rather than the languid curl of smoke, a curt, “you’re annoying,” expels from between her tightly pressed lips. her patience is quick to wear itself thin.

he appears to be jittery, unnecessarily antsy and enthusiastic. too hyper, too happy, too unaware of basic social clues. annoying. her mind entertains the image of squashing him beneath the heel of her boot, heavy and unforgiving in its descent. sadly, humans do not possess an exoskeleton so she won’t get to see his bones snap without the obstruction of skin and flesh. it’s shameful, really, when she’s feeling so sadistic. so angry and alarmingly morose. instead, she settles for the destruction of a finished cigarette. lets it fall to the cement before harshly scrubbing it into nothingness with her sole. a sanction is one thing, a sentencing is another.

a small spread of finely cut tobacco is the only reminder of her indulgence in a disgustingly, bad habit. it does not last long before a whirling breeze sweeps it away. the extinguished bud she stoops to pick up, tucks back into the pocket of her jacket to later dispose of properly. “if you’re looking for a friend, you’re barking up the wrong tree. i’m not interested.” then, to drive the point home, she fixes him with a scrutinizing gaze and adds coldly, “not even the slightest bit.”

[taraxacumis]

@HCPPIE. (send ☔ for our muses to share an umbrella on a rainy day.)

The popular streets of Hongdae district gradually lost its charm as the heavy rain approached without notice. Albie who was on her way back to the dormitories was stuck under the cold breeze and downpour of the sky’s angst to the world. She clenched her umbrella tightly as her feet hurriedly rattled onto the dampen ground, running towards the full bus stop. Only a few meters left, she stopped her feet when she saw another stranded soul. Worry began to color her face, eventually approached the other. “Are you going to the bus stop too? Do you want to go with me? The last bus will arrive any minute now.” 

it isn’t until the sky opens up—bursts, is a better description (like a broken dam)—to dispel its tears that sarang realizes she is stupid. so very stupid. the rain comes suddenly, abrupt and without notice, in quick pelts and heavy sheets that quickly slicken the roads and empty the streets of chattering busybodies. the clouds, heavy, dark, and looming overhead, should have been hint enough of an upcoming shower, but she, in a haste to follow an anonymous tip, ignores the obvious signs until after it happens. and as swiftly as she had deserted her home to begin a (fruitless) journey sans umbrella, the search is lost within the incessant downpour. wiped away by water and whirling winds. she is no dog, though she doubts even a hound could follow in these conditions. even with its nose pressed to the ground. 

the storm does not appear to be preparing to let up any time soon. so she is stuck, upset and frustrated, standing beneath the awning of a nearby store with an ugly scowl plastered on her face. what a waste. she hates rain. it evokes harsh memories and she wonders if the roof of her home is leaking once more. the floor will be ruined, a voice whispers in her ear. it only serves to worsen her already sour mood.

drenched in an aura dark enough to rival that of the sky, sarang is surprised (though not pleasantly) when a curious woman wanders into her vision, fingers clenched around the handle of an umbrella, alive with misplaced concern for her well-being. her stony gaze flickers over to the bus stop, crowded with people itching to get out of the rain. the thought of clamoring onto a tiny bus, cramped between wet umbrellas, wet shoes, and wet clothing is not an appealing idea. in fact, she dreads it. but this opportunity seems to be the only one available and getting home is an endeavor best done sooner than later. “i wasn’t planning on it,” admits sarang. “but since you’re offering, i won’t say no.”

slowly, she peels her body off the wall, cups a hand around her eyes to protect her face from the rain urged into diagonal patterns by strong winds. she withdraws from her safe haven to find solace beneath the small canopy of the stranger’s umbrella. as expected, the space isn’t large enough to accommodate both adults and shield them from the downpour with a comfortable space between them. sarang finds herself oddly close to the woman, shoulders brushing with each movement. it's awkward. “we should hurry before the storm gets worse,” she says, eager to weasel her way out of this situation as quickly as possible. thank you goes unsaid.

[taraxacumis]

*whispers too* bullshit

[illuminosity]

moon: it is a tragedy, yes? that you have all the light in the galaxy to offer, while i may only reflect yours? / sun: but dear moon, i am lonely, i am poison to the touch. too often the ones i love come away with burns. if you dream, dream to be the stars, for mortals send up their dearest wishes and secrets to the stars. / stars: envy us not, we are but pinholes against the canvas of the sky. envy the moon, the center of the masterpiece, the sovereign of the wolves and the tides and the night.

“celestial dialogue”, paperharbors (via illuminosity)

[taraxacumis]

KNGYZ.

[...]         Usually light steps were heavy, slow, returning to the living room, taking a seat at a chair, leaning onto the work plate of the kitchen island, the only seperation from cooking area to living room, words from seconds ago haunting her mind. Deserving in comparison to wanting. Blankly she stared at the door of her fridge, watched the reflection in grey metal, slowly blinking her eyes. ”But I don’t want anything…“ Because the thing she wanted most, she could never have, and the little wishes inbetween, they were all taken care of, fulfilled by herself, she didn’t desire a lot, was used to giving rather than taking, there was nothing she could request for. ”What I can’t have, I shouldn’t want.“ It sounded so simple, yet she found herself wishing for certain things in the evening, the nights she woke up with a nightmare in winter, the evenings she remembered the starry sky she was looking at as teenager, using her brother as a pillow, getting told about legends about the stars. Those weren’t things she could have anymore, nothing she could wish for, thus, as simple as it was, nothing she should desire.         ”What do you desire, Sarang?“ Her eyes travelled on, searched for her friend, watching her movements silently, still digesting the words cursed at her earlier. They made her feel bad, made her body ache, nothing she could understand, leaving her somewhat apathic, a miserable action to get away from the hurt.

she has the worst of intentions when she speaks. her words, brutal as they are, are meant to pierce hearts, to wither healthy blossoms of false securities and shove the unwanted dirt of reality into the face of those who turn blind to it. yuzi has yet to grow immune to it, and, perhaps (in some bittersweet, twisted fantasy), that is why sarang stays. because her sharp tongue is stronger than any weapon she has ever wielded in battle, makes her feel more powerful than silver bullets and wooden stakes combined. to watch the woman’s expression crumbled into something utterly dispirited, she isn’t afraid to admit she feels no remorse. some things have to be said. the retreating form of the woman is ignored. instead, she focuses on the damp tissues that break apart beneath her restless fingers, rubbing holes into the weakened material.

no longer obstructed from moving into the kitchen by yuzi, sarang wanders into the area rather slowly, eyes glued to the tiled floor. albeit meticulously clean, it reminds her of a previous visit, of spilled liquid and hastily dropped bottles. it’s a simple thought that comes to her as she drops tea-soaked napkins into the trash. she is peeling bits of tissues from her drying palm when the other returns, taking a seat, ready to return to conversation immediately. “who cares what you shouldn’t want. if you want it, you want it. it’s okay to want things,” she comments, sidling from trashcan to sink to watch her hands. the faucet squeaks when the knob is turned, then water quickly floods into the little basin. she is forced to speak louder to be heard over the rush of water. “there’s nothing wrong with speaking about it.”

the knob is turned once more and she gives her hands a minute shake before burrowing them into the fabric of her shirt, transferring wetness. sarang is neither stupid, nor is she blind. and although the burdens that weigh the heaviest upon the shoulders of people tend to be those without physical manifestations, she can see that something is tearing yuzi apart from the inside. she turns from the sink to eye the other intently, almost knowingly. “you’re deflecting again,” she scolds. her fingers glide across cold granite, the edge digs into her palms when she leans back, pressing uncomfortably into her spine. but she does not move. “what do i desire?” sarang asks, as if allowing the woman the opportunity to take back her words. then, all too hurried, she answers, “peace. or an escape, at the very least. i’m not sure. i haven’t given it any thought.” does that make her a hypocrite?

[taraxacumis]

PIJICHU.

alcohol is a drug.  alcohol is a drug.  alcohol is bad. alcohol is–

flushed cheeks scorched by liquid fire, lights that swim before her as she struggles to break the surface with fumbling arms that suddenly seem so heavy. she hates the taste that settles on her tongue, caustic and venomous as her glass tips back (and what number is it? she’d lost count the moment it touched her lips).  but it’s okay, she reassures herself, because no one here recognizes her so it’s okay to be human. alcohol is a drug.

when she stumbles onto the street no one casts a glance her way. no one hears how vigorously her heart’s pounding against her chest as she presses numbed hands to her forehead and exhales.  get your shit together, kim jisoo. everything stops mid-ripple for her to squint out the words on her phone as she finds a name and hits dial.  the wait is insufferably long.

hello? “unnie.” unnie, i did a bad thing. you won’t be proud of me. unnie, your little sheep- “unnie, i’m scared.  please…can you come get me?” words swim. swimming, until she remembers to press the phone to her ear. unnie, alcohol is a drug.  did you know that? and i let it drown me.

sleep is difficult to come by when plagued by insomnia. it arrives without announcement, swiftly dragging her into the land of dreams at the most inopportune of times because fatigue does have its peak and a body can only fight so hard. the years have taught sarang to take what she can get whenever she can get it.

sharp pulses of powerful vibrations travel through cotton fabric and coiled springs straight into her heart. it shocks her, jolting her into hazy awareness, yanking her from the calming embrace of unconsciousness. save for the small sliver of light cast from the brightened screen of her vibrating cellphone, the room is swathed in stiff shadows. eyes lazily searching the perimeters of the room for any impending threats, she is able to make out the soft edges of furniture in the darkness but not much more. she is tired, tired, tired. and that stupid device continues to buzz without restraint, preventing a reunion with sleep until she rolls over to address the issue directly.

the screen is bright enough to shoot pain behind her weakened eyes, causing her to squint in discomfort. ‘jisoo,’ it reads in notification of an incoming call, yet to cease its vibrations. her finger hovers over the “end call” button with intentions of ignoring any social interaction in attempt of returning back to sleep, before she decides against it. maybe it’s important. it better be, she thinks as she answers. “hello?” she murmurs drowsily, syllables drizzled like thick syrup (not nearly as sweet). in answer, she receives languid words spoken from... a distance? whether fueled by guilt or paranoia, she fails to make the distinction of the girl’s tone. “jisoo. jisoo, what did you do this time?”

really, she should not care. after all, there is so little to care about these days. then again, maybe she’s afraid to admit that she is able to care, to worry and be concerned about someone who isn’t herself. calls like these are rare. and something about jisoo being scared makes her queasy.

beneath her bed, hidden by falling frills along the edge of the frame, is a forgotten trunk. heavy and covered in accumulating dust. sarang struggles to recall the last time she cracked it open; days, weeks–or has it been months? instinct urges her from bed to crouch down and slide the large thing from its hiding place. the locked clasps open without complaint and she lifts the top easily. she skips rummaging through the contents and settles on withdrawing the first item her fingers graze, which she hurriedly tucks behind her belt at her back. always be prepared.

“i’m going to come and get you, alright? so tell me where you are?” she instructs, navigating rather efficiently towards the door in the darkness of her home with her phone pressed between ear and shoulder. aided by experience, it takes seconds for her to be made suitable for outside adventures: boots laced tightly, jacket on and zipped closed, keys dangling from her fingers. sarang is in a rush, unsure of whether jisoo will be able to remain out of trouble until she arrives. “i need you to stay on the line with me, okay? i’m leaving now.” the door is locked and pulled shut behind her and then she is on autopilot. so much for sleep. 

[taraxacumis]

[taraxacumis]

pijichu.

[…]

sometimes silences can speak more than the words that come before them- she thinks of that now, gaze steadied onto the latter’s face. sarang pauses a beat too long for mere contemplation, and she knows there’s an unspoken conversation that’s meant to proceed it. if only she could hear it.

there’s no surprise or discomfort when the distance between them bleeds out from the hands that seek out to her. she’s always liked it when people touch her hair; it makes her sleepy, lashes dipping as if she’s slipped into a trance.  “but you see them, don’t you? the stars. it’s not a graveyard, they’re ghosts. friends. the sun commands the planets, and the moon’s never alone.”

she doesn’t turn her head when she responds, voice as light as the cold air kissing her skin. “does anything ever really make sense?”

visions of rolling deep, verdant green hills fill her thoughts. her eyes fall victim to images of fluffy, white clouds floating leisurely within a still sea of cerulean skies, sliding shut to delve wholeheartedly into the illusion. unlike the breeze of the present (of reality), the coolness will be welcome, a feather-light kiss of cold to break aggravating humidity–a result of the sun’s warm, suffocating embrace. completely and totally alive with not a worry in the world beyond that of securing small desires. a beautiful, beautiful dream only mildly ruined by the aspect of roaming the hillsides as a ruminant mammal wrapped in thick wool.

nevertheless, “retirement sounds good,” she comments, volume barely above that of a whisper. anything is better than nothing. her fingers, gentle and careful, continue to languidly travel through jisoo’s hair, subtly massaging against the girl’s scalp. the rhythm is soothing, repeated without thought throughout her preoccupation. eyelids still sealed shut, she feels rather than sees the shivers that scamper across the other’s body, prompting concern from her, “are you getting cold? i bet jellyfish don’t get cold… even if they do happen to get eaten by turtles.”

their closeness sparks a sense of familiarity within sarang. a feeling that renders her momentarily immobile whilst she ponders. it scratches the surface of buried recollections, hidden beneath misconstrued anger and quick-to-rise emotions. at this moment, the frigid wind is not the only entity to pierce her tough exterior, to shatter the hardened glass and seep beneath the sturdy structure of a mold constructed to protect. she becomes vulnerable when beside jisoo, broken into revealing pieces–that reflect the deepest, darkest fragments of her soul–by childish conversation, intimate touches, and one-sided happiness.

slowly, her vision clears as her eyelids flutter open, splatters of sparkling dots in the now darkened sky like spilled glitter. not at all similar to pasty apparitions and flow-y transparent sheets that go boo! thankfully. night has closed in on them, and soon they will be forced away from this connecting moment, thrown back into the bitter, unforgiving grasp of reality. she struggles to identify whether it is disappointment or satisfaction that she feels as their end draws near. “something that unmistakably makes sense: ghosts are creepy. i fucking hate ghosts,“ sarang proclaims, hands falling back to her knees.

“i think you’ve just successfully ruined stars for me,“ very briefly, she pauses, leaning forward to observe the girl with a judgmental gaze, apparently just as disapproving about ghosts as jisoo had been about jellyfish. “who would ever compare stars to ghosts? weird. all the same, the sun is a star among stars. the moon is… different.”

[ada-tan]

Symbol Starters~

Send ☔ for our muses to share an umbrella on a rainy day.

Send 📱 for my muse to send yours a random text.

Send 📞 for my muse to call yours.

Send ✞ for our muses to meet in an empty church.

Send ⚔ to challenge my muse to a duel.

Send 😢 for my muse to comfort you.

Send 🌸 to receive flowers from my muse.

Send ☁ for our muses to watch the clouds together.

Send ⌚ to ask my muse what time it is.

Send ℃ for my muse to discuss the temperature with yours.

Send 👻 to tell ghost stories with my muse.

Send 🐩 to play with my muse’s pet (or have my muse play with yours).

Send 😘 to see my muse’s reaction to yours flirting with them.

Send 💅 to do my muse’s nails.

Send 🐎 for our muses to go horse riding together.

Send 📺 for our muses to have a TV/movie night.

Send 🍸 for our muses to have a drink together.

Send 💪 for our muses to workout together.

Send 💤 to wake my muse up from their nap.

Send 🍔 for our muses to have lunch together.

Send 💢 for my muse to get mad at yours for something they did.

Send 😓 for my muse to apologize to yours for something they did.

Send 💖 for my muse to tell yours who they currently have a crush on.

Send 💘 for my muse to ask yours who they have a crush on.

Send 💋 to randomly kiss my muse.

Send 🎃 to carve pumpkins with my muse.

Send 🎁 for my muse to give yours a gift.

[taraxacumis]

kngyz.

       ❅           Honestly, seeing Sarang suddenly grin at her, expression mischievous, it made her lean back on her seat, wanting to get out of reach, sometimes not knowing how to deal with the other woman. It felt as if she wanted Yuzi to break all her rules, to let go of her manners, forget about her routines, make her into more of a free spirit, something deemed impossible for herself. Growing up with rules and regulations, even this much was difficult for her, skipping her practice times to go meet friends, it was a guilt-trip with her own conscience, latter obvious even now, urged to cover her face behind her hands, staring at the reflection in the mirror over her fingertips.        “I won’t wear them”, she answered, simple as it was, just to make sure getting up already, escaping towards the sales room with careful steps, fleeing the sense of approaching danger, the risk of getting stuck into those pants. Not even the company stylists would put her into such clothes, her dance teachers would go crazy with it, dumping it instantly, all she knew about clothes she know from them, only used to training attire and school uniforms before her move, otherwise dressed by her mother, used to dealing with her struggles.

sarang makes to object to yuzi’s blatant refusal, lurching forward with a hand outstretched, a “but!” squeezing from her throat in a quiet squeak of protest. but the woman is swift, abandoning her seat to vacate the fitting room in mere seconds; there one moment and gone the next. a lot faster than any calculated phrase of persuasion can be produced or uttered. mildly disappointed, she groans when the other vanishes from sight, previously risen hand falling back to her side to dangle uselessly. “boring,” she sings monotonously, reminiscent of yuzi’s inability to ever truly release inhibitions, no matter how harmless. it gets tiring attempting to force it.

when she turns, it is to the image of a hideously-dressed reflection, eyes dull (weighed down by dark, looming circles) and tightly drawn mouth obscured by smudges that resemble fingers and palms smeared across the mirror. beyond that of clothing, her appearance is concerning: body stricken with fatigue, unhappiness clear when she isn’t trying to hide it. she knows well enough to look away before it can settle in.

the humor is no longer there, so she returns to her previously occupied stall to change. once the curtain slides shut behind her, she is a flurry of tugging and pulling, nearly toppling over in her haste to undress and redress in order to catch up with yuzi. the pants are folded neatly and tossed back onto their hanger with the intent of purchase. one way or another, she is going to get the strait-laced woman to loosen up. even if only for a tiny fragment of the day.

she leaves the fitting room with brisk steps, mind a-turning with devious schemes, attire moderately disheveled. briefly, sarang wonders if it shows on her face as she meanders her way around various racks of clothing and chattering customers to rejoin her friend. “you’re so stuffy, you know that?” she comments absentmindedly, settling into step beside yuzi, hand digging into her pocket in search of money. “we should have a drink. what do you think about that?”

sarang can warrant a guess. nonetheless, she asks anyway. her fingers close around a flattened heap of crumbled bills, which she pulls from the tight confines of her jeans. the rumpled notes nearly tear as they are straightened and pulled apart.  “i think we should have a drink. maybe get a little fun into you.” the proposal is punctuated by a piercing glare that says i won’t be taking no for an answer. it is clear that there is no room left for objection.

[taraxacumis]

strcng3r.

When wearing long sleeved shirts and turtle necks, one would think every aspect of Sunny looked human, but upon closer inspection; she looks almost alien. Perfect porcelain skin. Barely visible lines at every joint. She looks around and feels completely alone, despite the company sat on the other side of the table. Her eyes inch back to the other, gaze too naturally intense to be considered normal. ❝Are you my friend?❞ She asks, an almost fragile edge to the question. This is AI003, able to manipulate even herself into thinking she is just like everyone else until the right situation comes along and she looses all sense of good and evil. No… not a she. Sunny Kwon is an it and one would do well to remember such a fact. 

steadily, a stream of sugar spill from its pale-colored packet into the steaming liquid of her coffee. tiny grains sink to the bottom of the mug, disappearing in a sea of cream and cinnamon. sarang keeps a watchful eye on sunny, intrigued by the woman's silence, interested in the discomfort that seems to envelope her. those round eyes are shifty, strangely adventurous before coming to settle on sarang. there's a odd power swirling in hazel irises that enchants, seemingly capable of reading the hidden soul. it makes her wary. "hm. i don't know. is this your way of saying you want to be friends?" she questions, setting aside the empty packet of sugar to obtain another. two is her maximum, today she is on three; tearing and pouring simply to busy the hands.

[taraxacumis]

@kxrbv. (”i’m personally offended that you didn’t get me to be your fake date.”)

“Aww sorry!” That line from the other made her instantly cling to her. She hugged her arm to her chest and nuzzled her shoulder. “I had to use someone they wouldn’t want to eat, but I love you a bunch.” Areum nodded her head and gave her girl a toothy grin, letting her arm go to just give her a full on hug. “Do you forgive me just this once?”

wrapped in the tight embrace of areum, she feels suffocated, arm squeezed tightly to the other’s body, a head propped heavily against her shoulder. it’s a sweet gesture, gentle and friendly, albeit much too affectionate. “who would want to eat me?” sarang questions, eyebrows drawing downward, nearly stitching together in confusion. she tugs away, though unable to completely tear out of that unyielding grasp, from the woman to stare down at her, unsettled by that wide grin that is unusually endearing. and areum continues to curl around her body like a starved boa constrictor, drawing impossibly close. admittedly, it takes quite a bit of effort on her end, but, eventually, she manages to wiggle free, going as far as to inch several steps back to avoid another choking hug. “you know i don’t forgive easily. you’ll have to make it up to me. and no more hugs! feels like you’re trying to squeeze my lungs out or something.”

[taraxacumis]

kngyz.

[…]       It made her feel highly confused, needing to think about it, trying to match the colors, her own wanton to not be burdensome, meaning to compare it to not deserving things, something she couldn’t fathom. Why she wouldn’t deserve things, why she was supposed to think like that, it was like a quiz, keeping her head busy, going to get some sweats for the other, a moist towel to clean the last traces of tea on bare skin, holding out the change of pants once she was back. “I’ll go wash them.”

by now (only seconds later), the warm liquid that dampens the material of her jeans is growing cold, no longer hot enough to scald but cool enough to cause mild discomfort. sarang lifts her body up from the futon, uncurls her legs from her body to rest her feet against the cold, wooden floor. each maneuver drawing a quiet squeak from the furniture. pillows fall following her movement, disturbed by her haste to stand when yuzi, as per usual, rushes to provide unneeded-—unwanted assistance. as if she is a child that needs to be coddled and fussed over because of a simple mistake. 

she cannot help the look of utter distaste that eases its way onto her face, lips coming together to purse in disgust. nevertheless, the tissues offered to her are received without verbal complaint, used to wipe away the loose drops of tea that had rolled down the edges of the mug during unscheduled turbulence. the woman’s response to sarang’s previous statement goes ignored. she does not bother to glance up from dabbing at the wet spot located just above the knee. “it’s fine,” she insists, crumpling tearing tissues in a clenched fist. “it’s not like i’m going to die because i spilled a little tea on myself.”

only with the sounding footsteps of yuzi’s departure does she finally look up, sighing in frustration. their conversations rarely got anywhere without interruption, typically by the spark of her short-temper. she travels toward the kitchen, careful not to knock over her still steaming mug in the process. unfortunately, as quickly as yuzi disappears, she is scurrying back into the room, holding out a pair of clean sweatpants and a moist towel. sarang refuses both items with a shake of the head. “seriously it’s fine. i'm not a child and i don't need another mother. you worry about others more than you worry about yourself. it's..."

at a lost of how to properly describe it, she waves her hands awkwardly, gesturing vaguely as half-formed words leave her mouth in whispers. there is so much to be said. so much to be addressed. in a hurry to get everything out, she settles on, "pitiful. and it's not about deserving in comparison to needing. it's about deserving in comparison to wanting," informs sarang in reference to yuzi's inquiry from moments before. "it's as if you don't want anything because you subconsciously don't think you deserve it."

[taraxacumis]

[myoimi-deactivated20180210]

ashes

ashes

we all fall down. 

                                        the grim reaper.

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