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hanging limbs jolt awake, idle eyes moving from one clue to another. a pair of battered calves, the toes of a worker's boots, rust spreading like mold on a wheel's rim. why does she know this place? she's seeing it all like through binoculars. foreign, and faraway. one hand comes into view, fingers graze the skin of what seems like a forearm, concealed in a dress' many folds. his warmth is her third fall, her call to consciousness. that is her own hand leaving a disturbed trail on his skin. words fail to form and remain a long, dismayed moan.

jieun knows her legs won't sustain her, but she despises the feeling of his fingers lodged in the crevices of her ribs, of breathing along with him. he feels too alive; there's nothing soothing about a beating heart. it is only maddening, that rhythm.

" mhmm... sit. " jieun finds one of his hands and pats it with her own, slurring slightly. " please. sit. " her body is taking longer and longer to reset, each time she wakes up. " i want to sit. "

once her proximity concern is addressed, she immediately crumples, head in her hands. " what do i do now? " she's not ready to give up her passenger-seat life. jieun peeks at the truck driver, hoping he'll have her answer. but he's impervious, to her tears, her blood. just like the broken feather she pulls from her hair. she realizes she could never explain this to him, to anyone. " i have nowhere to go. " no longer an angel, no longer a daughter, she is no one.

the  deer  in  headlights  bares  her  teeth,  and  wesley  just  stands  there  and  takes  it,  a  silent  husk,  grim  expression  baring  no  sorrow  or  hurt.  he's  used  to  this  kind  of  bitter  challenge.  actually,  he's  used  to  much  worse;  aching  bones  had  grown  around  the  splinter  of  a  steel-toed  boot,  baptized  in  blood  and  anger  until  he'd  learned  to  make  a  shadow  of  himself.  most  of  the  time,  he  probably  deserved  it.  in  this  way,  he  supposes  he  deserves  whatever  vitriol  this  stranger  lashes  out,  too.

the  only  one  who  ever  wanted  him  around  is  gone  now.

but  she's  wrong,  to  think  her  hurt  doesn't  matter.  to  think  method  and  torturer  inconsequential  for  the  sake  of  the  wound.  she's  wrong  to  think  wesley  might  absolve  himself  of  anything;  sinner  born  wrong  and  left�� to  desecration,  he  could  never  be  a  martyr,  but  it  certainly  wasn't  for  lack  of  trying.

it  matters  to  wes  if  he  was  the  one  to  deal  the  blow,  if  his  rot  had  somehow  leeched  the  life  from  her.  he  wants  to  know  if  she,  too,  is  a  victim  of  this  soil.  (  even  if  he  were  the  leaving  type,  he  wouldn't  have  anywhere  to  go.  )

he  feels  her  gaze  piercing  through  him  when  she  nears,  eyes  clouded  by  pain  but  still  keenly  observant.  it's  a  trait  he  carries  himself,  borne  of  necessity  in  a  dire  realm  -  so  he  sees  her  sway  before  she  falters.  takes  a  slow  step  forward  as  she  catches  herself  on  the  rusted  hood  of  his  father's  truck.  the  lilt  of  her  warning  is  what  really  pushes  him  into  motion,  though,  and  he  surges  forward  to  keep  her  from  collapsing  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  her  blood  drenches  his  shirt  enough  that  it  sticks  to  his  stomach.

"alright."  she  hardly  weighs  anything,  not  to  someone  accustomed  to  hauling  equipment  and  toiling  in  the  fields.  "hey,  now.  best  stay  awake,  c'mon.  this is  a  bad  place  to  die."

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which tragic character from ancient greek literature are you?

cassandra

you are cassandra from the trojan women by euripides and agamemnon by aeschylus. people have tried to silence you one too many times, but you are resilient. your own dignity and agency have always come first, but at a great cost. you know yourself and your inner strength, but that won't ever stop you from feeling completely alone in the world. sometimes simply enduring the pain won't be enough, no matter how hard you want it to be. above all, you must never lose your unwavering hope in mankind, even as the world forsakes you. it is what keeps you human.

tagged by @griefpains ˙ᵕ˙

tagging @miidnighters @daemonry @soulmissed

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. . . SOME ARE WORSE THAN OTHERS. viewer discretion is advised.

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This is how we always make up. As if nothing happened. I feel like we shouldn't do that this time.

NEVERTHELESS, episode 5

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" drinks? oh! " she tugs on her backpack, fishing out three cans of soda, and a christmas green and red can. " which one would you rather have? " that's when she notices the alcoholic beverage in her lineup, eyes widening faster than airbags. " except that one. that one's not for kids. " jieun shoves the heineken right back from where it came from. " we've only got room temp sprite, root beer or dr. pepper. sorry about that. "

his guarded stance begins to falter, growing limbs easing into the soft mat. she remembers the days of hanging out at a friend's house and being too shy to ask for snacks -- she's glad august is able to use his voice with her. " your dad seems like a cool guy. my parents didn't let me eat unhealthy food. " and obviously, she's now compensating.

august grins and continues to gnaw at the beef jerky. completely content to fill his belly. kind of her to share her picnic with him. (had the boy been less guarded, less paranoid, he’d explain what a total grind his week was. scavenging old trash bins. sleeping fitfully upon pavement.)

“ my dad thinks junk food can be a fun treat. so long as you don’t give yourself a stomachache. ” present tense. like telling a story. like a pretend game. with name introductions, he straightens a leg out. a brief, subtle effort at relaxing. “ jieun. ” he repeats, his southern drawl prominent. “ i’m august. ” the drowsy-eyed dog prompts an endeared chuckle.

copper gaze fixates toward blanket, the assortment of snack foods. his throat made parched. “ did you buy anythin’ to drink with the snacks? ‘m thirsty. ”

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her smile is like a bouquet of daisies then, jieun has trouble focusing on anything but those peachy lips, constantly beaming at her. whenever poppy's head lifts from her notebook, she regrets having to look away. it's what had compelled her to take a picture the first time, struck by that inevitable radiance.

still, she's not quite sure where she even got the guts to walk up to her and offer a print. sometimes she feels like she'd have a better life, if only she could borrow a full set of organs from some innocent extrovert. hopefully she doesn't hear about a disemboweled body being found on the news. telling a pretty girl she's pretty really shouldn't be that hard.

as they continue on the path, jieun says none of that, relying instead on small talk. " so, i'm curious, what do you do? do you work? study? " just looking at her, she doesn't have any obvious guess. although model wouldn't surprise her. see? it's not that hard.

they soon reach the house of countless butterflies; there's so many of them flying about that you can hear their light flutters. quiet but astonishing. " wow, they're everywhere ! " she says with the enthusiasm of a 5 year old meeting superman. a night blue species is resting on a petal nearby, she rushes closer, trying not to scare the tiny thing. " doesn't this one look so unreal? "

In the beginning, Poppy feels bad for slowing them down to stop and look at every little thing that catches her eye. At the same time, that's exactly why they're here. Jieun doesn't seem upset about it, in any case, so Poppy really shouldn't be either.

She pulls her notebook out to answer the questions, grinning the whole while. I do get a lot of poppies, she answers wryly. But I like daises, actually. Anything that feels happy like that.

Then - the butterfly lands, and Poppy all but holds her breath to make sure she doesn't disturb it. A few minutes pass before it flits away and she looks at the photos Jieun has taken, grinning hugely.

They look great, she assures, pulling out her own hone to have on hand so that she can take pictures of the other at the drop of a hat too. I'm really excited. I can't wait to see them.

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the crust flakes delicately under his teeth, revealing sticky chunks of softened apples glistening and golden. sweeter than the pastry coating his mouth, is the hum that escapes it. jieun has to fight her own lips, pulled at by smugness on both sides. a tug of war she loses miserably. ' thanks, isaac. ' seeing him enjoy the sweet treat from the side almost felt like watching an ad. the trees heavy with fruit in the background, only out-shined by a delicious bite of the product. what's missing is a truly wholesome voiceover of the company's slogan; like nothing beats mom's apple pie ! or grandmother approved ! jieun wonders how many pie contests isaac's mother has won, it must be quite competitive around here. she's never gone to a country show but she's heard they have all sorts of contests. who has the biggest pig, the biggest pumpkin... she wonders if they're still a regular thing or some relic of the past. it sounds fun, like a farmer's market on steroids -- or should she say fertilizer.

" hey, i'm here to help, with trees, recipes, anything ! just happy to be here, really. my mom makes this cold noodle dish that's really nice on a hot day. i was planning to make some for dinner, if you'd like to eat with me. her recipes are kinda hard to follow at first: she only measures things in spoons and handfuls. " all about the ratio. jieun retrieves her plastic bag and stuffs it in her lunch box, along with her tupperware. she doesn't want to laze around too much now that isaac's here. time to get back to work. " and don't worry, it's not spicy at all. i'm not the best with spice. "

Isaac grins, taking the bag she extends to fish one of the dumpling-pies from the bag and take a bite.

Swapping out the sugar does wonders, and he lets out a pleased noise as the taste dances on his tongue.

"These are great," He praises once he's swallowed the bite and doesn't have to worry about being rude. "You can have the pie recipe, I don't mind. My Grandma would probably turn over in her grave, but my Ma was putting it in country shows while I was growin' up so I'm not sure it matters so much."

He passes the bag back so he can lean against the platform, popping the rest of the treat in his mouth.

"You don't have to give me anything in exchange, but I'll appreciate your family recipes if you pass any of 'em over. I might end up askin' for some help to make 'em though, so be warned."

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˙ᵕ˙ / ooc. no matter how grown and reliable, jieun will always want to baby her romantic partners and good friends a little bit. she'll insist on giving them a ride, even if they don't need it. they pick the music! she'll cook them freezer meals during a stressful period of their life. she loves cutting short hair, or braiding, dyeing if it's long. or even just stroking it, if close enough to the person. if she's picking up food, whether it's at a restaurant or at a store it's never just for herself. there's a lot of "don't you like this stuff?" and she's right!! they like this stuff!! jieun has a lot of fun playing dress-up and going out for a little photoshoots as well. ˙ᵕ˙ gentle touches, a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the head. she wants people to feel taken care of.

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what kind of love are you?

love as a flaw.

Cowering, your love hides in the dark. In shadows and under cover of night, your love runs from corner to corner, afraid to linger, afraid to be caught. Afraid, afraid, afraid of everything.

When you fall in love, it is with alarm bells ringing. Your love is a mistake, a flaw in the code, a purchase you don’t remember making and desperately want to return. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want this. It’s a problem–– your problem ––and you would do anything to pass it off, burn it away, scoop it out of you with bare hands, or carved out with hooked knives before it can destroy you. Get it out, just get it out now. You don’t care who you hurt in the process, only that you can’t afford to be hurt first.

Being loved by you is to be loved by a figment of the imagination. It is to be loved in halves, or not at all.

tagged by : @griefpains

tagging : @daemonry @miidnighters

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unfamiliar with the second floor, tara's first question has jieun looking every which way. pretty quickly she locks in on a dilapidated cement wall at the back. past and upcoming event posters barely cling to the porous surface. on its own the location is plain, which tara would make up for where there really no other options, but what she really wants is the deeply unnatural glow from the blacklights she couldn't find downstairs. if she's lucky, her glitter girl will become iridescent.

' i'm jieun, ' she says, the hand on her chest vibrating from her own loudness. taking off the photographer's mask, it was a first that night. ' thank you ! for being my model. if it's fine, we'll just go over there, ' she points ' with the purple lights. ' jieun offers an open hand, so they can cross the crowd without splitting up.

she's gotten pretty good at dodging loosely held drinks and finding the path of least hip resistance at this point. jieun looks back every ten seconds to make sure tara doesn't stumble or bump into oblivious clubbers. sometimes people look fine until they take a couple steps. she's definitely not at her steadiest either, but she's a serious drunk; she'll cry before she faceplants. she'll definitely cry if she faceplants, considering she's got around 10 thousand dollars strapped to her neck. it's always been a weird compulsive thought of hers, like standing at the edge of a bridge and wanting to jump. nothing ever happens, though. they cross safely.

' here, you just have to stand in that corner. and give me your best poses. ' jieun reaches for her film camera. four shots left. she might as well dedicate them all to tara and retire film for the rest of the night. she slides her glasses up her head and brings the camera to her eye, making quick adjustments. she's cheesing a little too hard once tara comes into focus. ' wow ! okay tara, whenever you're ready ! '

out  on  the  dance  floor,  there's  no  such  thing  as  personal  space;  there  is  only  the  heat,  and  rhythm,  a  sea  of  bodies  swaying  to  the  beat.  tara's  sweating  glitter  as  she  dances.  she  throws  her  hands  up,  but  the  song's  already  bleeding  into  the  next  -  and  the  next,  and  the  next,  until  she  can't  distinguish  the  thud  of  the  bass  from  her  own  racing  pulse.  all  the  world  is  a  flash  of  brilliant  neon  color.

at  the  bar  where  he  anxiously  hovers,  teddy  catches  every  shade  of  blue.

eventually,  she  takes  pity  on  her  poor  classmate.  after  all,  he  wouldn't  be  here  at  all  if  it  weren't  for  her;  she'd  coaxed  him  out  of  hiding,  ignoring  every  excuse  about  their  oncoming  exams,  promising  him  he'd  have  a  good  time.  she  put  the  nail  in  the  coffin  with  a  pout  and  an  honest  i  don't  wanna  go  alone!

but  the  poor  guy  just  isn't  built  for  all  the  chaos,  and  she  knows  it.  he's  much  more  comfortable  once  they  slip  upstairs;  here,  where  it's  quieter  he  starts  to  ease  into  conversations.  tara's  all  too  happy  to  steer  him  towards  new  people.  by  the  time  the  photographer  finds  them,  she's  already  gathered  a  new  group  of  acquaintances,  and  she's  giggling  through  all  the  poses,  leaning  on  a  stranger  like  they're  long  lost  friends.  (  she  wants  a  copy  of  the  photo  where  teddy  has  his  arm  around  her.  )

she  doesn't  think  anything  of  it  when  the  photographer  singles  her  out;  in  fact,  she's  happy  to  follow  and  pose  for  a  few  more  pictures.  especially  when  the  girl  behind  the  lens  is  so  stunning.

"okay,  where  are  we  going?"  she  asks  only  after  she's  already  stepped  aside.  she  hasn't  even  asked  what  the  pictures  are  for  yet,  but  that  will  come  eventually.  "my  name's  tara,  by  the  way  -  it's  great  to  meet  you!  what's  yours?"

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having the boy on her blanket feels like little chickadee feet perched on her handful of seeds. his trust is brittle.

jieun's fingers bumble with the wrapper of the chocolate cup, an oily film coating them once she manages to get it off. peeved, she pops the whole thing into her mouth, tongue pressing the candy into her palate. the peanut butter center oozes, sickly sweet and crumbly, just how she imagined. the kid then chimes in, also happy with his choice. ' eat as much as you like, okay ? ' not done chewing, she leans over, shooing the bag in his direction to make her point, before leaning back on her hands.

' i hope your dad isn't mad i'm feeding you snacks at this hour. ' she chuckles. ' but hey, it's not like you have to tell him. i won't tell if you don't. ' confirming her willingness to be his accomplice, jieun plucks a few chips from the hot cheetos bag. it doesn't mix very well with the remaining nuttiness, but again, it's a hit. ' what's your name, by the way? you can call me ji. eun. ' each syllable is accentuated, in case it's too unfamiliar. ' oh, and that's jjinppang. but you can just call him pang. or pang-ie. ' the dog perks up slightly, sleepy from the petting.

their game doesn’t go very long. the boy, however, ain’t disappointed. he stares at the dog collapsing into a fur heap. he’d much prefer the dog rest than push himself. august roams toward the large, comfy blanket and a friendly handout of snacks. his knees fold into his chest and copper eyes examine snack choices.

variety of treats. he was a bit hesitant in eating. until she started opening baggies and packs. (the kid picks beef jerky. he wagers a careful bite. the dried meat strips were tough, tasty.) he remarks, “ i love beef jerky. you’ve gotta be careful, though. it’s tough. ” his gaze flickers to the candy. reese’s. great choice. with his other hand, he softly pets lounging dog. a quiet period of snacking. “ my dad should be here soon. he has a shift at the grocery store. ” a gentle lie to keep the illusion he isn’t wholly alone.

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jieun converges to the light, obnubilated by the stark outline: it will take her back, however violent. she braces herself to shoulder the blow, but nothing comes, just a gnarly swerve. a second passes where she goes from cold to weak and clammy. her body still unfurls at the sound of a voice. against the halogen, she can't quite make out its owner, but rather than worry, she senses fear.

' does it matter who hurt me? ' a blotchy hand covers her eyes now. ' will you go on your way, if i say you didn't? ' gravel is boring into her feet, she shifts and shifts, wincing as she speaks. it's not a question -- it's a dare. people always take the out.

naked feet take a couple painful steps to reach the open door. behind it, she finds a man who clearly belongs to this desolate, dusty place. his gaze moves slowly, and she can't find the shine in his eyes. one of her arms reaches hastily for the car. ' i think? i'm about to fall... again. ' is all she can get out before her vision goes black, half smile fading.

sun-bleached  flies  stick  like  putty  to  the  dashboard.  a  rusted-out  old  truck  roars  down  back  roads  that  seem  to  circle,  spitting  up  gravel  like  jagged  teeth;  when  a  chip  flies  up  and  cracks  the  window,  the  man  inside  doesn't  flinch  or  falter.  he  doesn't  react  at  all.  his  foot  sits  heavy  on  the  pedal.

he  just  might  be  dead,  too.

the  fields  around  him  echo  with  a  scream,  and  he  thinks  it's  a  coyote  at  first.  it  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  they'd  snuck  through  the  darkness;  wesley  had  chased  them  off  the  property  before,  had  built  new  fences  for  the  chickens,  woke  with  rotted  flesh  torn  in  the  shape  of  their  feast.  maybe  this  was  one  more  way  the  land  would  try  to  keep  him.

he  eases  up  on  the  gas  just  in  case.  it's  a  good  thing,  too  -  because  a  second  later,  a  person  comes  barreling  out  from  the  corn,  like  a  stray  bolting  out  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  quick  slam  on  the  brakes  stops  inevitable  collision.  but  she's  still  bleeding.  he  can  see  it  run  thick  rivers  down  her  back,  and  before  he  knows  it,  he's  throwing  the  car  in  park  and  reaching  for  the  door  handle.

"y'alright?"  he  calls  out  as  his  boots  meet  the  gravel.  the  monotone  of  his  voice  doesn't  sound  like  a  question.  "i  didn't  hurt  you,  now  did  i?"