these violent delights, these tragic pleasures, defined by the delicacy of horror staining the soul of its victim. on the brink of catastrophic breakthrough but drowning in the sorrow of innocence defiled. put on a smile, darling, you can play pretend. - xo.
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margot let out a sputtered laugh and covered her mouth with her hand, shocking herself by the sound, and then followed with a clearing of her throat. she wasn't used to such frankness, but it amused her nonetheless. at least the shell of her.
“well i think i'm good on the clothes front,” she started, chuckling again, “but i've been putting off my bedding for far too long, and i had to pull out my duvet since the weather's getting colder. it's been awhile, so it certainly needed a wash.” she waved her hand behind her, towards the bulk washers, then let out a playfully dejected sigh. “i guess there's really no avoiding it, in the end.” unlike herself, who would likely let the small talk die and allow silence to fill between them — being strangers, and such — margot needed to stifle the dissociation. not in front of people. so she continued, in a nonchalant manner : “by the way, i feel like i've seen you before, but i'm not sure where. this town is small, i'm surprised we haven't met before !” a smile grew on her face, one more genuine, as she said, “i'm margot. like margot robbie, but she's you know. cool and famous."
billy branson hated laundry day. if he had the money, he would have most certainly paid someone to haul it to the laundromat and get it all done for him. alas, billy was broke as hell. he cursed as he grasped the basket of dirty clothes and pulled it out of his car. with�� the toe of his boot, he opened the door to the business, immediately grateful it wasn't jam packed with other poor souls like him. the one other person he did see was someone he had spotted around town but couldn't recall ever actually speaking with. torn between trying to be social to maybe make a new friend and keeping to himself, billy decided he'd let the woman decide his route--if she spoke, he'd reply. if she ignored his existence, he'd do the same. and it was when he had passed in front of her with his large basket of soiled clothes that the decision was made. he knew all too well about the mindless dazing that could be brought on by tiredness, and the line cook gave a little shrug as he let his basket drop to the floor in front of an open washing machine. "it's all good," he answered simply, a hint of a smile on his face as he nudged the basket with his boot. "yeah--been stalling on it too long. all i got to wear now are some jeans that squeeze my nuts too tight and a shirt that says i love strippers." a laugh followed his slightly crude words before he began digging in his pockets for the change he had shoved in before leaving the trailer park.
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the weather was brooding all day, with rolling clouds almost as dark as night ; storms were coming, and it was the perfect time for margot to . sometimes the darkness scared her, but sometimes she craved it. darkness hides what's ugly. today, of all days, she needed it. so out of her home she crawled, shivering into her jacket, delighted by the cold. a few minutes into her walk, however, margot began feeling uneasy. unsettling and uncanny things have been recurring as of late, and while she hadn't an inkling of what was going to happen, she realized a breath too late that she ought to have been more careful. a young woman, walking alone, well. that's a lamb awaiting slaughter. it was just as margot passed the playground that she noticed a figure in the distance ; what appeared to be a woman — and much like herself, she was also alone. after a few moments of contemplation, she decided to approach her, walking steadily until she heard a quiet, ' who’s there? ' “ah — ” she started, then looked around for a moment before moving to enter the woman's view. “hello,” she continued, “it's a little late for women like us to be out here alone, what with what's going on these days. and it's raining — i just thought it would be good if we got out of here ? though i get it if you don't trust me.”
for: open! location: playground.
NAYA SAT ON the swings of the old playground, she rocked back and forth, her gaze fixed on the sky above. For a moment, she felt at peace—like this small town, with all its secrets, could offer her the escape she had been searching for. Closing her eyes, Naya leaned her head back, letting the cool night air brush over her skin. Her mind couldn't help but drift to the unsettling stories that had spread through town like wildfire. She briefly wondered if she had truly escaped, or if Cloyne was just another trap, wrapped in false promises of safety.
A cold drop landed on her face.
Her body tensed, heart racing as her mind spiraled. Blood. The word echoed in her thoughts, a sudden wave of panic rushing over her. Her eyes shot open, her hand flying up to her cheek, only to find it wet with… rain. Just rain. She exhaled shakily, pressing her palm to her chest to steady herself, “ Get a grip , ” she muttered to herself, trying to shake off the unease.
But the moment was shattered when she heard the distinct sound of footsteps behind her, cutting through the rhythm of the rain..
“ Who’s there ? ”
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the audacity of it all was what left margot speechless ; it was one thing to skip her ; to that regard, she couldn't be bothered to care. but this was someone else, and she couldn't help but feel the discomfort and disdain bubbling up in her stomach. if it weren't for her charade, she wouldn't have turned a blind eye. but with her audience in mind, she made a note to pay no mind. instead, she offered a candid smile towards charlotte, bending a fraction to peer up at the woman's face with an almost playful expression. her eyes were clear, as if they could read the woman's intentions. “hmm, maybe they are,” she pondered in response, her smile remaining, then straightened, stretching her arms behind her back as she considered the question. “not much has changed, honestly. working, surviving. playing the guitar, sometimes. when i can,” she said, then exhaled softly. “this certainly wasn't the experience i wanted when i moved here, but . . . i think it's okay. i think i'm okay with a mundane life right now. not that things are necessarily mundane around here these days . . .”
for: open! where: sweet delights cap: 0/4
"No, no, it's totally fine." Charlotte didn't want to make it a big deal. Sure, the line was already plenty long without people cutting in front of her, but she didn't want to be that person who caused a scene in public. She'd get her pastry eventually, right? People wouldn't be perpetually getting in front of her.
"They're probably just really hungry," she tried to rationalize to the person she was with. In case they had any ideas about speaking up, Charlotte attempted to quickly change the subject. "But, anyways— what's been new with you? I feel like it's been forever."
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who ? : open. where ? : kim family laundromat.
for margot, it had been a carefully timed moment of dissociation ; cut the switch, power down, and she could detach from reality with a single blink of her doe - like eyes. moments like this were common when she was alone — of course, she would never allow herself to show others anything but painted soft perfection. a gentle rumbling of spinning machines and wet clothes served a soundtrack to her moment, and a tinny bell sounded as the door to the laundromat opened to add to its symphony. but margot was still lost in surreality, in the void ; null, nothing. as if she wasn't even in the present. perhaps her soul was caught up somewhere in the past. hiding. healing. or maybe burying deeper those sickening feelings. it wasn't until a figure passed in front of her blank eyes that she clicked back into place, and blurred features suddenly became clear. "oh—," and just on queue, she flushed and pasted on a sheepish smile. it came so pleasantly and naturally. perhaps her affinity was in acting rather than music ; she was quite the performer.
"sorry, i'm a bit tired. i didn't notice you come in," she continued, glancing down at her feet before peering up through her feathery lashes. "laundry day for you, too ?"
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to the diary of margot,
we can play make-believe. no one will ever know.
meet margot cho, a twenty-two year old, who has been in cloyne for one year and a half. they are a staff member at a broken record, known for being melodious and inexperienced. they are often heard humming along to moonlight by dhruv. residents would describe them as the doe - eyed darling.
trigger warnings ! — sexual abuse, manipulation, narcissism trauma, post-traumatic stress disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, self-harm. mun note ! — triggering content will be labeled accordingly. please let me know if i have failed to correctly label triggers. thank you ! links ! : tag navigation
un.
name. margot cho. date of birth. december 12th, 2001. 12:12. place of birth. naxos, greece. star placements. sagittarius sun, scorpio moon, pisces rising. sexual orientation. pansexual. romantic orientation. demiromantic. gender. cisgender woman. mbti placement. infj. moral alignment. chaotic good. religion. devout hellenist. economical status. lower class. relationship status. single. family connections. mother, estranged. face claim. kim minjeong, aka. winter of aespa. disclaimer. i am not winter nor am i related to winter, aespa, or sm entertainment. this blog is dependent of cloynefm and is for roleplay purposes only.
deux.
a sickeningly saccharine smile percolated every bump and groove of an innocent's mind — tomorrow's sorrow became today's, and yesterday's fear became future's nightmare. every moment of darkness, every attempt at slumber, every misplaced focus manifested the image of that repulsive grin. she can feel the oil-slick touch of hands carved with malice, calloused and bloodstained and . . . gag. margot can't keep the acid down her windless throat, and she drowns in it. wash hands. scrub. dry. still dirty.
trois.
cheeks : strained from painted smiles. eyes : dry from fluttered eyes. hands : still dirty. if playing make-believe is the game, then she is triumphant ; she wears happiness like skin, flushed and blooming in this naked charade. she is the joy, or so they think. but inside she is festering ; flesh burning flesh, down to every cell, grappling with the memory of innocence defiled. there's no turning back. and there's nowhere to run to. so she settles. with a smile. almost a mirror image of the one that haunts her. and she washes her hands.
quatre.
it's a wonder that she's alive. hitch-hiked her way from LA to cloyne and ran out of money. settled. no one would find her anyway. she'd be safe there. right? a record store. a small town. a bowed guitar neck. her fingers should have callouses but playing breaks skin and bleeds out open wounds. she times it just enough to keep them from healing.
diary entry.
september 24th, 2024. something's strange. things keep happening. there is something in the air. am i even still safe here? i must return to the altar.
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