rlhalla-blog

[rlhalla-blog]

halla sends puffs of air up towards her forehead, and blows her fringe away from her eyes--someone is due for a haircut. the bed shifts beside her where jungkook lies down too, and she smiles up at the ceiling, twirling the marker between her fingers. 

“what’s wrong with that? you seem pretty relaxed when you come over for dinner. and i do like having you as my human canvas. i just hate the way you keep squirming around like a damn squid or something.” 

she can see him looking at her from her peripheral, and she resists the urge to turn and pull a face at him because is he offering to make her a whole cheesecake? right now? halla turns to face him with a smile, one that, to the untrained eye, would embody nothing but a childlike innocence, a sweetness that is so uncharacteristic of her. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think halla was being cute.

but jungkook knows better. halla knows he knows better. 

she rolls over onto her stomach, her cheek clumsily colliding with his elbow. but unphased, she tucks her fists underneath her chin, eyebrows quirked, smile steady. 

“jungkook. oppa. can you be, like, really super, uber cool and make me a cheesecake? i promise not to complain about you moving around while i’m drawing on you. and i’ll give you a piece if you want as well.” 

lies. all lies. halla is fully aware that every word she’s saying is false, and she has no plan to go through with any of the things she’s suggesting. but for a moment--only a moment--she’s content with pretending, hoping (really, knowing) that it’s enough to get what she wants.

“halla, i’m not even moving that much. you’re just complaining.”

he’s lying. the way she drags the felt tip across her skin sends tiny vibrations through his arms, creates an itch he can’t scratch without facing her wrath. and even though halla is small enough to pick up with one hand with ease, a mere fraction of his size, she’s still terrifying.

but luckily for him, he feels the marker leave his arm and he’s free to release the shaky breath he’s held in. the faint sound of his creaking mattress fills his ears, eyes quickly darting to the menace that always seems to take over his home every time she steps inside of it.

“you really take the expression ‘make yourself at home’ to a new level,” he sighs before flopping down onto the space beside her.  “and don’t pretend like you don’t enjoy using me as your canvas. throw all the fits you want, but if you want me to bake you a cheesecake, you could just ask.”

he turns his head to face her, cheek pressed against the soft duvet and languid arms outstretched above his head. as much as he protests to her bossy methods of subduing him, he enjoys the push and pull aspect of their relationship, the way someone so little could overpower the overgrown child he is – it’s adorable, but he would never tell her that in fear of receiving a bony fist to his stomach.

“i still don’t understand how you an eat an entire cheesecake on your own. you’re a modern marvel.”

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halla: image film

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it’s as if she’d just been poked in the side with the way halla jumps where she stands at the sudden voice, wide-eyed as she turns to the source. she’s been broken out of her trance, eyes no longer fixed on the art on the wall but on the girl who’s a few feet away from her. 

“they’re... they’re yours?” she asks, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water with the way she’s speechless. “w-wow. um. you’re really good.” 

halla realises that the tattoo artist is not much taller than she is -- what a relief! -- and there’s something about her that just seems so... familiar, but she can’t put her finger on it. 

“um.” 

she stalls, and watches as the receptionist packs up and heads out the door with a wave goodbye to the tattoo artist. does she want tattoo? 

“well, i... i think tattoos are pretty neat. and, like... when the art’s nice they’re even better. it’s just that... uh...”

halla licks her lips and rubs the back of her neck, because it’s become all too apparent that she’s standing in a tattoo parlour probably wasting the artist’s time because needles just aren’t. her. thing. how the hell is she going to admit that though?

she’s just about done with this client’s tattoo when she hears the door outside open, a new client perhaps? or maybe it was simply a friend. she’ll have to go out to look herself. soon, sayo finishes up the bundle of flowers on the girl’s arm and proceeds to do the usual sanitary briefing, her tone a bit more stern than usual. 

she did not want to deal with someone complaining about an infected tattoo. working under the radar of the police was already tedious enough.

after she cleans up, she leaves the room right on time to hear the newcomer ask her receptionist about the art hung up on her walls. “that’d be me,” she says, a gentle smile on her face. turning to face her receptionist, she tells the girl that she can leave, since there wasn’t any clients left today. she could deal with the newcomer herself.  “you interested in getting one?”

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i feel like i’m the highest in the room ft. @rljungkook​ 

“seriously. hold still. unless you want a damn dick on your arm instead of a guitar.” 

halla desperately wants to sigh; they’ve been sitting here for a good hour and she’s barely made any progress on her piece. what was supposed to take up his entire forearm has barely made it past his wrist where she began; she now has half a mind to fidget later when jungkook attempts to draw on her. the tip of the marker is poised and ready, but then he flexes his arm again and... 

“i swear to god you’re doing this on purpose.” 

she throws the cap of the marker at his chest, and she lets herself sigh, falling back to lie flat on jungkook’s bed.

“i’m taking a breather,” she says, prodding his side with her toes. 

halla can feel her head starting to spin a little, and if she doesn’t stop now, she might just pass out -- and what a way to go that would be (cause of death: sharpie fumes and whatever jungkook’s stupid cologne is.) she’s staring up at the ceiling while her hand searches blindly for one of his pillows to shove under her head, and wonders how much longer she’ll need to wait before it’s deemed appropriate to start rummaging through his fridge for something to eat -- again. 

“i hope i get a cheesecake after all this trouble i’m going through. a whole one, not just a slice.”

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follow the yellow brick road ft. @rlbada​ 

cradling her head in her hand, halla taps her nails against the tabletop with discontent. she’s been waiting for ten minutes too long, and she’s been trying to ration her coffee, because if she finishes it now, she’s gonna end up ordering another one when bada does get here, and an overload of caffeine is probably not what she needs right now. 

halla sighs, and stirs her spoon through the green -- belatedly she realises she should’ve gotten an iced matcha latte because it is hotter than hell outside. but before she can dwell on the heat any longer, the cafe door swings open, the little bell ringing overhead, and bada finally, finally walks in. halla sighs again, maybe out of relief this time, and waves her over from where she’s sitting. 

“finally! i thought you were ditching me,” she says. “but then why would you when i’m gonna give you a free tour of the museum? you of all people would hate to miss the new exhibit we just opened up last week.”

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tattooed heart ft. @rlsayo​ 

the buzzing in the air is a little unnerving, and halla doesn’t quite know how to describe the smell in the air (sterile? ink-y?). she swallows thickly, but her throat is dry so it’s an uncomfortable gesture; she powers on regardless.

halla approaches the receptionist’s desk, blinking a little because the neon lights hurts her eyes. she’s passed this tattoo parlour numerous times, but this is her first time actually stepping in. the prospect of possibly walking out with a tattoo -- an actual tattoo -- is exciting. 

but the needles... the needles she’s not so keen on. in fact, she’s downright petrified right now. maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. 

“you know what? neverm--” halla stops because her eyes wander over to the walls, covered in artwork that she can’t look away from. they’re amazing, to put it simply, and they do a damn good job at distracting her from the needles just a few feet away from where she stands. 

“hey, um, do you know who drew those? they’re really cool.”

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all around me are familiar faces ft. @rlwonwoo​ 

halla can’t stop staring. she shouldn’t be, but she can’t turn away, not when this stranger -- he is, technically, a stranger; she needs to remember this -- doesn’t feel like one. 

it takes her a while, but she does realise eventually why this guy sitting two tables across from her seems so familiar. she remembers feeling confused (but relieved) as to why, all of a sudden, she could suddenly get a good night’s sleep last week, why she wasn’t being plagued with dark, looming faces and outstretched hands ready to grab her. she remembers her nightmares abruptly turning into pleasant dreams, feeling the panic rise then drop so quickly that she work up slightly disoriented. 

it takes her a while, but she does realise why she can’t shake the feeling that she’s seen this guy before. shamelessly, halla gets up, forgets about her cofee, and walks over to his table, tapping him on the shoulder. 

“you were in my dream last night.”

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pour up (drank), head shot (drank) ft. @jinyerl​ 

halla can feel the floor vibrating beneath her feet, but she pays no attention to it. her eyes bore a hole into the glass in her hand, the club’s lights bouncing off the liquid amber; she’d been so convinced that she wanted to be out of her apartment tonight -- now, she’s not so sure she wants to be here. 

the alcohol burns her throat, but she’s long gotten used to the sensation that she doesn’t wince at the warmth anymore. halla watches bodies moving on the dancefloor with no desire to join, even with people coming up to her every now and again, tugging at her wrist to force her off her seat. she always shakes her head and resists. halla’s always been good at resisting. 

but then she hears her name being called, and she pauses mid-sip to look over her shoulder where jinye now stands, concern written all over her face. halla lowers her glass and sighs. 

“why’d you ask me to come tonight? did you need me specifically?”

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hey, did you know? gullible is written on the ceiling ft. @rlmari​ 

this is cruel, and halla knows it, recognises it somewhere in the back of her mind, but she can’t help it. it’s just too fun. she’s never met a person so incredibly naive in her life, and she wouldn’t be halla if she didn’t take advantage of the situation and have her fun. 

“i’m serious!” she says, mustering up the most innocent, childlike smile she can manage without cracking up. this is too easy. “christmas in australia is on june twenty-fifth.” 

it must be obvious that she’s trying not to break character and double over with laughter, but mari looks like she’s hanging onto her every word with unwavering fascination, and halla just can’t find it in her to stop. 

“because christmas is in winter, right?” halla reasons, shooting mari a pointed look; everyone knows christmas is in winter. duh. “and in australia, they have their winter in the middle of the year, not the end. so makes sense, doesn’t it? their christmas is in june.”

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what’s up, beautiful people? i’ve finally finished work for the day so FREEDOM!!!! GOD!!!! BLESS!!!!! i’ll be honest with you: i don’t got a proper, complete plots page so that’s a work in progress but i’ll drop a few tidbits about my baby halla under the cut and if you like what you see (wink wonk) and wanna plot something lmk fam. LMK. 

(alternatively, like this post and i’ll throw you a random starter.)

(entices you with the cute.)

18 years old so.... lil munchkin 

also v short so actual munchkin 

orphan who hates her parents, both biological and adoptive 

biological parents are alcoholics 

first set of adoptive parents were religious af (disowned her ass for kissing a girl) 

second set of adoptive parents beat her ass every now and again for getting an A- once and for fraternising with the boy next door (she was in the middle of running away from them when she fell asleep on the subway and woke up in new seoul) 

has a lot of pent up anger

bisexual af 

commitment issues af

is probably best described as a baby she-hulk 

hates violence 

a slut for matcha-flavoured stuff and cheesecake (imagine what matcha cheesecake does to her) 

is pretty new to new seoul but loves it bc no parents hell yeah 

is the silent observer type 

will talk about why stephen king is the best writer in the world til the cows come home though

probably doesn’t drink enough water idk 

can you tell i ran out of things to say? 

bc i did

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I became good at pretending. I became so good that after a while the lines blurred between my truth and fiction. And sometimes, when I did a really good job of pretending, I even fooled myself.

Ruta Sepetys, Salt to the Sea (via wordsnquotes)

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