point of entry.

tagged by: @ailesbrisees / @infinitumes / @eterneli

tagging: everybody who sees it! do it cowards

BODY long legs. short legs. average legs. slender thighs. thick thighs. muscular thighs. skinny arms. soft arms. muscular arms. toned stomach. flat stomach. flabby stomach. soft stomach. six pack. beer belly. lean frame. slender frame. muscular frame. voluptuous frame. petite frame. lanky frame. short nails. long nails. manicured nails. dirty nails. flat ass. toned ass. bubble butt. thick ass. small waist. thick waist. narrow hips. average hips. wide hips. big feet. average feet. small feet. slender feet. calloused feet. calloused hands. soft hands. big hands. average hands. small hands. long fingers. short fingers. average fingers. broad shoulders. underweight. average weight. overweight. ideal weight.

HEIGHT shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm to 150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. taller than 2 m.

SKIN pale. fair. rosy. olive. dark. tanned. blotchy. smooth. acne. dry. greasy. freckled. scarred. cool undertones. neutral undertones. warm undertones.

EYES small. large. average. grey. brown. black. blue. red. pink. purple. green. gold. hazel. heterochromatic. doe - eyed. almond. close - set. wide -set. squinty. monolid. double eyelids. hooded eyelids. heavy eyelids. upturned. downturned.

HAIR thin. thick. fine. normal. greasy. dry. soft. shiny. curly. frizzy. wild. unruly. straight. smooth. wavy. floppy. cropped. pixie cut. short. shoulder length. back length. waist length. floor length. buzz cut. bald. jaw length. mohawk. white. platinum blonde. golden blonde. dirty blonde. ombre. light brown. mouse brown. chestnut brown. golden brown. chocolate brown. dark brown. jet black. ginger. auburn. unnatural colour. streaked. thin eyebrows. average eyebrows. thick eyebrows.

TATTOOS / PIERCINGS full sleeve. thigh tattoo. shin tattoo. calves tattoo. wrist tattoo. upper back tattoo. lower back tattoo. hip tattoo. hand / finger tattoo. foot tattoo. neck tattoo. face tattoo. chest tattoo. side tattoo. one tattoo. a few here and there. multiple. no tattoo. monroe piercing. nose piercing. septum. nipple piercing. genital piercing. industrial piercings. earlobe piercing(s). prince albert piercing. apadravya piercing. eyebrow piercing. tongue piercing. lip piercing. tragus piercing. angel bites. labret. gauges. navel piercing. inverse navel piercing. cheek piercing. smiley. nape piercings. no piercings.

COSMETICS light eyeliner. heavy eyeliner. cat eyes. mascara. fake eyelashes. matte lipstick. regular lipstick. lipgloss. chapstick. red lips. pink lips. dark lips. bronzer. highlighter. eyeshadow. neutral eyeshadow. smokey eyes. colourful eyeshadow. blush. lipliner. light contouring. heavy contouring. powder. matte foundation. satin foundation. dewy foundation. concealer. wears make up regularly. wears it from time to time. never wears make up.

SCENT floral. fruity. perfumes. aftershave. cocoa. moisturizer. natural soap. shampoo. cigarettes. leather. sweat. food. incense. marijuana. cologne. whiskey. wine. fried food. blood. fire. metal. rain. grass. ocean. autumn leaves. baked bread. smoke. campfire. lavender. trees. musk. rose. gingerbread. peppermint. oak. honey. lemon. vanilla. coffee. cake. hyde.

CLOTHES masculine. feminine. androgynous. jeans. tight pants. overknee socks. tights. leggings. yoga pants. miniskirt. loose skirt. formfitting dress. cardigans. flannel. blouse. button up shirt. graphic shirt. sports shirt. sweatpants. tank top. cut off shirt. designer. high street. online stores. thrift. lingerie. maxidress. sundress. suit and tie. cocktail dress. highslit dress. loose clothing. tight clothing. jean shorts. sweater. sweater vest. khaki pants. hoodie. harem pants. basketball shorts. boxers. boxer briefs. briefs. thong. hotpants. hipster panties. bra. sports bra. crop top. corset. leotard. polka dots. stripes. glitter. silk. lace. satin. leather. velvet. chemise. patterns. florals. neon colours. pastels. neutral colors. black. dark colours. faux fur. fur.

she has been chasing ghosts and old things like that’s some way of living that won’t destroy her. that’s alright. fate had left her a perilous thing, stripped her of expectations. she keeps thinking back to that saying, beggars can’t be choosers, but lately it dawned on her that she had made her choice the moment she set off asking questions and poking where she knew the beasts laid sleeping, waiting for the flesh.

today, fate has come to her in a supermarket. it’s almost anti-climactic when you put it like that.

there’s a carton box of 3% milk waiting to slip from her hand when it feels like it’s going limp and heavy. inside her mind, the speakers go off in that commercial voice reminder, accident on isle three, please send somebody for the clean-up. one time she read in moments of extreme distress the human body goes on high alert and everything feels like it’s in slow motion. right now time feels like it has come to a halt.

she knows his face. that’s the logical fact, but then again she knows a lot of faces. she needs a correction; she knows his eyes. it’s a double-take. this isn’t the scary part. he knows her back. that? that changes everything. 

( ground rule: even if she hasn’t, she’ll win. ) “here.” third sketchbook since he’s moved, #3 on the corner of the cover, nearly full, 120 sheets. he flips a few pages, and finds her eyes between a few flower sketches, ‘kang seulgi’ in hurried letters underneath, soon they’re in her hands and his own scratch his nape. “if you go a few forward there’s one with a date, i think we were eating cake at the place you like…” and he can’t quite look at her anymore. he takes it all back; maybe he’d be better off boring than odd – or worse, weird. suddenly, he might be just that.

he hadn’t set the perimeters, so she threads lightly around the obvious landmines. he’d think of her as insensitive but there’s a lot she doesn’t point out about this. it’s an escapade. one time, he told her he wants to see 100 movies in the cinema before he dies, and now she sees it in the list and the same quick handwriting and it makes her smile, as far as she’s allowed to. “you should hang up the tickets,” she says, entirely out of context and trusting that he’d understand anyway “they don’t take up that much space.”

in the corner of his bed he’s got a hiding spot. it occurs to her, she doesn’t want to hurt him. it occurs to her, he’s easily hurt. maybe she’s being comparative. the sun is blinding her right eye from seeing the date on the flimsy photograph of the kids in some recess and school clothing but she can make out his figure, the same, not as tall. she doesn’t say anything about it. it seems buried for a reason.

he speaks. her frown is a visceral reaction, a shoulder lead sharp turn to look at him. “i don’t think being on your bed will be enough.” she’d probably be silly standing on said bed to prove her point, but there she goes and does it anyway, now padded enough to be able to stare him face on but not down and that’s slightly disappointing. she pulls him by the collar closer to measure properly, “i think you’re gonna need to lift me up on your shoulders--”

she notices things without meaning to. it’s like reverse engineering but without the effort. she doesn’t need to pick every nervous habit - sunken eyes, bitten lips, nails that scratch over nails - out of him. she doesn’t need to wring him out at all. she already knows him. probably, she knows him better than she knows herself.

today, in light of the early-april afternoon, she finds that beneath the thick plastic of his glasses his skin is dotted in faded freckles and the warm, inviting color of a pastel flush. her fingers graze against his neck when they unfold from his shirt and leave behind a cold, delayed mortification. she watches him pull away from her, already knowing what he’s going to say.

still, she gets what she wants without asking. our picture sounds off like a familiar term, more intimate coming from him than it ever would from her. it’s just the way it is. the paper makes more noise than she does dropping to sit on his bed, cross legged and starry eyed, as much of an apparition as ever. “i get a lot of people drawing me lately. am i a good model?”

“i should clean all that up sometime, i have more things to put there.” 

she keeps her bony hands palms down over the top of her knees like the poster child at sunday church trying to avoid the choir that reminds her of momento mori. it’s not her fault everything about her has to be defined by proxy. she’s waiting for the permission that she knows she’ll get, eventually; patience is an useful virtue to have. he always ends up caving in one way or another, if only because the idea of her watching him so closely while her blood boils beneath the overhang of her skin unsettles him as much.

she’ll take that. she’s got cat eyes, she’s heard that before; wide-ranged, monochromatic, nearsighted. from where she’s sitting she can make out the weighted shelves with the broken-spine history books and miscellaneous beaten down by age and all the hands they’ve passed through before they got to him. leftover sweatshirt thrown over one of the chairs in the corner. the wall. none of the details.

that’s so haneul, the thought crosses her mind. most people would get a scrap book and call it a day; he has a wall for prideful display of all the sentiment he still wears pinned to his sleeve after all these years.

“thank you,” she says, when he finally gives her what she really wants, not really because she’s truly thankful, but probably because it feels like the proper way to fill the space between one sentence and the next. another person might wonder how they deal with all this quiet surrounding them. they wouldn’t understand; soles of her feet tugging over his carpet, her hands lining the eaves, flutter of lashes, flutter of a heart. noise, noise, noise. it’s almost overbearing.

she picks out something with off-kilter letters and his name written in pencil on the first page in light stokes and no indentations. min haneul. korean history, 12th grade. obvious choice. “i haven’t read this one.” pause, “you have weird handwriting.” she lingers on it for a second after putting it back in place.

he had set a bad precedent. once allowed she is oddly keen on touching everything in her near sight. still a cat girl, something says. you stop fearing the danger when you have eight lives to spare and rotten gut leading you astray. she’s in the box now, but that part of her likes not knowing the outcome of things. “you should get a bigger wall,” she says, “not bigger. taller. since you’re so tall. you can keep the secrets at the top, i’m sure nobody will be able to see that far up.” 

“I’m not sure if any of it is correct or factual in anyway, because it’s nothing like anything I’ve see in any government text or documents.” The tie around his neck feels especially tight tonight, and he doesn’t raise his hand to loosen it. “I think they did something to you. Some government sector. And I’m not sure why, or who specifically – but my gut, my conscious and I, we know it wasn’t good.” 

she touches his arm and tugs, gently, because one time she read that it’s supposed to be comforting, and in light of the recent events she wants to get this right. of course, she wouldn’t know, but as always it’s easiest to indulge in the trial and error than sit dormant and wait for the gale of it to pass. in her mind, a reminder; look human, kang seulgi. easier said than done.

there are consequences to this. when the storm is through they’ll have to deal with the flood and how it’s seeping through the floorboards, baring their skeletons like acid sans the smell. all things in life are recyclable, just a matter of time. they’re ankle deep, this is how it starts. that she knows with a rare and quiet certainty neither needs to truly acknowledge to feel the pressure of.

it occurs to her she never learned how to swim, but she can’t quite tell if they’re the ones sinking or the water levels are trying to catch up. he’d say it doesn’t matter. the end result will always be the same.

she sits him down on her table with a mechanical ease and watches him stumble over his words with the kind of frantic pace that makes her worry he’ll slip and break something along the way. “you need to breathe, ok?” her hand, still on his shoulder, tightens in grip, “stop for a second, gather your thoughts.”

she’s not prepared for what he has to tell her. she’s never rehearsed reactions to government conspiracies, because, well, who would’ve thought. her system feels like an off-set on overload, ironically now, her, left a fish out of the water, stripped of her practical knowledge and abandoned to choke on air. 

but she draws her breath evenly. when her hands slip from the contact, her fingers rush to fidget with the hem of her shirt like an old habit she didn’t even know she has. she sits in front of him, back straight and eyes stuck to where her knees touch one another, quiet for a long time. “done something.” she’s struggling to feel the words out with her mouth, accustom herself to the idea. who and why are out of the equation now. “done what to me?” 

it dawns on her she must look volatile to him, maybe for the first time ever. she tries to search for something in his expression but her helplessness only gets reflected back like an amplified light passing from mirror to mirror. “jack.” something in her tone shakes, unfiltered, “is there something wrong with me?”

meme; accepting / drabble / 15. — afterlife

there is no perfect ending.Indeed, there are infinite endings.Or perhaps, once one begins, there are only endings.

“light my cigarette.”

his voice sounds distant despite their close proximity. at this altitude the wind is fast enough to swallow it whole. beneath them, the people look like wraith speckles blending with the ugly naked white of streetlights in full bloom, blissfully unaware of their looming existence. they’re at the top of the world, seulgi thinks, top of the world, deciding fates, playing gods among the masses.

even with her hand shielding the flame the currents kiss its life away. he had given it for her to satisfy a nervous tick of fidgeting with her fingers, which she had then noticed he found charming in some deceitful and oddly human way that didn’t need the added explanation that it’s just an error in the code, or that soon they’re going to wipe her clean again to fix it. it’s pristine on its own.

the cigarette is still nested in between his fingers when she reaches to oblige him, poetry of the moment lost on her. she’s out of practice. she thinks she’s imagining it when the smell of iron on his hands gets so strong she starts to wonder if they’re going to combust.

“do you think they go anywhere after they die?” it feels like an out of place question. he’s looking down at her looking down at them, both painfully conscious of exactly who she is referring to. if his hands don’t combust because of the iron, maybe the leftover gunpowder will do the job just fine.

she watches him lean away from her like he’s trying to rebound. she can’t taste the exhale of the smoke blowing in her face, but she can almost feel the shiver of his shrug passing onto her like an outer-body experience. seulgi can’t understand why he’s always licking his wounds until they start bleeding again, but tonight she’s willing to shoulder half the blame.

“do you think we will?” that’s not easier, but it’s closer to the heart. he can’t pretend the question doesn’t linger when it sounds so genuine. the thought he’s being purposefully elusive to protect her doesn’t cross her mind. too out of character. he’s trying to protect himself.

“maybe. i’m leaning towards hell this time of the year.” his humor is dry and he delivers it with the kind of wry smile that makes him look too old. she keeps looking at him.

“that sounds awful. i heard it’s really hot down there.”

“better there than nowhere.”

[SMS: 👽] so would she ever shave [SMS] i feel like she would feel like she’s murdering her own children [SMS] omg what happens to the hair down THERE [SMS] there is no context i was just in the shower thinking about this [SMS] also im gonna pick u up tomorrow around 5pm when ur shifts over so do not take line 2 i have somewhere i wanna show u [SMS] tell ur coworkers ur sugar appa is coming again 😎

sunyoung sits up, smile still in place, only a frown etched between her brows. “we do lead a variety of studies in the department on the subject, and i’ve been monitoring the majority of them for the past few years, yes. it was the work that got me the invitation to teach here.” she pauses, reaching for the cup as she glances towards the girl again, studying her features with care for the first time. she’s done her research, sunyoung should do her own. “excuse me, what is your name, again?”

for a few moments lost in the transition of scenery, seulgi watches her closely, because this is what she does best.

the sterile of her has exhausted and replaced with the tired afterglow of excess caffeine fumes. she wears it like a chip on her shoulder, familiar in more than one sense. something about her eyes. something about her hands. something about the way her features fold into a frown, soften. seulgi thinks she’s stared at her through a screen enough to deceive herself she knows her, but the deja-vu lingers long after her gaze has wandered off.

in retrospect, maybe she’s grateful for the wait. “no, no, it’s fine, really. i have my whole afternoon off.” her words trail off into giddy silence. had she said too much already? she read once you should always keep some comfortable distance, an emotional back door to use as a last minute escape, but she’s never been one to follow her own advice.

still, she nods in her last attempt of trying to be curt with this. she crosses her legs, ends up unraveling anyway. “i’ve read your work, i find it fascinating. i was at your lecture a couple of weeks ago, we met there, actually--” she stops to clear her throat out from the procedural word vomit. cough. blink. it’s amazing how she can channel all this dormant energy into one sudden burst.

One Word Writing Prompts

Send me a number 1 thru 50 for a word that I’ll use to write either a headcanon, drabble, or starter. Send 🌀 for a random number instead.

“Seulgi, please open up before something really terrible happens to you, me or heck, with the way the universe is –” He looks to his right and left, then up and down for some reason, partially nervous and wholly psychotic. 

“– to the both of us.” 

fear is the most human emotion. this isn’t a coincidence.

she had indexed his anxiety and kept keenly aware from the first time he came around carrying bad omens, his palms sweaty from nervous fidgeting, eyes drawn to her like pray to the praying. it’s off-brand. there’s his face floating in the back of her mind, traced in the vivid lights of a coagulated blue noraebang sign and the flimsy promise of hey, seulgi, i owe you one, laughter. guess he got more than he bargained for.

she had been strategic. this isn’t a coincidence either.

now, though, the weight settles at the pits of her existence, watching him from the other end of a spy-hole and a safe distance to whatever truths he harbors and is kind enough to want to share. they’re in the same boat, she thinks. bound together by the tides of their secrets, or the storms creeping over their heads.

( except she can’t die. but she doesn’t know that yet. the mortality of the situation should be frightening. but she doesn’t know that yet either.)

when she pries the door open, the hinges whimper into the non-silence of his jagged breaths like a premonition. run. hide. leave this place. never come back. “jack.” she searches for something in his eyes, always the eyes, like an instinct, “calm down. what are you doing here?”

“y’make drawin’ y’a real challenge, what with all the movin’ around y’do. but there’s an art exhibit in gangnam this weekend.” he thinks, he should have brought a pamphlet with him to show seulgi but the boy realizes, with a sheepish smile, he hasn’t thought so far ahead. “‘s good lighting. and i’d like a real chance at drawin’ y’too. what d’ya think?”

she doesn’t know what to do with it, now in her possession. she considers folding it, but that’d be like folding his smile and tucking it deep inside some pocket, which she doesn’t think rings exactly true. she relents, shoots him a sort of look full of mellow inquisition, “can i keep it?” the answer feels obvious now, but not in the kind of way that defeats the purpose of the question.

she strokes the paper with the sides of her thumbs one last time, studies it carefully; it’s not exactly her, but maybe an interpretation that she likes better in some elusive, nonsensical way. her eyes look softer in smudged graphite. her reflection always stares back at her with such hard lines, like there’s something to be lost by whoever fails and blinks their gaze away first. it gets tiring, sometimes.

she notices the way he follows her steps with instinctual ease and allows it out of habit. she read how to tango one time and it had left a mild imprint in her already narrow imagination. back, back, back, right. she moves a lot but it’s never not purposeful. “what if the charm was in the bad lighting in the first place?” 

she looks at him with some degree of expectancy, only half-joking, because she’s a woman of halves and he seems like a willing victim. he tends to swallow his words; she notices that too. her name-tag pinpricks against her chest through the fabric, suddenly a disadvantage that jolts her properly aware, “do you always invite strangers out without telling them your name, or am i a special case?”