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--- now, i’ve had dahlia here for quite a few months now. and truthfully
she’s been one of my favorite muses in quite a long time. but with
that-- unfortunately i’ve basically lost all muse for her, and no matter
how hard i try...there hasn’t been any real chance of getting her back.
which is to say, sadly, i’ll be leaving her. i will be moving to a new muse
here if you’d like to follow as well as a new aim (saturn.exe) if you’d like
to add me there. the muse is still a bit under construction, so i won’t be
interacting until i’m satisfied to the very last, smallest detail but yeah.
i’ve really enjoyed being able to interact with people with dahlia, and
i hope i’ll still be able to interact with you (and possibly get the chance
to interact with those i haven’t) on this new muse. and now that that’s
all said and done-- i hope you all have been well, continue to be well,
and find things daily to smile about!! this is harley mun signing off!!
✓ : Name at least two people who can trust them with their life.
she doesn’t even trust herself with her own life so she would never place that on anyone else. but people that come kind of close? not counting anyone she knows back in the states or the people she’s been working with for years, most likely her friends lucas and ian. she trusts them both-- in different ways and to different extents. maybe not as much as she could possibly allow herself to but it’s still there all the same.
✗ : Explain how they portray feelings of hostility or dislike.
truthfully that’s something she doesn’t even purposefully try to express. so, a good portion of the time she may not even be aware of it unless she’s genuinely ‘angry’ and that’s pretty rare. however, in terms of ‘feelings of dislike’ her body language tends to express it pretty strongly. keeping her body turned away from the person or thing in question. eyes dull and jaw repeatedly tensing (usually when she wants to get away from the person or thing). gripping onto the hem of her shirt/skirt/dress-- whatever. they’re not exactly strong signs unless someone knows her well but if they’re noticed it usually makes her distaste pretty clear.
♆ : Are they prone to violent outbursts or thoughts?
dahlia has a relatively strong hold on her emotions (aka she’s a bit of a control freak about it); choosing to ignore most anything she considers bothersome or even the least bit aggravating. just the simple act of getting her angry takes a lot of work on its own. and just in general ‘violence’ isn’t exactly her cup of tea.
✏ : What are their creative outlets?
sketching, painting, and decorating cakes/cupcakes/doughnuts. those are generally the most effective ways for her to express herself.
☂ : Storms or clear skies?
storms. thunder does wonders with drowning out almost anything and everything. so, dahlia grew attached to them pretty early on. plus, they’re one of the very...very few things that actually lulls her into a relaxed state of mind and body.
☾ : On a sleepless night, what would they be found doing?
sleepless nights are a lot more common than dahlia would probably like them to be (or probably not-- she’s pretty used to them really). so, in a way she’s created routines for herself. on regular ‘it’s 3am and i just can’t fall asleep’ type of nights, she’ll usually spend it browsing online. new recipes to try out. new works from artists she’s been following. stupid videos friends from back home have been passing around. nothing all that interesting; something mindless to pass the time without forcing herself to be productive. but on the-- well, ‘bad nights’ if you wanna call ‘em that chances are she’s wandering around outside somewhere. walking to the closest convenient store and people watching from the front windows. trudging through whatever park she happens to find herself at. walking until her feet hurt or circling around the block a few times. doesn’t seem to really matter. as long as she’s moving, that seems to be good enough for her.
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“ no, I refuse to move from this. they are going to get a piece of my mind , miss kitten ! “
IT’S CUSTOMARY TO learn more about the ones you choose to surround yourself with. a crucial part of building a friendship-- or so someone had told her once. but considering their relationship spanned more than ten years, who was dahlia to argue? point being-- during her time knowing ian, this had to be the first time she ever saw the woman so absolutely passionate over such a thing. something dahlia herself couldn’t even really be bothered over. some random punk criticizing the new flavor of doughnut she’d slaved over creating for days? yeah, not really worth it. after all--- ❝not everyone has great taste like you, miss bun. it’s really not a big deal. he looks like the type to walk and chew at the same time so he’ll probably end up CHOKING ON IT anyway.❞
APOLOGIES WERE BITTER pills she’d never been able to stomach. spoken so rarely her tongue barely understood the purpose of them. tangling around the words. stumbling over each syllable. leaving the explanations unpolished and jagged around the edges– but at least they were sincere. one could tell just from the fact that she was expressing her remorse in the first place. take it as WEAK SPOTS dotting an otherwise frozen over heart. or minuscule glimpses into the battered self-esteem locked behind closed doors.
either way it was a pain in the ass but brought some form of relief. an oddly fascinating contradiction really (but that seemed to sum up dahlia as a whole most times anyway).
few had received word about her last departure. dropping off the face of the earth for those left in the dark. off ‘visiting family’ for the ones granted such a high level of clearance. a conversation with her oldest friend leading her to a realization. one she would’ve preferred to ignore but it still led the charge of ‘i’m sorry for disappearing’ off the end of her tongue. and yet-- all it received was a casual acceptance. no expected hostility. no unwanted questions. just water under the bridge?
❝wow, good to know you didn’t miss me all that much then.❞ tone dry but still trapped in that concept of joking of course. she wasn’t bothered. why should she be? it made it all the easier to rid herself of that annoying sense of guilt lodged in her stomach. ❝and here i was ACTUALLY feeling bad. but thank you, i feel a lot better about myself now.❞
❝cedric, make sure you behave for lucas.❞ met with a typical yawn from the canine-- she paused. thought for just a second. exhaled a sigh and lightly scratched him behind the ears. ❝you usually like everyone more than me anyway, and we both know it. but you know- be extra good.❞
preparations had been considered weeks in advance. before she had even fully settled on a decision. before she knew for sure things would actually go through. when she was still confused why she’d considered this to begin with. but just in case... there needed to be a ‘just in case’.
before leaving she turned towards her friend in question. the one she trusted to look after cedric for the time being (also see designated dog sitter). left with an explanation of ‘some family retreat with the bakery staff- extended family included obviously’. the lie left a bad taste on her tongue-- something she always tried her best to avoid (but necessary for every reason imaginable).
❝text me if you need anything. try not to need anything. and if i end up falling off a cliff somewhere or whatever-- you get cedric and the key to my place. just don’t go through my shit.❞ delivered with the same level of dry humor they both shared whenever something so morbid seemed to come up. but still genuine. still a just in case...
arriving at the facility. prepping for the procedure. lying deathly still while being bound to the table (had that really even been necessary? the girl weighed about the same as a pomeranian when drenched in water-- she wasn’t much of a threat). the questions looped through her mind through it all.
why was she there? why was she doing this? was it even worth it?
oh right... a conversation with her mother during an extended trip back-- home. something about growing into herself. something about ‘you’re still the same little girl that left here when you were eighteen’. realizing she didn’t understand herself-- nothing beyond what she allowed herself to. realizing she needed to better herself; needed to learn more about who she was (what she was-- what she could already do... how she could improve in every way possible).
oh... right...
maybe the procedure had been quicker than she’d expected. or longer than she’d wanted. there was really no telling-- shaking off whatever they’d used to put her under, eyes narrowed while readjusting to the near blinding light. and white. so much fucking white dahlia now wondered if she’d come to hate the color.
little recalled of what had taken place before slipping-- drowning... body heavy though floating through thick darkness. the sound of machinery once faint gradually making themselves more known in her ears. it was a bit too much. a jerk of her arm served as a reminder. oh yeah-- the restraints. maybe that’s why they had been necessary.
the overwhelming yet not unfamiliar want-- need-- to run. to find some route of escape. but this had been her choice. a glorified lab rat. and from the sounds of it just another in a line of who even knew how many others. doubts scattered among the soft murmurs of the room. few words of encouragement and hope. disgusting word really but she had to place her bets on those few.
if wishing for the best would get her out of here in one piece--just a bit better than who she was hours before--then so be it.
❝nice to see you back with us, ms. ross.❞ tone so sweet it could give her latest pastry creation a run for its money. an attempt at being reassuring-- soothing-- the customary bedside manner that just left dahlia slightly more agitated and rolling her eyes. ❝i’m happy to say the procedure seems to have gone well. we just wanted to check in and see how you were feeling.❞
that had to be a joke, right? how was she feeling? as if she’d just gone under the most routine of procedures. the removal of her appendix or tonsils. maybe just a little peek into some part of her body-- you know, to make sure everything was running smoothly. an x-ray. an ultrasound. a CAT scan. those were normal. that was when you asked how someone was feeling.
how was she feeling?
features as blank as the first day she’d arrived. mind as rattled as the moment she laid down on that table and allowed them to strap her down. fingers curled into fists (always ready to fight something or someone it would seem) as they had been when questioning if whatever they’d done to her had even worked.
how was she feeling?
❝like i could use a drink. but i’m guessing you won’t be giving me one of those-- so how about you just tell me what’s supposed to happen next?❞
☠ : Are there any recent/daily thoughts they have about death or dying?
☯ : Do they believe for every darkness there is a lightness? If not, why?
♥ : Name one thing about the way their emotions work that they despise.
☆ : Would they ever wish upon a falling star? If so, what would they wish?
☁ : Describe how they would spend a stormy, overcast/rainy day.
☂ : Storms or clear skies?
εжз : What about nature do they find calming? What about nature do they find disagreeable?
☎ : List three or more people they would call out for during an emergency.
☛ : What is their typical response to being given orders?
☢ : Describe a thought or dream that would cause them to have a mental meltdown.
✄ : Are there any reasons why they would ever think of self-harm? If so, what are they?
❤ : Describe a physical action that shows complete trust.
❥ : Describe a verbal way they would express complete trust.
✗ : Explain how they portray feelings of hostility or dislike.
⊗ : What is something that causes them to question themself?
☾ : On a sleepless night, what would they be found doing?
☤ : Is there anything about their health they are continuously on edge about? Something they disregard?
✓ : Name at least two people who can trust them with their life.
❣: Describe a way that will earn affection (whether platonic or romantic) from them.
✖ : Describe a way to make them uneasy or apprehensive.
♆ : Are they prone to violent outbursts or thoughts?
✏ : What are their creative outlets?
✉ : Do they tend to rely on words or actions more?
♡ : Is there a certain scent that brings about nostalgia? If so, describe a memory this scent brings back.
۞: Are there any inner demons they can never seem to get rid of? What are they?
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“Do as you wish, but don’t say I did not warn you.”
→ @mariicn ↻ SOURCE ⟳ ACCEPTING
THERE’S A FINE line between determination and ignorant stubbornness. somewhere in her youth it became a sort of– goal to cross that line. at any given chance. when told to do one thing, it was considered beneficial to turn around and do the opposite. when forbidden to go right she’d immediately ignore the favored path and climb her way over whatever road blocks happened to be in her way. and now at the confusing age of twenty-five there wasn’t a single bit of change.
when the body appeared to have barely grown out of its teen years– why should certain aspects of her mentality enter the adult world? also known as: logic by dahlia ross.
had he kept silent maybe she would’ve left it alone. deemed the task too BOTHERSOME. forced herself to ignore that pleading porcelain face peeking from a heap of trash. but no. apparently a ‘warning’ had been necessary in regards to her suggestion. apparently he’d actually expected her to listen. as if the possible threat of an avalanche composed of more garbage than snow was all that terrifying (who was she kidding– the idea of it alone made her want to shower twenty times a day for a week).
❝i don’t need your permission for that.❞ you petulant little girl. a broken record of words courtesy of her mother– always finding themselves on a loop during such situations. that didn’t halt the movement of her feet however. didn’t keep the jacket on her petite frame but rather made for an unnecessary ornament deposited (without his consent) over his shoulder. ❝and if i do find myself crushed by a pile of trash– congrats, you get to live on knowing you warned me first. how about that?❞
---i have two more ask meme’s that i gotta do. but i’m gonna leave ‘em for now and get off dash. i’ll still be on aim so feel free to add (d_ahlia) or drop your aim and i’ll add you. if you do add me, just ya know let me know who ya are!! alright, later!!
She has been finding TREASURES in places she did not want to search. She has been hearing wisdom from tongues she did not want to listen. She has been finding beauty where she did not want to look. And she had learned so much from journeys she did not want to take. Was it FATE that lead her down this path? Through the fire and flames, the dead forest and ocean of blood, to this path that brought her to this tiny store of treasure. If it were true then forgive her, O GRACIOUS ONE; for she has been closing her ears and eyes for too long.
She has learned that miracles are only called miracles because they are often witnessed by only those who can see through all of life’s illusions. THAT she knows for sure through the words she had read by others. She’s ready to see what really exists on the OTHER SIDE, what exists behind the blinds, and taste all the ugly fruit instead of all that looks right, plump and ripe. Maybe it was simply the time for her to start living.
❝ How much does the small wooden musical carousel costs? ❞
GETTING BACK INTO the swing of her ‘normal’ life had proven difficult. more akin to the pendulum of a forgotten grandfather clock struggling against brittle gears. desperately in need of lubrication but somehow too filled with pride to ask for it properly. it still moves after all. that’s all that matters, right? nevermind how many times in an hour the movements halt. no matter how firmly the pendulum may be stuck in place. it would find its rhythm again. someday. all it needed was that EXTRA PUSH to get it going again. that’s all it was, her employer had stated. calling her in on a day she didn’t usually work because ‘someone had called in sick’.
that old man lied about as well as dahlia spoke about herself-- asked or otherwise. which is to say: terribly.
she didn’t have the patience to answer this question or that about the dollhouse in the corner. even the faint whisperings surrounding the dolls (MOST OF WHICH were not from the customers but it wasn’t her place to point that out) proved aggravating. it had been a gift to have a day off from the bakery-- only to be cursed with an unwanted shift at the toy store. and yet another customer approaching. a test of her patience. the trap resting at the tip of her tongue posed and ready to snap down on the neck of the woman in front of her-- quickly disarmed and tossed to the side. she should be paid extra for her will power alone.
❝oh--- there should’ve been a price tag on that, i’m sorry. if i remember right it’s about ₩15,060 or so.❞
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IF IT WERE possible to tear apart every aspect of herself. to shatter whatever image she held of herself. to deconstruct, set aflame, redesign and rebuild herself into some semblance of the person she maybe was supposed to be– it would’ve been done years ago. but apparently that wasn’t within her skill set. apparently she didn’t have the hands to destroy (only to collect flimsy excuse after flimsy excuse as passed down by her father). a pity really. in another life– in another body– with another soul, she would’ve made art out of destruction.
but no, as this woman named dahlia her chosen mediums remain simple. tubes of paint and sugary treats. both leaving her covered in one substance or another that didn’t seem to want to let go. that clung to her skin no matter how many times she washed her hands. no matter how hard she scrubbed at her arms. some small dot would linger behind. only to be pointed out by eyes belonging to others because people looked that closely. WHY? because that’s just how humans were apparently.
❝don’t worry, i’ll lock up. i just have to finish up this last cake.❞
said– she didn’t even know how many hours ago. unnecessarily busying herself with the next order that could’ve waited until the following day. elbow deep in flour and overly sweetened frosting that would surely leave the recipient with a tooth ache after one bite. going home ‘so early’ had seemed like a waste. a problem she didn’t want to face (a problem she didn’t even want to admit was one to begin with but hey- that wasn’t anything new). but had she left when she was meant to, maybe dahlia wouldn’t have found herself sitting on the curb in front of the bakery. cheeks coated in a thin layer of the same flour she’d been so obsessively devotedly sifting and weighing an hour? or two? ago.
maybe she wouldn’t have drawn stares from those still wandering through the streets. maybes– there were a lot of maybes. but they didn’t apply to a set of shoes coming into her lowered line of sight. didn’t apply to a voice dropping a question before her and leaving it up to dahlia to pick it up or leave it there to rot. and clearly her tongue decided that word didn’t apply to it either (fucking traitor). ❝depends– do you mean that in the literal sense? because if you look close enough,❞ monotonous words and slow movements used to point out her white dusted cheeks, ❝it’s kind of obvious. if you mean metaphorically? it’s too cold to go into that long of a story. so pick your poison carefully.❞
comfort is something dahlia never seeks out from other people. if anything, she doesn’t actually believe herself deserving of it anyway. any problem that she may need to face, deal with, and find closure from-- she’ll do it and carry whatever burden it may bring along with it. in some sense, she does find some form of comfort in drinking whatever alcohol she can get her hands on or obsessing over getting a new recipe right. on a good day, she may find it somewhere a bit more productive (but those are rare). but at the end of the day it’s more self medicating than actual comfort. numbing herself even more to everything around her. and to dahlia? well, i guess that it’s own form of comfort. no matter how destructive it may prove to be in the long run.
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