Love Is An Extravagance We Buy In Bulk
Jun. 18th, 2014 | 02:01 am
music: Sam Smith - Leave Your Lover
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jessica/Tiffany
A/N: Love is expensive. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. (Pt. 1/2 of Love Is A High Stakes Game)
---
Some nights when it is inevitably not quiet because the city is too small for everything to be still at once, and when the walls seem to close tightly upon their bodies with the pressure of long work hours, minuscule paychecks, late rents, and expensive grocery bills - on top of everything else that is not a listed necessity but is somehow vital to their existences, Jessica wraps herself around Tiffany’s sleeping, worn, exhausted frame and whispers love into her neck.
She recites notes she has and hasn’t written, poetry she’s read, and lines from films and books. For every vague, meandering passage that somehow perfectly captures the feeling of the tightness in her chest, ever present and ever aware of itself above all else, she follows with a more direct meaning and says “I love you.”
Even in her sleep, Tiffany always manages to answer. She turns in Jessica’s scrawny, limp hold, and with an adjustment of a neck curtains over Jessica’s sight with midnight spun down in long spools of silk strands. She nestles Jessica in darkness and artificial strawberry shampoo scent. She breathes in and out, deeply, evenly, and just the sound of that - of her presence - calms Jessica in ways that tax returns never can.
They’re always running out of things - money, food, patience, time - the both of them. Jessica thinks they’ve been too close to getting evicted too many times, too close to losing each other in the oncoming storm, the waves that crash down and threaten to drown them in the name of survival. But even when they skimp down on another “extravagance” (who needs electricity anyways?) and pinch another dollar, they always without hesitation spend generously on the most costly expense of all.
“I love you. I love you. ‘No mistake about it. Ice is cold; roses are red; I'm in love. And this love is about to carry me off somewhere. The current's too overpowering; I don't have any choice. It may very well be a special place, some place I've never seen before. Danger may be lurking there, something that may end up wounding me deeply, fatally. I might end up losing everything. But there's no turning back. I can only go with the flow. Even if it means I'll be burned up, gone forever.’”
The End.
P.S. Kudos to you if you know where the quote is from.
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Don't Smile
Jun. 11th, 2014 | 02:52 pm
music: Raphael Saadiq - Just One Kiss Ft. Joss Stone
Wednesday.
The express Q train decides not to stop at Jessica’s station because of railway construction. Consequently, she is fifteen minutes late for work and forced to take the R, which goes pretty much the same way as the Q but with a million extra stops.
It is at eighth street, where she is wedged in the corner by mid-morning commuter rush, half-heartedly clinging to a bar and coming up with possible ways to apologize to her dickhead of a boss without giving up too much of her dignity, that Jessica first sees the girl who has the words ‘fresh meat’ written all over her in glaring big letters. Scratch that, it's not even written all over her, it's set up extravagantly and possibly even illuminated within her being like a blinking neon sign.
The girl stumbles in at eighth street, teetering in last after being pushed back by the crowd barreling forward for any spare inch of space possible. She’s in heels (not a good idea) and makes the classic mistake of getting too close to the dozing hobo who is occupying one of the handicapped seats, resulting in his awakening and loud screaming that now fills the subway.
“GET AWAY FROM MY SPACE! THIS IS MY SPACE GODDAMN IT I PAID FOR IT!”
Jessica is too tired to feel sympathetic and she only watches blankly as the new girl squirms away, mortified and blushing a deep shade of pink, jostling the jam packed crowd of passengers, much to everyone’s annoyance and dismay.
When the R starts up again and the girl with ‘fresh meat’ written all over her nearly falls into a businessman holding his coffee, Jessica sighs and decides that the girl will not last long.
Girls like that get eaten up. They end up regretting ever thinking they'd want to be here.
---
Friday.
It is raining. The Q is still not back on, which is insane considering its importance in people's lives.
One of Jessica’s roommates, a tall, slender woman with a stomach like that of six men, has her out on errands. Jessica is at Prince Street under a five dollar umbrella that is one more gust of wind away from breaking when she decides that she has done her best at trying to get everything her roommate wants (only more than half the list is missing), and decides to take the R train home.
Amazingly enough, but maybe not so amazingly because this city is too goddamn small, she recognizes the girl with ‘fresh meat’ written all over her when she steps on. The girl is noticeably soaked, dark black hair matted to her pale forehead along with her clothes to her shivering frame. She looks like an abandoned puppy at the corner of the train, clutching to a subway pole for dear life.
Jessica looks around, noting that no one seems to notice the girl. They’re too engrossed in their books, or music, or stop indicators, or even just the view outside of the window - which is nothing but the continuous crawl of the dark slate tunnel walls.
People in the city are quite heartless - and for good reason, too. But Jessica isn’t all the way there yet, so she shuffles her way to the girl with ‘fresh meat’ written all over her’s side of the train and edges her cheap umbrella to the girl subtly.
“You need this more than I do,” she says, and the girl looks up, all the way startled by the looks of her gaping mouth and wide, shining eyes.
“Excuse me?”
It’s almost Jessica’s stop, and she huffs a little impatiently.
“Use this umbrella,” she clarifies.
“You look like you’re another five minutes away from catching pneumonia or something. So stay dry because no one wants to see a dead body on the street”
Her stop is arrives and the subway’s doors open. Jessica's already on her way out when she sees the girl grinning at her from ear to ear, eyes crinkled into little boomerangs as she’s about to speak.
“Don’t -” Jessica cuts her off.
“Don't smile. We don’t smile in public here, because that’s just asking to get taken advantage of.”
Sighing again, Jessica steps off of the R and decides that this will be her last good deed for a long time.
What’s the point for lost causes, anyways?
---
Monday.
Jessica gets to the station early and confirms with an officer that the express Q train is working. She’s tired of having to get on her knees. Groveling to her boss is definitely not her style.
It’s 10 minutes until the train comes and she’s having a good day, meaning that she’s able to score a relatively clean looking seat at the station bench as she waits. Jessica tucks a wisp of brown hair from her face before shoving her hands in her pockets and nodding off. 10 minutes extra sleep is a godsend. Especially when -
“Hey.”
There is a light poke into the side of her arm, and Jessica opens her eyes irritably, ready to yowl until she sees who it is.
The girl with ‘fresh meat’ written all over her is looking at her tentatively, a small smile on her face. It's a wonder how they keep running into each other. She must live around here.
“I’m sorry,” the girl says, “I know I’m not supposed to smile, but I’m just really glad to see you. I have something for you.”
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a bundle of cheap looking plastic tarp canvas.
“My umbrella,” Jessica says blankly.
“I just wanted to return this,” the girl with ‘fresh meat’ written all over her says earnestly, “thank you so much. This really helped me when I was getting home.”
“Keep it,” Jessica shrugs, “It’s just a cheap umbrella. I’m surprised it didn’t break on you on the way home, to be honest.”
The girl laughs and Jessica sees nothing but flashing white teeth and closed eyes that really seem to be enjoying something fully for a moment, before she looks at Jessica again, all too kindly.
“Thank you, really, though,” she says. “Can I repay you in any way?”
“It’s really no big deal. You don’t have to.”
“Can I buy you coffee?”
She’s noticed the bags prominently hanging under Jessica’s eyes, and the brunette can only shrug as the girl insists on getting her some coffee.
She's been late everyday for the past week, anyways. What's another day?
---
Later.
The girl with ‘fresh meat’ written all over her - Tiffany - has a favorite coffee stand. It’s right outside of Union Square, just one block away. There, she gets coffee with extra sugar and one black for Jessica in classic touristy anthora cups, and offers to buy Jessica a chocolate croissant though she eventually ends up splitting her own in half to share despite Jessica having not asked.
Tiffany's lived in the city for a little under a month. She loves the fast paced environment. She’s never been to Stumptown Coffee Roasters on twenty-eighth street. She hardly has any city connections, and thinks the Blind Barber’s is actually a barber shop - which it is, but isn’t at the same time.
Jessica grudgingly finds her charming, if not absolutely sincere, kind, and maybe even a little too honest.
Things like that - a little naive, a little too idealistic - don’t usually last for long, but she decides she likes Tiffany anyways.
She’ll be a good friend to have until it’s time for her to leave.
---
Much, Much Later.
"You remember that one time when you came and gave me your umbrella on the subway?"
"The day you looked like Orphan Annie's cousin? Yeah, why?"
"That was the first time anyone was really nice to me since I moved here."
"Well, people here aren't really known to be kind."
"But they're not mean, either. Honestly, I think regardless of where I could have been no one would have thought twice about me on that day. Yet you did. Thanks for that."
"Like I said then. No one wants to see a dead body on the street. Don't get too mushy about it."
---
Eventually.
Tiffany loses that large, blinking neon sign that says ‘fresh meat’. Her eyes become sharper and she doesn't look like an Asian tourist that can be easily taken advantage of anymore. Or, at least Jessica gradually begins to forget that Tiffany’s a new girl.
Maybe it’s because Tiffany finally understands now how to get on a subway properly - angle your elbows out and push in immediately after two people at most step off the subway. Maybe it’s because she finally has Stumptown, and decides that she still likes her coffee cart better. Or maybe it’s because over time, helping Tiffany learn the ropes of living in the big city with only half the exasperation she would have with anyone else, Jessica eventually stops seeing the doomed new girl and only sees Tiffany looking back at her.
Because Tiffany, obviously enough, even more than that stupid 'fresh meat' label has 'Tiffany' written all over her. It’s in the way she smiles, so fully and generously. The way she still takes time to look up in amazement at the towering buildings and skyscrapers, even though she passes by them every single day of her life. The fact that she sneaks into dog parks even though she doesn’t have a dog, and tells lame jokes to children heading to school on the train in the mornings.
She's learned all the tricks but still stops for the homeless on the street, and doesn't pretend at all to be unimpressed by the wonders of the city.
She still feels things fully and that makes her a unique person in a city full of interesting people, Jessica realizes one night when they are curled up on a couch waiting for a 4AM Chinese food delivery.
There’s something about that thought which moves Jessica, because maybe she's spent all her time with her eyes on the ground until this person came into her life. And when Tiffany turns to look at her, all big, sincere eyes and plump lips, her hair curtaining about her in a dark cascade, everything turns into a moment that has Jessica surging forward, thinking ‘fuck it, we live in a metropolitan city. who cares about sexual orientation?’ soon kissing her and tasting her, finally realizing, ‘this is Tiffany. This is Tiffany. I really like Tiffany.’
Tiffany, despite her own surprise, because she swears she was just talking about claiming all of the peking ribs for herself when Jessica suddenly decided to kiss her, still responds enthusiastically. As if she's been waiting all this time.
And, entangled for long moments, maybe for the first time in a long time Jessica feels everything fully - finally gets something that's been niggling her for a long time - until they both have to pull away from each other, panting lightly.
They look at each other half in shock and wonder, and half in confusion, wondering ‘what was that? What do we do now?’
It’s then that the corners of Tiffany’s lips tremor and suddenly curl up. She laughs, grinning wide and straining not to but failing terribly as she always does.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I know you always tell me not to smile, but I can’t help it. I’m so happy you did that.”
For once, Jessica can’t help it either, and they’re soon both giggling and laughing and kissing each other again.
It’s because it’s 4AM, Jessica thinks. They’re both tired, maybe a little drunk.
But she knows it’s also because it’s Tiffany.
It’s Tiffany who has ‘Tiffany’ written all over her, and now she’s left her mark on Jessica as well.
The End.
------------------
A/N:
Ew, this is cheesy.
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The Thought That Could Have Lived
Dec. 8th, 2013 | 07:59 pm
Pairing: Jessica/Seohyun
Rating: PG
A/N: A very unpolished, old draft I'm posting.
------------------
The ability to separate oneself from one’s own emotions was a quality that Seohyun actively sought after, when it came to the overall structure and day to day routines of her life. Of course, there was absolutely nothing wrong with being emotional. In fact, it was fun to live a life filled with feeling. Concepts like happiness, love, and satisfaction, were motivations that people wrote songs, fought wars, and dreamed for.
But Seohyun knew there was a time and place for everything, and this exact moment was not ideal for either.
She had only meant to poke her head in for a moment to check on the other girl. Sooyoung was out on a late schedule, and Jessica had a habit of passing out in her bed with the lights on, which ran up their electric bill to lord knows what amount every month. But when she instead found the brunette silently engrossed in her cellphone, an open magazine carelessly placed and abandoned by her side, Seohyun found herself instead lingering in the doorway, quietly watching.
When Jessica finally noticed the dark haired girl, it didn’t take much effort on her part to get Seohyun to her side, soon squeezing into the older girl’s tiny bed and giggling as Jessica’s lips pressed slightly at the lost space – “you’re too big now,” she quipped –though she didn’t seem to mind much. Thigh pressing against thigh, Seohyun picked up Jessica’s neglected magazine and languidly looked through it as Jessica returned to her phone. Every several moments, the brunette would make a small comment or noise, and the younger girl would laugh in response briefly.
It was per usual, because during promotion cycles like these, all they ever had for company was each other. And even if it weren’t Seohyun at the door, Jessica probably would have invited whichever member it was in for late night conversation, and Seohyun didn’t mind that. But though she was not in any way remotely jealous about Jessica’s penchant for late night companions, she never could get over her constant, possessive desire to look after Jessica at all hours of the day and night. Though expectations would rather assume the older girl be the one to do it, Seohyun found herself constantly clucking after Jessica like a mother hen. Granted, she tended to take care of all of the girls, whether it be through advice or vitamins, but Seohyun always made sure to look after Jessica especially.
If anyone were to ever ask her why, Seohyun had spent several nights practicing control of her face and voice enough to be able to calmly tell anyone that the reason she cared for Jessica so exceptionally was because she was one of her closest unnies. But what she kept to herself - what she examined sometimes late at night, or in a spare moment when Jessica has caught her eye, and she had the time to let her mind wander - is the fact that the only thing she could ever think of whenever she looked at the older girl was the idea that the brunette was simply… volatile.
Without a doubt, Jessica was fragile. She was weak, in a sense, but not a bad one. She was weak in the sense that whatever quality it was that she had, was valuable, and worth the whole of anyone’s efforts to preserve. And it was only natural that Seohyun was the one to undertake said efforts. It was only natural, because –
“It’s late,” she murmured out of the blue.
Looking up, Jessica’s eyebrows quirked before she glanced back down at her phone in her right hand, soon humming in agreement. “You’re right.”
“I’ll let you get to sleep. We have an early schedule tomorrow,” Seohyun murmured, carefully setting the magazine aside and making to get up. But then Jessica’s hands suddenly caught at her wrist, and though it was nowhere near forceful, Seohyun felt as if a shackle had suddenly taken hold of her entire body and bound her into place.
“Goodnight,” Jessica said, lightly, though the way she looked at Seohyun hinted at something otherwise.
The sudden piercing gaze unnerved Seohyun. She could feel heat noticeably collecting to her pale cheeks, and the pounding of her heart thumping a little more anxiously, as she managed to nod, smiling stiffly also to desperately sell her façade to the roving eyes that seemed to see much more than what she let on.
“You don’t need to hear this from me, but take care of yourself, okay?”
“Of course, Unnie.”
With that reassurrment, Jessica released Seohyun and it was as if a weight soon lifted throughout the room when she soon relaxed into her bed and grinned mischievously at the younger girl who again began her task of leaving now in a daze.
Seohyun left quickly, and did not even dare to breathe, much less turn around to look at the brunette, until the older girl’s door was shut firmly closed behind her. Letting out a deep breath, she wandered away from Jessica’s room, but did not go to her own.
Seohyun had almost ventured into dangerous territory tonight. Foolishly, she had let her own sentiments get the best of her. She had allowed herself to get swept up in a feeling that could ruin her.
It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with liking a girl. Seohyun had worked long enough and seen enough of the world to know that the real issue didn’t lie there. It was just the fact that she found herself developing feelings for not just any girl, but her close unnie, her friend, her group member, her co-worker, Jessica.
Seohyun believed that in times like these, when developing feelings for someone you simply just cannot have for many many reasons, the ability to separate feelings from logic when making decisions is ideal.
She feared Jessica’s disapproval of her if the brunette were ever to find out about her feelings. Even more, Seohyun feared Jessica’s discomfort, which would undoubtedly spread throughout the whole group, affecting their dynamic and thus their work performance.
And even if Jessica were to take it all in stride, seeing no harm in Seohyun’s feelings for her. What Seohyun feared absolutely the most was rejection.
Because rejection meant that everything Seohyun was, everything that she had naturally contrived herself to be as a person and for Jessica, was just not conceivable as anything romantic to Jessica. Rejection meant that she wasn’t good enough, and no amount of reading, repetition, and study would be able to remedy it, because love is the one thing that cannot be practiced until perfect.
Seohyun would rather ignore her predicament and hide away from revelations, than find any clarity in her situation. She would rather pretend not to know why she cares for Jessica especially, and finds Jessica so vulnerable, like a small bird, or a porcelain plate that she can hold so carefully yet still break, because then she can still at least remain at the older girl’s side and feign the blissful ignorance that relishes the older girl’s attention and grudgingly accepts the older girl’s affection for others.
Whether it made sense to anyone else or not didn’t matter, because as long as she didn’t acknowledge it, Seohyun could continue on being in love with Jessica without any risk of being heartbroken, at least until the older girl found herself someone to call a girlfriend or boyfriend.
Seohyun loved Jessica dearly. She was in love with her, too.
But the latter thought would never have its day in the sun.
Seohyun would never, ever let that thought come to life for fear that it become a true secret, bound to be discovered.
She had to ignore the feeling, and constantly keep herself away from any mental conclusions.
Yes, regardless, she knew what was there. But she kept her eyes shut anyways, to keep from seeing it.
She didn’t acknowledge any possibility of having her love reciprocated, and did not acknowledge any possibility of the feeling at all.
It was just a thing that she poked at and then cowered away from like the boogie man.
She just had to keep murmuring at it, “it’s not there. It’s not there. It’s not there.”
And it wouldn’t cause any harm. It wouldn’t be alive, though it desperately wished to be so.
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Lotus In The Mud
Nov. 25th, 2013 | 10:33 pm
Character(s): SNSD
Rating: PG
A/N: An exercise I wrote a while ago.
--------------------
Her legs are cold.
The joints of her knees ache because the air is seeping, snapping through her skin and right into her bones, eating away in sharp bites. She doesn’t want to, but she moves and she smiles, splays her hands past the hem of her shorts as she stands complacently. She stares out, but does not focus because the bright light that meets her blinds her, envelops everything into a fierce haze.
At least it makes her hair look nice, though. It makes it shine, look like there’s actual luster and not product in it. The light radiates the pink of her lips and bounces off the white of her skin, making her look like she’s nearly glowing.
She’s almost ethereal looking, among them all. She is one apart from them, and she can hear all of their sound in waves, though where she is it is silent. A pin drop can be heard in her head and it’s echo would last for hours.
Where she is, the world is asleep, and all of the lights are off. The machines have stopped humming.
She looks out to all of the people, smiles, and feels cold, but does not think anything about it. After it’s all over, she lets a blanket drape over her goose-pimpled legs, and doesn’t know what to think when her body suddenly feels too heavy to carry in the backseat of her car, the shell casing of her head inevitably drooping into her own shoulder.
Where she is, the world is asleep, and all of the lights are off. The machines have stopped humming.
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Raining Sirens Every Five Minutes
Sep. 22nd, 2013 | 02:24 am
Pairing: Jessica/Tiffany
Rating: PG-13
A/N: I am an old, rusty writer. Very brief writing exercise. Little effort put forth is apologized for. There is no point to this.
The room is unusually cold when Tiffany steps in, four grocery bags fisted by the handles in one hand, and her key in the other. It’s unusually cold, or it’s just her, because she’s drenched from head to toe in the sudden rain that had caught her in the midst of running her errands. It was just her luck to be without an umbrella when she usually had one on hand everyday. Now she is freezing, and her apartment is not helping.
Dropping the soggy plastic bags to the floor, the dark haired girl strides into the living room, peeling off her soaked jacket with each step starting with the arms, which she personally thought was the most difficult part in taking the damn thing off. Once it is off, she holds the dripping cloth by its collar and shakes it, glaring as droplets of water spray from the fabric as it swoops down and thumps against her leg in a grand movement. “Babe,” she finally thinks to call, once her pale, freezing feet are padding down her carpeted hallway and into her bedroom. “Babe, I’m back. It’s raining.”
A pair of curious brown eyes meet Tiffany in the doorway. From her place in bed, propped upright against the headboard, the brunette’s eyebrows arch at the damp mess in front of her. “Hi,” Tiffany murmurs, suddenly stopped and self-conscious of the roving gaze. The other girl does not say anything back, still intently studying the flimsy clothing that is sticking to Tiffany’s shivering form. “I-“ A smirk starts playing at the corners of her lips, riding the subway line down the sharp cut of her jaw from her amusement to her mouth as she looks, wanting to laugh, but pursing her lips instead. And from her place at the door Tiffany can tell that Jessica wants her.
“I forgot my umbrella,” she finally manages to say, inching forward into the room cautiously as she regards the other girl. Her throat is curiously dry. There is a churning in her stomach. Jessica’s whole presence – from her alabaster skin to her stilt pose – seems so thin and ephemeral, so prone to vanish. Tiffany goes to her gingerly as if walking on egg shells, though all she really wants is to rush to Jessica and feel herself being held within the older girl’s bony arms. Her knees meet the side of the bed, and her lean legs eagerly bend, cracking at the joint, as the mattress sags and groans underneath her slow, crawling weight.
Jessica blinks, lips still pursed, back still leaning against the headboard. She waits until Tiffany’s clammy hands are at her neck, brushing her tangled wisps of hair away as she settles next to her. When the dark haired girl stills, Jessica lets herself lean, tipping like a cut tree, into Tiffany’s shoulder.
“I heard sirens five minutes ago,” she murmurs. “There’s always sirens in this city,” Tiffany replies. Jessica nods in agreement, one of her hands rising to rub at her forehead out of habit.
“I still can’t tell whether it was a police or ambulance siren, though.”
“Does it really matter? Either way, too much shit happens in this city.”
“Too much stupid shit.”
“Stupid people.”
“Doing stupid things.”
The smile has finally arrived at Jessica’s lips, and she is amused as Tiffany’s grin is soon at her neck, with a turn of her head. Lips pressing against the burning skin, Tiffany helps Jessica lay down on her back. As she climbs over her, she looks at the slim pile of joints and curves beneath her and swallows. Foolishly, Tiffany still fears that Jessica will somehow evaporate into a mist and slip away. But logically, she has the older girl pinned and she soon leans towards Jessica’s lips, letting her body fall into the brunette’s as Jessica’s hands grab at her and frantically claw at her clothing, ready to slide away the slimy, protective outer layers in pursuit of ripe warmth.
Tiffany is acquiescent. She is cold, wet, and afraid of getting pneumonia among many other things. And, she is eager to feel the feeling returning to her body via Jessica’s fingernails on her back.
There is a sharp exhale of breath, gasped out of habit. And from outside the window, mixing with the rain still pelting the rest of the world, there is a faint repetitive wail of several sirens.
The End.
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In The Eyes of an Elephant
May. 17th, 2013 | 11:42 pm
music: Lana del Rey - Young and Beautiful
Rating: PG
A/N: Rough draft, super quick write up.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been able to recognize myself.”
Taeyeon pauses briefly, leaning back into her plush chair to think on how she should elaborate. It’s a simple question. It’s one of those questions. Six years. Six years they’ve all been together, and they always make it seem like it’s been an eternity.
“Do you recognize yourself from six years ago?”
Well, yes, she can certainly ascertain that the scrawny young thing dancing around with arms pumping in the air is her. But even then she’d looked in the mirror every day that year and wondered who on earth was staring back. Fast forward six years later, and she still does that. But it’s not an appropriate confession to make in its entirety.
“I think it’s hard for anyone to really recognize themselves,” she says.
Her hair is blonde. It was black, six years ago. She doesn’t know whether it’ll ever be black again. Someone next to her is fidgeting with their bracelet and she makes a point of ignoring it to express her thoughts.
“We carry a perception of ourselves which we recognize, but honestly whether that’s our actual, true selves is the question. When we look in the mirror, who we see in the mirror isn’t necessarily us; it’s a reversed image. We see a reversed image of whoever we are, and that can be quite shocking for people whose traits aren’t symmetrical. Like that, your entire perception of yourself can shift when you’re not looking at yourself from your own point of view.”
“Well, that’s an interesting point!”
Everyone laughs at her cleverness, and moves on. But Taeyeon is stuck. She is stuck on the thought.
The aspects of her face are symmetrical. When she looks in the mirror, it is her staring back.
Yet she cannot discern the features; she can’t claim them as herself.
She’s uncertain about things and it is why she looks and is filled with doubt, despite knowing better.
Is this really the reality I am facing? She wonders. Milky white skin. Almond eyes. And a noble forehead. Pretty features that all will soon be gone because time is a real con artist in that way, stealing youth like a thief in the night.
It’s at these times when having to stare into the face of the matter that she wishes she had Tiffany’s blind, yet passionate faith, Jessica’s duality, Or even Seohyun’s rationality, among all else.
But instead, all she has is herself, though it’s a mystery of what that necessarily entails.
No better than an elephant, she can hardly see 20 meters in front of her, much less perceive the entire depth and weight of everything that is happening around her- to her.
She’s blind, but even a blind elephant can lead.
A blind elephant can lead its pack and inevitably arrive at a destination, even without the ability to see.
The End.
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Never Going To Stop
Feb. 19th, 2013 | 10:46 pm
music: Beetle - Run River North
mood: Psuedo-Philosophical
Pairing/Character: Tiffany
Rating: PG-13 (light swearing)
A/N: Just some rambling.
--------------------
She feels like she’s five again when she puts it on. Her best dress for Sunday evening, because too many people crowd the pews in the morning-too many people that would put God aside for more than a moment to look at her, and maybe even more than that.
Tiffany pats down her hem, and purses her lips at her reflection in the mirror. She fingers the floral and the pleats, and looks past the smooth, glowing alabaster, the expert curls, and the thick mineral light makeup, into deep and dark and strange eyes.
Her dress straps feel like a weight on her shoulders. Her body looks misshapen, dented, crushed under flower patterns and clean strokes of an iron, all efforts to cover up all of the wrong-all of the mistakes she’s made today.
Mistakes.
Tiffany can’t forget them.
No, even when she puts on her best smile, prostrates herself before Him in private, doing as her mother had always told her to do to make sure He knows that she’s so, so sorry, she wouldn’t forget.
She’d always remember, but she’d at least be cleansed for the time being, until she’d have to do it all over again, and pick out a new dress and think of a new lie to tell and repent for in the privacy of her own room and His comfort.
But the cycle was worth it, if she’s forgiven.
It’s worth it, if someone else, real or not, is willing to carry half of her burdens.
Burdens, mistakes, all of the good and the bad- Tiffany is somewhere underneath them all. And maybe she needs to find out where she is, somehow.
Somehow, as in by spending more time with her bible alone, than with anybody else, more time in her church, than someone’s room.
Contemplating whether to wear lipstick or not, Tiffany wonders which would make her look more innocent, and whether she’d like to look innocent at all.
She’s almost twenty-five, after all, damn it, and she needs to figure some things out, but she doesn’t know how to, and no one’s got the answers for her, because they don’t have her kind of problems where she is now.
So, what is she to do, when all she’s got is the wreckage of her exterior, pretty, but weak armor that can’t last much longer, and questions that have no answers?
Her mother had always taken her to church for a good reason.
People might not champion it, in this progressive day and age. But if church is good for one thing, it’s a good place for solace. It’s a weeping place for the guilty.
Tiffany’s willing to go every Sunday, because, after all, it’s her kind of place to keep as the anchor in her spin cycle of a life.
The church is not a museum for saints, but a hospital for sinners.
The End.
A/N: Word Vomit Exercise. Yeah.
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Twenty-Five Cent View
Feb. 18th, 2013 | 04:05 pm
music: Frank Ocean - Super Rich Kids
Title: Twenty-Five Cent View
Pairing: Jessica/Tiffany
Rating: PG
A/N: Hoboism.
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No one’s really supposed to know that she’s been living in her car. But that doesn’t faze Jessica, when her ruffled blonde head pops out of her window to squint at the girl whose own bright hair color is near assaulting her vision, accented by the powerful morning rays of the full sun.
“Good morning,” she murmurs, eyeing Tiffany’s unreadable looks. Maybe she should be worried. But all fears are gone, when the other girl smiles, eye crinkling-ly wide, and pulls Jessica’s car door open, soon hopping into the volkswagen and whining at her to scoot.
Tiffany produces a pack of Marlboros and explains, while lighting one, that she herself is a couple weeks away from Jessica’s fate.
"I've just got my eviction notice."
“Well, the passenger seat is all yours,” Jessica laughs, feeling generous. She at least has a car to sleep in. God knows what Tiffany has, besides her stupid, antiquated cd collection. And her half-baked job, selling misprinted postcards to tourists.
Tiffany gives Jessica all of her quarters as rent, and they end up spending them all, using the coin operated binoculars in front of Jessica’s car.
“At least you’ve got a nice view.” Tiffany admires, looking at all of the buildings dotted and mapped out, crawling all of the way to the bay that surrounded the San Francisco Bridge.
“Yeah,” Jessica agrees, smiling, “can you believe it? It only cost me twenty-five cents.”
The End.
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Machine Hearts of Machine Men
Feb. 17th, 2013 | 11:30 pm
Pairing: Taeyeon/SNSD Member
Rating: PG
A/N: A quick and random write up.
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She doesn’t realize she’s fallen until she’s already on the ground.
The concrete knocks against her knees, and the contact jars her, bruises her, and vibrates from her bone all of the way through the rest of her body like it’s running in her blood flow.
Taeyeon doesn’t know what to do. But she gets up anyways, and keeps walking, pulling her black overcoat closer over the thin gaps in the cable knitting of her maroon sweater, feet clumsily edging forward and clapping against the ground with the loud quality of leather soles that only her money could buy.
But expensive leopard print oxfords aren’t what Taeyeon cares about, right now. Her money, her face, discernible for everyone to see, and her unsteady steps, are not on her mind, right now.
It’s still too cold in Seoul. But Taeyeon wants to strip everything she wears off of herself. She wants to tear at her own skin, and peel it all away like an onion, ripping the layers apart to find what she’s looking for.
Maybe then, she’d actually feel it when she falls again- like she doesn’t when she is actually on the ground again.
Taeyeon doesn’t get up, this time, and people look at her, as she expected them to. They whisper loudly, murmuring when they recognize her face, as she thought they would. But Taeyeon is so mentally beyond it-caring. She lets herself sink into the pavement, feeling as if she’s molding her body with the concrete; her deep honey locks spreading out like a nesting halo from under her head.
The indiscreet camera flashes do not faze her. And she remains on the ground, blank, void, maybe tired… But she doesn’t really know anymore, because what the problem was was that she could not feel anything anymore.
Taeyeon lies there for a long time, not realizing that she’s fallen asleep until she is woken up.
A frown greets her, when she opens her eyes. And seething, angry words spit out at her in rain droplets.
“You stupid, stupid, idiot.”
But the hands that help her up are gentle. They are warm, and hold her close, when they loop around the crick of her elbow and tie her down, forcing her to start walking, but also coaxing her to return where she reluctantly belongs.
The silence between them does not faze her. But Taeyeon does understand the meaning, when wide, heartbreaking eyes take a moment to glance at her.
‘You must keep going,’ she’s said, though she’ll never actually take the chance to say it aloud.
Taeyeon is reluctant, yet she agrees. And she understands.
She always understands her, and maybe that’s why she was the one who was sent to get her. Again. As she would the next time, and the next.
Because even if Taeyeon were to continue the rest of her life, empty and void.
She understands her.
‘Even if you lose everything, you must keep going.’
The End.
A/N:
I don't really know what the point of this piece is. My apologies for any of my mistakes.
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Come Away With Me
Jan. 23rd, 2013 | 09:24 pm
Character(s): Taeyeon, Unknown Character
Rating: PG
A/N: Random write-up.
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The New Year is still clinging onto an old winter. And as it blows harsh cold air at you, you pull your coat closer to yourself and burrow your chin deeper into the thick folds of your scarf, wondering why you are out on this freezing night.
But, of course, you already know why you’re out. You’re here with a purpose, though you might need to be reminded of it.
And you most certainly are reminded when you see her, striding towards you as if she has no time in the world.
Her heels sound against the pavement in a furious clacking rhythm, building up your persistent count as you wait for her to reach you.
All of your excitement dissipates though, when you’re greeted with tired eyes dragged down by dark baggy circles, and a tight smile that seems to hurt her when it pulls at the corner of her lips.
“Taeyeon-“
She grabs your hand, and all you can do is fall silent at the slender feel of it, digits lacing through yours and grasping.
There’s not enough time. She knows it. You know it. Neither of you want to say it, but she acknowledges it when she holds you loosely by her fingers and begins pulling you away with her, still click clacking down the street quickly as if there were people hiding in the emptiness, waiting for the perfect chance to capture you both.
Quietly, you let her take you away, because there’s something desperate about the way she’s leading you.
The way she doesn’t turn to look at you in the half dark and dim storefront lights speaks volumes about an unease whose purpose you’ve yet to quite fully understand.
And if only you could. If only you could reach her somehow in that murky thought filled head of hers. You’d squeeze her hand, then. You’d say something to give her anything, whatever she needed. You’d do anything, everything, if you just knew what she wanted.
“Taeyeon-“
She looks tired, and part of you doesn’t want her to be here existing with you, if that’s the case. Because it’s cold out, and you’re both tired, and she’s dragging you to nowhere it seems like.
But you can’t be harsh with her, not when she’s like this. You have to adopt tenderness instead, and finally pull at her lightly.
“Taeyeon.“
Maybe it’s from all of the times you’ve said it, but her name shoots off of your tongue like rapid fire, and she finally stills at it, as if finally pierced with its reality.
When she looks at you, you almost regret calling her at the sight of the defeated sag of her lips, pursing slightly yet still loosely.
‘What’s wrong?’
You should ask.
‘What can be done?’ ‘How can I help you?’
But you know those are all useless questions. Useless in the sense that you already know that nothing can be done, because there are no solutions.
She’s so pale under the glow of lighted storefronts and dying streetlights. She’s so small and thin, a tiny bird of a presence that seems like it’ll evaporate any minute if she just lets go of your hand.
What can you possibly do?
You have no solutions to her problems, because you don’t know what her problems are.
‘Let me in.’
You should say.
‘Let me help you.’ ‘I love you.’
But you don’t say things like that, because that’s not why she’s here beside you.
She's not here for help.
Sighing, you hold her hand tighter and start walking, strained until she follows your lead with no complaints
“Come run away with me.”
You murmur.
And that’s what she does, as you both advance further into the deepening darkness.
She runs away.
The End