#nothing like a freshly cleaned violin

[piney-45]

feeling cute might delete later

[cebwrites]

Unwelcome (Sabo's Tattered Invitation)

a/n: a lil smth smth for @raptures-finest teehee :3 and thanks to @skylerfox26 for the translations!!

oc x canon, oc-centric (not the same OCs) word count: 1.3k

It was a beautiful, quaint little thing.

Rio would have nothing less than perfection for that goofy doe-eyed kid and their daughter. They could be just as hard to please as their hubby about particulars of the smallest details as the wedding planners were loathe to find out. Well. They were getting paid more than fair also courtesy of Katakuri's treasure hoard so that should've been enough to cover any therapy costs needed.

What mattered was that Andy and Koala were happy and having the best day of their life. Rio even pulled Noire and Alto aside to help with the weather of all things. Absolutely nothing was to go wrong on today of all days.

What did darken the reception's doorstep, however, was something that Andy begged and pleaded for - Rio's initial response was an immediate and firm no, he could hear how uneasy Koala was over the phone in the conversation that ensued after, how Ace pleaded to vouch for his brother.

Despite all odds, Andy wore the two of them down. Sabo was allowed entry like an unsightly old toy dragged on the floor by a toddler to a fancy dinner if only to placate them and reduce the parents' headache.

When Dragon's dog walked in beside Fire Fist himself, taking the plus one of what would usually go to Yamato, Deuce on Ace's other arm, Rio downed another glass of wine. Ace at the very least had the decency to look sheepish under the warning look they shot him when he waved.

Keep him on a tight leash.

They'd send the Spade pirates home with a doggy bag and an extra bone for Yam as compensation. Right now Rio would have much preferred the rowdiness Kaido's son brought as opposed to the "guest" Andy personally wanted there.

Strawhat Luffy, of course, was banned altogether. Ace could vouch for one brother but he was fully aware of the chaos that the other brought, and no one here wanted to deal with the Marines' armed militia or some secret villain this island actually housed ruining the function.

Robin was allowed to bring her hubby because Koala wanted her there and Brook of course supplied the music for the night at Andy's request, both men openly sobbing at different points of the evening over "young love" - but three Strawhats were already more than Rio was willing to swing normally.

Andy and Koala had gotten them to sit down for a short forty-five minutes to eat and Rio even played the piano with Brook's accompaniment on the violin, stealing a kiss or two from their captain's table, letting Alba fix his dress shirt while they talked about where the kids would go from here with Violet, watching Katakuri and Kaku both flounder at social interaction under a little teasing.

From scrutinizing the catering's plating and flower arrangements clipboard in hand, to yelling at Ace for being faced down in his hors d'oeuvres. All of this between keeping a close eye on the happy couple, Rio would consider the night more or less a success.

As the festivities died down and Rio slipped away for a smoke, that damn toy finally crept out from the shadows. Sabo cleaned up nice in his freshly laundered three-piece with that ridiculous top hat and cravat he insisted on wearing everywhere but Rio saw right through him.

Buttons for eyes hanging lose on old thread, fabric thinned from being put in the wash one too many times, bits of stuffing trailing his every step. It was so worn and battered you'd think they'd let the family dog have a go at it before coming here.

Someone with no face in the mirror desperately cobbling together a human veneer.

"You've been avoiding me all night."

"Yet you still can't seem to take hint, can you?"

Sabo's expression pinched at the utter lack of emotion in that response, teeth set so tightly against each other he might just reset his jaw. He wasn't even worth looking at.

"Why."

"What?" Rio turned with their eyebrows knitted in the way that Sabo could recognize as annoyance. Okay, he could work with annoyance.

"I mean why are we always like this, why couldn't we just sit down and have a nice, normal—"

"I avoided you because I wanted to have a pleasant evening without any of this "nicety" nonsense," Rio flicked their gaze below to light up another cigarette, "you know I'm the last person that wants you here, so I don't understand why do you keep pushing."

When their eyes met again hers were once again cold and as Rio turned to leave. Losing that inch of expression that he managed to eek out from them, even if through irritation, Sabo felt his stomach hit the floor.

"I don't get why you keep running away from me, why do you hate me so much? Anything I do isn't enough for you, so just tell me how I can fix this! Why—Why did you abandon me?!"

Sabo laid chase. He was losing important ground, what exactly that was supposed to mean he couldn't quite parse right now. In a mild state of panic, he grabbed Rio's arm in an attempt to get them to stay. Instead, he felt the reflexive flinch, saw the look in her eyes, right before Rio yanked it away.

Oh.

"Rio, I-"

"Stop trying." They punctuated their words with a step back up the stairwell, until they stood at full height again.

"If you pulled your head out of your ass for as long as it takes you to lie to yourself non ti illuderesti che non ci sia una buona ragione per cui sei qui. You are here, because of whatever good graces luce dei miei occhi Constantine still has for your presence."

Rio always towered over Sabo even back when he was young and they still had a good relationship but little else made him feel as small as how he did in this moment right now as they walked him back to the railing.

"What you will not do, Sabo, is stand here and pretend that you are the most put upon man in the world because I won't waste my night listening to you blow smoke up everyone's ass.

We did our best to keep you out of Dragon's reach because she knew he'd turn you into a monster and we lost everything. I didn't have my future go up in flames just for you to destroy Andy's happiness on a selfish whim, quindi non puoi sederti qui and whine to me about being left behind."

For the first time in—fuck, forever, he guessed—Sabo saw what genuine anger looked like on Rio's face.

But for all the guilt and regret that he regularly tamped down beginning to swirl and spiral inside of him, the central emotion that maybe even protected his mind from the rest of those heavy feelings was confusion at one particular word.

""We"?"

Rio's gaze took on a frightening chill, like they'd accidentally exposed something precious and unfathomably raw, before it slipped back into that usual blank slate.

Just behind the shape of their shoulders, Sabo barely made out the glow of Haki in someone's eyes before an unbelievable pressure threatened to crush him. Rio simply turned with a passive raised hand, "I'm fine, Kat. Lets go back for dessert."

Sabo couldn't see her face anymore but he could almost hear how exhausted Rio was. And with a few clicks of their heels down the stairs, Sabo was left to catch his breath alone.

Slumped against the balcony while his best friend and the love of his life enjoyed the rest of their wedding.

[ladivamagnifica]

Cosy House (Manuela and Sakura)

@gentlenekomata

Three knocks in quick succession had Manuela rushing to check her makeup one last time. This might not have been a date, but it certainly warranted pulling out all the stops- she had even cleaned her quarters from top to bottom for this!

It had all started three days ago when, quite unexpectedly, Manuela had chanced upon hearing the divine voice of Lady Ichinomiya Sakura, one of the princesses of Hoshido. Rubbing shoulders with royalty and nobility was nothing new to the songstress of course, but even Manuela was in awe of her voice- so foreign yet elegant in its intonation, and wholly something she needed to hear more of, but of course it was simply bad manners to ask a princess to perform on a whim, so Manuela had mustered the courage to invite the lady to dinner at her apartment one evening. If nothing else, the pleasant company would be more than enough. Yet trouble had started when she realised that she had no bloody clue what sort of foods Lady Sakura did or did not eat; worse still was that in order to make a good first impression, Manuela also needed to be an excellent chef… which she certainly was not. She considered herself decent enough when she helped out in the kitchens of the monastery, but for years now the art of cooking had been a skill she had no need to practise- as a prima donna she employed her own personal chef for the townhouse, and here in the monastery the kitchen staff and others did most of the cooking, except when the schedule had put her down for the responsibility. 

So, in what she had thought as an excellent judgement, Manuela had asked Sakura’s retainers on what the lady preferred when eating in the company of others. The consensus had been fried chicken…  At least it was a simple dish to prepare, and that was all she would say about that, even if it did perplex her how such a woman of grace and beauty liked something so greasy and acne-inducing.

But alas, that was not the end of it, for further issues arose when Manuela realised that, try as she might, it was impossible for her to make anything fried without it being unpalatable and dry; the Hoshido sauce she had attempted to make from scratch was also a dud, and with each failed attempt, she grew more and more desperate for it to work- she would not serve anything else to the princess, and in order for this evening to bear fruit of musical collaboration, she had to serve fried hoshido chicken!

In the end, two hours before Sakura was due to arrive, Manuela had admitted defeat and paid an eye-watering amount to some of the students of the academy to make her the dish and deliver it in time for the princess’ arrival. Which left her just enough time to freshen up and add the finishing touches to welcoming her guest, including dusting off for the third time her newly purchased shamisen and koto which now sat near her dining table, next to her violin, lyre, harp and organetto. The red rug of her room had been freshly beaten; the surfaces spotless, and the folding screen, another new purchase, did well to separate her bed from the space, as she was well aware that nobles thought it unseemly for a meeting space to have direct line of sight to the sleeping area- her bed was made though, just in case!

“Lady Sakura, I’m honoured that you made it. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable while I put on some tea.” Manuela wore her most brilliant smile and bowed, holding the door open for the princess who crossed past the threshold.

As the kettle on the fireplace began to boil, Manuela retrieved the still steaming-hot baskets of fried chicken (that had the richest, shiniest red glaze Manuela had ever seen and smelt divine) from the mantle of the fireplace, placing them on the table and sitting up straight to mimic the perfect posture of Sakura, though as her back was used to being hunched over her instruments and patients, it soon protested with a persistent and dull ache.

"How was your day, Lady Sakura? I'd be delighted to hear about what keeps a lady of such stature as yourself busy during the daylight hours."

[ofdivinities]

𓏲  *   ( lee soohyuk, cis male, he/him )   ⸺   pictures of CHRISTIAN LIM have been showing up all over my feed, and considering the last time they were #trending, it was due to his very public divorce — i'm not likely to unfollow anytime soon. with their grey armani business suit and one of a kind rolex watch, i'm not surprised to hear that they are considered part of the BLUE BLOODS. after thirty7 years, they've managed to garner a reputation for being more charismatic than boring, but their critics say that they're more aloof than warm when they aren't too busy focusing on their compulsively clean penthouse, sleepless nights spent in his office, and a cup of cold coffee long since gone on his desk . when they aren't occupied with their work as a C.E.O and heir to his family's hotel chain, they've been sighted cooking elaborate meals. reputation.com has taken to calling them THE ICE PRINCE in order to avoid a lawsuit ( again ). 

STATISTICS

Name: Christian (Kyuhyun) Lim 

Age: Thirty-Seven

Gender: Cis man

Pronouns: he/him

D.O.B:  May 19th, 1986

P.O.B Seoul, SK

Nationality:Korean-American

Ethnicity: Korean

OCCUPATION & EDUCATION

Education Level: Masters Degree

Current Occupation: C.E.O of 'The Olmypia' Hotel line

ROMANCE & ATTRACTION

Relationship Status: Divorced & Single

Sexual Orientation: bicurious 

Romantic Orientation: biromantic/ panromantic

Longest Relationship: 10 years

APPEARANCE

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 181lbs

Build: Lean Muscular

Hair-Colour: Black

Eye-colour: Brown

Style: 'smart'

Tattoos: n/a

Piercings: n/a

PERSONALITY

Positive:  charismatic, clever, protective, respectful

Negative: aloof, possessive, power hungry, haughty

Likes: dining out, expensive wines, freshly pressed linen

Dislikes: his ex-wife, cheap beer, cold coffee

HOBBIES & SKILLS

Notable Skills: business, public speaking, golfing, tennis

Secret Talents: violin, piano

Languages Spoken: Korean, English

BACKGROUND

(rushed and not proofed) tw: cheating Christian Lim, born Lim Kyuhyun had a silver spoon lodged firmly between his teeth from the minute he came into this world. Perhaps he'd truly done something great in his past to end up born the eldest son to the Lim family, the proud owners of one of Korea's most notable hotel lines. However, it became clear to him from a very young age that his entire life had been planned out for him in immaculate detail. From his preschool tutoring to his after-school classes, sports and instruments he would play. Before he even took his first steps the whole world was already revolving around how great he was meant to become. Christian thrived under the pressure, as a young child he wanted nothing more than his parent's approval, and he sought after it by doing his best to surpass every expectation. But that didn't make their large home any less lonely for the weeks on end both his mother and father were gone on business. It never filled the gap left behind by being raised primarily by a revolving door of nannies.  When his younger sibling was born Christian had been happy to finally have someone else around, even if they were at seven years his junior. But as they both grew older their relationship seemed fated to be strained. All because Christian was the golden child, the eldest, the scholar, the heir. Their parents placed him on a pedestal that seemed unattainable to live up to for his sibling, all while Christian felt as though he was never enough. With nearly perfect test scores it was no surprise to anyone when Christian got into one of Korea's top universities. Nor when he soared through all of his classes with ease. As an attractive and wealthy young man life had been easy, he was well-liked by his peers, and respected by his classmates. For a brief period of time he finally felt free. That was until he graduated, unlike many of his classmates Christian didn't need to go job hunting. He had nepotism on his side whether he liked it or not, and a high-ranking position at his family's hotel line waiting for him. He didn't start as the CEO, instead, he slowly raised his way through the ranks, climbing up the ladder from a position in the marketing department until he was deemed worthy of handling such an important role. Though he would be blind to not admit nepotism played a large part in his success. When he was twenty-six their family opened their first American hotel, a large establishment in New York City, and this was Christian's chance to finally take over as CEO., offering to run the American branch with the goal of expanding across the country. In America however, Christian found more than what he bargained for. He found love. He fell head over heels for a wealthy socialite who often frequented his hotel, and after three years of dating, during the summer after his 30th birthday, they were wed. For years everything was perfect, his wife was loving and supportive, she came from a respectable background, and he finally felt as though he was doing something for himself.  But that all came crashing down seven years later when the tabloids posted photos of her out with another man, kissing intimately in the front seat of his car. It wasn't ideal to find out your wife was cheating on you, especially not when you find out from the tabloids.  The entire divorce was a messy public affair that aired out more of his personal secrets than he would have cared for. But after several long months, it was finalized, and Christian is left trying to pick himself up out of the ruins she left behind.

[kurinoot]

agape

-> agape (Ancient Greek ἀγάπη, agapē) is a Greco-Christian term referring to unconditional love, "the highest form of love, charity" and "the love of God for man and of man for God". 

pairing: akaashi x gn!reader

themes: fluff with some angst at the beginning, akaashi just taking care of you, bipolar!reader (that’s why please read this fic with discretion), post-timeskip

word count: 1,310 words

trigger warning/s: mentions of mental health-related issues! if you want to talk about it or just want someone to vent out, you can slide into my dms! also, warning for language!

notes: so hello! this is my contribution for the mental health collab, and I chose akaashi! I hope that you have read this top portion before reading the fic just to give you a heads up! anyways, this is to raise awareness on mental health in general (and on bipolar disorder) and to help others who don’t have mental health issues and of course, destigmatize them! a HUGE appreciation to @rosesandtoshi, @nerdynstoned, @vanille--kiss, @meiansmistress, and to my love @ssrated1volleyballplayer 💕 for proofreading this and fact-checking it for me! I really appreciate it considering the subject of this fic :)

chant: all of me - john legend (lindsey stirling violin remix)

“This sucks,” you softly whine in frustration as you fold your arms and lay down your head on the table. Your boyfriend can only look at you in worry as he tenderly caresses your hair, humming a soft lullaby that he knows can help you ease down from your episodes at times.

You huff in frustration at literally everything—the intense shifts in mood swings, medications, therapy sessions, the pitying or judging looks, and the stigma—as tears well up and threaten to spill from the growing swell on your eyes. You just want to live a normal life—a life without unpredictable mood swings, daily medications, and therapy appointments.

And a life where you don’t have to feel every inch of ogling eyes staring right at you.

A life just like everybody else.

And yet here you are.

You never fail to feel envious of almost everybody else. At least they don’t need to take medications every single fucking day just to keep their mood in check. They also don’t need to attend psychotherapy sessions because of something that would stay with them for life. And they don’t have to suffer the stares of other people just because they’re having a fucking meltdown.

“Shh,” he hushes softly. “It’s okay, I’m here if you need me, my love.” Keiji coos with tenderness.

The last week at work has left you in shambles, as an unpredictable depressive episode made its wave to disrupt your routine once again. You were grateful that your boss understood your situation and gave you a time off work, but it has still left you grating with so many thoughts drilling its way into your head. It didn’t help that you were still in a depressive episode today, and it definitely didn’t help that you want to cry at your boyfriend's comforting words and overwhelming support. You can only muffle your cries at the fact that you are so goddamn lucky to have a doting boyfriend like Keiji.

‘What the fuck did I ever do to deserve Keiji? I really don’t deserve him. Not like this,’ your mind slews, overwhelmed with all the negativity you’re feeling. Ever since finding out about the state of your psyche, he’s been nothing short of a very patient and compassionate boyfriend, and once again he proves to you how much he loves you even in your current state.

“It’s okay, my love. Cry your heart out if you have to, my love. I’m here.” You hear his calm voice as he wraps you in a cozy hug beside you, accompanied with a light but meaningful kiss on your temple as you bask together in the silence in solace. After a few minutes, Akaashi goes to check on you only for him to hear the wisps of your soft snores. Only then does he proceed to carry you with all his might and carefully place you on the bed, covering you with your favorite bamboo-scented white comforter that never fails to calm you down in your sleep.

As soon as he’s assured that you’re resting soundly, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, hastily unlocking it. He’s greeted with a photo of you on his screen and he lets out a smile, saying a ‘That’s my girl’ in his head as he opens his browser and types ‘bipolar disorder’ on the search bar.

“So that’s what it is...” Akaashi mumbles in understanding as he scrolls through various credible sources about your condition, wanting to keep himself educated to learn more about you and how to take good care of you. From what he can understand, you experience mood extremes - manic and depressive episodes which can tick off of you at random and unexpected times. It is something incurable, he reads, but taking prescriptions as well as psychotherapy can help reduce its effects.

‘So that’s why Y/N takes her prescriptions everyday...’ he realizes as he clearly recalls the day he found your prescription medications in one of the cupboards.

He searches more about it, adding more and more tabs on his browser when he glances at the clock, only to be greeted with the flashing LED that says 2:58 AM. With a huff, he closes his phone, settling it on the nightstand before he uncovers the sheets and plops down beside you, ensnaring you in a warm embrace as he dozes off into unconsciousness.

A couple of hours later, Akaashi wakes up to the sound of his alarm. He rubs both of his eyes, yawning before his hand goes to turn off the blaring sound to make sure that you don’t wake up. He gives you one last hug, then kisses your temple, cheek, and shoulder before unwrapping himself from the warmth of the sheets you share together.

‘I still have time.’ Akaashi huffs in mind, glancing at the clock that glared right at him at 6:32 AM. He rushes over to the bathroom to clean himself up before he goes to the kitchen to prepare something for you.

The mixed scent of the bamboo from the comforter and the scent of what seemed to be tamagoyaki—your favorite egg omelette rolls—wakes you up and you jolt awake to see the empty space next to you. You frown only to realize that Keiji must be preparing breakfast as your stomach grumbles from hunger. Not for long, Keiji graces your dazed vision as he carries a bed tray with a steaming plate of your favorite egg omelette roll, a bowl of miso soup, and a freshly brewed cup of tea on the side. The icing on the cake, much to your shock, is the bottle of prescription medication placed neatly near the cup of tea with an attached note that said “Don’t forget!”

“Good morning, Y/N. I hope you’re feeling good,” he greets you calmly with a gentle beam, leaving a peck on your forehead.

“Keiji~” you huff out with a slight pout as he places the bed tray on your lap. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

Akaashi rubs your hands with his, looking into your eyes with love before he takes one of your hands and places a tender kiss on it. “You had a rough week and must be exhausted, so let me do this for you. I’m here for you, okay?”

Your eyes widen at his words and his gestures as your eyes unconsciously become wet with tears. ‘Why is Keiji so good to me? I don’t deserve this I can’t—’

Akaashi must have sensed it, because he wraps you in a comforting hug. Your heart feels like it is going to burst as you hug him in return, crying with full force. It doesn’t help that he is caressing your hair gently with one hand while he rubs your back with the other.

“Shhh. I’m here, my love. Tell me how you are feeling.”

He patiently waits for you as you swallow all the incoming tears and the growing lump in your throat before a smile graces your lips. “I-I just, I don’t know. I feel so loved right now.”

Akaashi smiles, giving himself a pat on the back internally as he hugs you a little bit tighter. You both bask in each other’s warmth and comfort.

“Now come on, let’s eat. The food will get cold. I’ll grab my own food so we can eat breakfast together. The next time you have a therapy appointment, if you’re comfortable, I would like to accompany you. That way, I can understand you better and do my best to accommodate your needs. Only if that is something you’re alright with though.”

The fact that he was so willing to try and see things from your perspective meant everything to you. All that you could do in that moment was cry a little bit harder as he holds you.

remember to keep yourself educated, sisters! destigmatizing mental health is more important than ever! and being sensitive and caring to those who deal with those problems is what those people need :)

back to the mental health collab masterlist (yet to be posted)

[sub-danny]

So question what do you think out omega boiz would smell like and would that sent change or be amplified buring their heat?

Zemo:

Zemo has a sweet tooth. We know that with Turkish delight so I like to believe he would smell of sweetness. The type that makes your mouth water as soon as you catch the scent of it. I haven't had proper Turkish delight so idk if that has a distinctive smell but imagine like cotton candy. But with being Baron I also feel like there might be a mix of a more refind smell as well. Like some mature wine. So yeah it would be a mix of those two scents. As for when he is in heat, it would definitely get amplified. He would have to hide away to avoid Alpha's aka Bucky

Laszlo:

Like I said with Zemo having some more refind smell as well like rich wine, I feel like Laszlo would be the same but also with a really nice musk smells mixed in with a tinge of sweetness. I am really not good with different types of smells tbh but out of all of them, he is in the top three for like, smelling rich. When he is in heat though I feel like the sweet fruit smell might take over as the main scent to attract Alpha's.

Andrea:

Definitely sweet flowers, the stuff that you have to keep smelling as it is so nice. Also the smell of rosery, the stuff they use to put on violin bows. Warm smells as well, if you would say summer has a smell, that is how Andrea smells. Like everything about the scent would just bring a smile to your face because of how nice it is! And during heat it would definitely get amplified and wherever he went the place would smell amazing.

Niki:

He would have a harsher smell, matching his personality. I know I am thinking about how he is an F1 driver but like the smell of diesel? Like I quite like that smell though I know it's down to opinions. I could also see the smell of pears, like nice ripe pears as what he might also smell like. Nothing too sweet but still nice. When he is in heat though the pear smell really gets amplified to attract alphas in.

Ernst:

You know that really strong detergent smell? I imagine something like that. It's not a bad smell though, it's a very nice smell. A really fresh and clean smell which I think would suit Ernst well especially being out in space. When in heat though I think it might take on a more sweeter undertone.

Alex:

He would be a sweet alcoholic smell. I see Alex as like, teenage dirtbag. He's young, he likes going out to parties, running around at night, living life to the full and that is shown through his smell. It would be a nice cocktail smell as well. Maybe one of the fruit ones. When in heat it definitely amplifies and he has to stay inside so no Alpha's can smell him as they would go wild.

Sebastian:

I'm seeing a mix of ink, fresh paint and coffee. Like a mix of all three. It isn't as sweet as the other omega's but Sebastian doesn't have that sweetness like the other's might have. Still, it's an alluring smell that would bring other's in. During the heat, the smell would get more intense but I don't think it would change a lot.

David:

The smell of freshly baked bread. Maybe with some sweet cherries as well but I definitely see him as just smelling like a bakery. And honestly, that's such a lovely smell. I'd just want to cuddle him and inhale his scent. As for when he is in heat, the cherries would come through as a stronger smell because of the sweetness of it.

Tony:

I see a mixture of a sweet smell like cake along with a more refined smell such as black pudding or like a deep rose smell. He's that perfect mix which I think works really well for him. Though when in heat the sweetness definitely takes over.

Alex Garel:

Hot chocolate! Also the smell of a bonfire. All those times warm smells on a cold day. It makes you just want to cuddle up to him tightly and to never let go. It's beautiful. And when in heat the hot chocolate smell definitely becomes stronger which is great.

[honalele]

Barriers

The cold steel of Phil’s sword slid smoothly through Wilbur’s chest like his skin was made of melted butter. He felt his heart stop and everything below the neck go completely numb. He tried to speak, but instead of words, his lungs poured warm streaks of blood out from the corners of his lips. The light started to dim around him and the world became a soft blur of color and noise as he felt himself slip away from his father’s cradling arms. His head rolled back towards the sky and fireworks flooded his deteriorating vision. His soul tried to strip itself from his body, but he grew panicked and afraid. Instant fear and regret crawled under his skin and up into his brain. His mind tried to save him, but the blood wouldn’t stop spilling.

Then, he began to hear a chorus of instruments start to play over the desperate screams of war in the distance. A symphony. A song just for him. This was it. This was the part where he died and became the martyr for all those ignorant revolutionaries. The war would continue without him. He could finally let himself float on the soft vibrato of warm strings and low tones of vibrant brass. A strange sense of serenity swept over him as his soul slid into the music’s comfortable embrace. Death’s dark wings fell like a heavy curtain over his eyes and the orchestra drifted into the decrescendo of its final note. The long awaited conclusion had finally arrived. The symphony was finished.

Wilbur waited for the release of the last note, but the orchestra continued to play long passed anything musical. The note swirled in place like a loose piece of string caught in the wind of a quiet mountain range. Then it started to rise in volume. The violins pressed the hairs of their bows hard into strings of steel and the trumpets blared over the loud tuba dissonance. The piccolos started screaming in sharps as the trombones rolled in harsh flats. The music boiled over, mixing itself into a terribly brash noise that cut through the air like wind through a tunnel.

Wilbur’s disoriented soul fell apart like tulle and then wound itself as tight as a spring board. He was being pulled apart at the seams and stitched back together over and over in rhythmic disarray. The noise continued to echo all around him as his senses began to collect themselves in the aftershocks of afterlife. Florescent lights flashed quickly across his otherwise blind eyes and he felt himself being pushed against some centripetal force. There was a loud thumping in his ears and a deep sickening pain in his chest. He couldn’t decide whether to scream or vomit. The noise grew louder and louder until Will was finally able to open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a stream of grey concrete rushing past a glossy rendition of his own bug-eyed reflection. He was sitting in a polished silver seat at one end of what appeared to be an empty underground train car. The smell of grime and polisher woke him from any leftover sleepiness, but he remained frozen in place. His limbs felt like gelatin and his chest was weighted as if it had just caved in on itself. He sat there for god knows how long just watching the concrete walls flood along. The sound of the train screamed in lengthy breaths that faded in and out with high-pitched squeals.

After a while of traveling, the tunnel that the train was speeding down opened to a wide empty station. Wilbur flailed for the railing of the seat in front of him as he was lurched forward due to the train’s screeching halt. All was quiet for a few moments, then Wilbur jumped at the hissing sound of pressurized doors opening. He stayed in his seat for a while, fully confused. Perhaps this was all some sort of strange dream one might have before the neurons in their brain stop firing and they died for good. He didn’t have long to wonder about it as a disembodied voice came on to the loudspeaker. The only words he could make out were “get off”, and the rest were nothing but indistinguishable radio chatter.

Wilbur obeyed the voice. What else could he do? Stay on the train? He clung to the seat in front of him for support as he stood up in a dizzy haze. His body felt thin like paper. He had to look down at the floor to make sure his feet were grounded, otherwise he might assume he’d been floating. Wilbur made his way to the double doors, frantically clinging to each seat along the way as if he would get swept away like sand in the wind if he didn’t. When he finally made it to the doors, he paused to take one final look around the train car. There was absolutely nothing here. Wilbur swallowed in uncertainty which only made him realize how dry his throat had become. He turned around and peeked his head out just beyond the barrier doors. It seemed same as the train with nothing out there, completely abandoned. He took a cautions step forward, like a fawn venturing out into a questionable field. He would’ve kept one foot on the train, but the doors closed as soon as Wilbur was far enough out.

“Wait.” He called in panic and reached his left hand into the station’s barrier doors as they closed. A deep-throated cry fell out of Wilbur’s lungs as he shouted in not only pain, but regret. He wanted to get back on the train. He wanted to go back to the war. He wanted to feel his father’s comforting embrace, even if it was only for a few seconds more; even if it meant he’d have to face the failure of his broken nation. Wilbur cried at the crushing weight of the doors on his arm. He felt his tendons pop and the bone underneath splinter apart like bits of brittle. The static voice appeared on the radio again murmuring something in the tones of a fast apology, then the doors opened just enough to free Wilbur before closing completely.

He gulped air, trying to push the pain out of his mind. He looked down at his arm, it was twisted and bleeding. Surely he couldn’t be dead, not if he could still feel pain? Wilbur’s attention was stolen by movement from the train and he watched as it promptly left the station. He tried to catch a glance at the conductor, but the gapping underground tunnel had already swallowed the front of the train down its large ominous throat. Brassy rails rattled loudly and continued to ring in the empty station chamber long after the train had fully disappeared. Wilbur turned his gaze to his reflection in the glass of the barrier doors. Though there were more important things to be concerned about at the moment, he only noticed that his clothes had been changed. He wore a long dark jacket that was buttoned by two elegant brass chains and draped over a mustard-yellow shirt. He looked down at the tattered left arm sleeve. Pain licked his wounds like fire round a log, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Wilbur turned around and took in his new surroundings. It was a quiet station covered in white tiles and grey concrete. There was some sort of food or ticket station on the far wall, but it was barred off with a curtain of steel netting and he couldn’t see anyone inside. The ceiling was held up with rows of grossly blue-painted support beams, and there were markers on the floor that told him to “mind the gap”. Wilbur began to wonder over to the barred off stand despite the disoriented feelings of shock swimming around his gut. As he closed in on the stand, he saw posters of food and advertisements for little trinkets. He tugged on the netting with his good hand. Fortunately, it was unlocked. He rolled the curtain up above his head and then carefully climbed his way over the polished counter.

He caught a stinging hot flash on his left arm when he accidentally grazed it on a small basket filled with various colored lighters. He clutched the poor arm with his right hand as he hopped off the counter and started searching for anything that might be useful. Whoever worked here must’ve had a first aid kit somewhere. He checked in cupboards and on top of pantries that were filled with all sorts of unhealthy snacks and goodies. He checked behind the pop machine, around the registers, and even under the coolers until he finally found that immaculate white and red box nestled sweetly between a rack of magazines and a display tree of playing cards and cigarettes. He quickly grabbed it and threw it over to the empty counter. He began digging through all of the supplies until he found the bandages he was looking for. He did his best to tie them around his sore arm, making awkward positions with his fingers and tightening the ends with his teeth. It wasn’t the most attractively wrapped wound, but it kept the bleeding down.

Then he stirred through the kit a bit longer in hopes of finding any pain killers, but fate was absolutely determined to fuck him over. He could feel the anxiety coming over him now. It almost overtook the throbbing in his arm. Wilbur shoved the emergency kit’s entrails back inside their plastic chest and slammed it shut. He tossed the box over to the magazine stand in frustration, but his aim was dreadful and he ended up knocking the whole thing over. Various articles of hot gossip and designer clothing spilled out onto the black and white tiled floor. Wilbur stared at the mess he’d made, considering whether or not to clean it up. Whether or not it mattered. Then his eye caught a glimpse at that display tree of Mayfair and Modiano.

Wilbur wasted no time, and hurried over to the tree, swiftly plucking one of its morbid fruits off its stainless-steel branches. He almost turned back to the counter before deciding that a pack of playing cards would hardly be missed, especially over a pack of smokes. He nabbed the pretty blue deck of Modiano that matched the blue-boxed Mayfairs and skipped over to the counter where he’d seen the small basket of lighters from earlier. He stuffed the cards in the right pocket of his jacket and opened the box of those tantalizing orange and white sticks, all perfectly bundled up like a freshly sharpened carton of back-to-school pencils just waiting to be used. He slid one of the sticks out before setting the box on the counter. He placed the fag between his lips and struck the lighter in one fast click, the sound filling him with that secure feeling of familiarity. He brought the flame close and held it in place until the cigarette burned and the smoke fell into his lungs.

Wilbur held in the fumes as they swirled together like heavy thunderclouds in his chest before finally breathing out a long stream smoke one might see from the smokebox of a steam train. Even though he’d been smoking for most of his life and even up to the hour of his death, that first hit was always something special. Something longed for. Something that never failed to satisfy. Wilbur stayed behind the counter and smoked away until he’d finished the entire fag, then he reached for the box and pulled out another stick. He lit that one as well and smoked until all of his nerves had quieted down and the fire in his arm cooled to a dull ache. Then, he stuffed the lighter in the right pocket of his trousers along with the Mayfairs and climbed over the counter.

He strode into the open area and spun around the steel-blue pillars like a lazy kid swinging on the monkey bars, sluggishly going from one to the next. His mind was loaded with thoughts and questions as if a dozen weighted blankets had just been dropped on his head. Had he really died? If not, then where was he? Would another train come by soon? Would it even let him on?

Then he noticed that further down the station, there was a tunnel. He leaned away from the pillar he’d been swinging round to get a better look, his right hand acting as a tether to keep him from falling. He could see stairs at the foot of the tunnel, and a sign overhead that read “way out” with an arrow pointing up. Wilbur’s heart didn’t exactly leap for joy, but he was intrigued, so he let go of the pillar and thoughtfully made his way over to the tunnel. When he reached the base of the stairs, he saw that the “way out” had been closed off with a barrier of heavy metal shutters. A part of Will stayed at the base of the stairs in pessimistic lethargy, but the other side of him hoped that the shutters would be unlocked like the netting at the food station, and that he would be capable of lifting them on his own despite the electric shocks in his left arm.

He was about to take that first step when suddenly, the thundering blast of a toilet flushing filled the station. The sound caused his heart to leap out of his chest and nearly choke on his own saliva. He turned around and searched the station for a lavatory, but was caught off guard when, from out of his periphery, a blue door swung open. Wilbur stubbled back in shock at the sight before him. The man with those distinguished ram horns that never failed to call attention to his corporate composed face walked out of the nearest toilet, completely wrapped up in wiping his hands off with a fluffy white towel. By the time the man looked up and actually noticed Wilbur, Wilbur’s ass had found a place on the floor and the cigarette was dangling from his lips as his jaw had gone lax in utter disbelief.

“Holy shit.” Was all the man could say upon seeing Wilbur. And Wilbur, though speechless, felt the same. For the man that stood before him had died only hours before he’d died himself.

“Schlatt.” Wilbur said. They stayed like that for a while. Analyzing the lines of each other’s ghostly faces. The two of them had died. Wilbur was actually dead. And they were both here. All of the questions came bubbling up in Wilbur’s mind once again about how he had gotten here and where “here” actually was. But he remained silent. Schlatt’s cold eyes burrowed into Wilbur’s and for a moment, they seemed to share a privet conversation, or rather an understanding, that all of the heartache and blood spilt in the land of the living due to their rich rivalry meant absolutely nothing. They were just two insignificant souls trapped in the same universe and destined to die for power trips and shit coke.

And then Schlatt started to laugh. Each cackle, every snort, was like the claws of a house cat digging through Wilbur’s chest in a frantic attempt to find his heart. Wilbur sat back and took it. He noticed that Schlatt’s clothes had changed as well. Instead of his normal formal wear, he was in a white tank top and gym shorts. Wilbur would have pointed and laughed as well if the situation hadn’t been so mind-boggling. He watched as tears developed in Schlatt’s eyes from laughing so hard and the man use the towel to wipe them away.

“That’s a good one.” He sighed as he pressed the towel up under his eyes. “Anyway.” Schlatt tossed the cloth at Wilbur and it plopped directly into his lap as Schlatt turned away from him and bounced up the steps. For a moment Wilbur found himself incapable of reacting, but as soon as his wits came about, he grabbed the towel and raced up the stairs to catch up to his old rival.

“Do you know what this place is?” He asked hurriedly. And when Schlatt didn’t answer, all of the questions came flooding out of Wilbur’s mouth with such force that not even the Hoover dam could’ve stopped them. “Did we actually die? Is this Hell or something else? When my arm got crushed in the barriers, why did it hurt? Why have my clothes been changed? What the hell are you wearing? When did you-”

“Get here?” Schlatt cut Will off from his waterfall of wonder without taking his eyes off the steel curtain at the ridge of the staircase. Wilbur forced himself to shut up as he climbed alongside the man in silent suspense. “Five days ago.” And then ice coursed through Wilbur’s veins, causing his legs to malfunction and his mind to glitch as the answer began to register in his brain. Schlatt kept walking. If it hadn’t been for the fear of losing track of the only other living being in the place, Will would’ve stayed frozen. Instead he raced back into step with Schlatt and tried desperately to gain eye contact with him again.

“That’s impossible. We died hours apart.”

“You still believe in the word ‘impossible’ Will?” Schlatt answered. And he had a point. Though he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around it, Wilbur was beginning to understand that everything he thought he knew about the universe was just a bunch of old lies delicately put together like a papeir-mâché mask, and it was falling apart right in front of him, rotting at a million seconds per minute, the flakes of his prior knowledge floating away with the ghosts of his past self.

“As for the other stuff,” Schlatt spoke above the panicked screams in Wilbur’s head, “didn’t you listen to the guy on the radio? He explained everything.” Schlatt asked, finally glancing in Wilbur’s direction.

“I couldn’t make anything out.”

“That’s what growing up in the country will do to you.” Schlatt scoffed. “Allow me to translate.” He said as they reached the top of the staircase and Schlatt pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket. Wilbur watched as he bent down to the ground and unlocked the shutter door. “Basically, this is limbo. We’re stuck here until we reach our ‘second death’ whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. You can get hurt, but you can’t heal so be more fucking careful.” Schlatt grunted as he pulled the steel curtain up over his head. “The rest is a mystery.” He said as he stepped into the room behind the curtain.

Yes, room. Not a “way out” like the sign had promised. Wilbur peeked inside and saw various workout equipment and tastless posters decorating the place.

“What is this?” Wilbur asked. But Schlatt was already closing the shutters behind him.

“Mine.” Was the last thing he said before cutting off their conversation with a loud clang. Wilbur stood alone, looking at his warped reflection in the stainless steel door, just like he had done at the glass barriers not moments ago, only this time with more earth-shattering knowledge than before. All from the mouth of that grease ridden asshole who had probably just finished clogging the toilets with his deplorable shit.

Limbo. He had called it. Five days ago. Wilbur counted the hours in his head as he turned around and made his way down the concrete stairs in heavy contemplation and inhaled the cigarette’s sweet nectar. Was it five hours or three? Six? Maybe two? And as his boots hit the station’s floor, Wilbur came to the heartbreaking conclusion that a day on earth could quite possibly equal a month in “limbo”. He stared out at the grimy abandoned station, the dank air stale on his tongue and the quiet, screaming into his mind. This was no afterlife. This was prison.

Wilbur wondered over to the tube’s barrier doors in a hazy daze and plopped himself down next to them. He reached for the smooth glass with his right hand and pressed his fingertips against it. He gently rolled his fingers into a loose fist that gradually tightened with the knot of anger and sadness developing in his stomach. Then his cigarette fell out of his mouth as he allowed his lungs to heave one singular sob. The sound resonated so loud in his ears that he could have mistaken it for an oncoming train. The tears were trapped in his eyes, and the world became a soft blur of color and noise, absent of cradling arms. Will’s heart shattered and the universe seemed to stop spinning for a moment, as if it heard the sound like a mother’s china being carelessly knocked to the floor by her rambunctious children. There was nothing left to hold onto. He had lost everything.

And then Will did the only thing he knew how to do. He rolled over so that he was leaning his back on the barriers and reached into his right jacket pocket for the pack of cigarettes. However, when he pulled open the lid, the sticks were gone and they had been replaced with sleek slabs of thin plastic. He’d accidentally grabbed the playing cards. Wilbur pushed a few of them out of the box with his thumb. The first card he saw was the joker, silently cackling at him. Wilbur pulled the card out along with his brother and held both of those smiling sons of bitches between his fingers. He laid the rest of the deck on the floor and then picked up his discarded cigarette and pushed its smolder into the faces of those ugly bastards. Those fools. Those worthless, stupid, insignificant beings that thought perhaps a poetic death would endorse their suffering. Those selfish idiots that thought failure was so harsh a word, they could somehow snuff it out with the blade of their father’s sword. That perhaps beyond the stars, beyond years, beyond people, beyond time, there was something the universe had to offer them. Something the universe could give to them so that they weren’t always grasping at tobacco wrapped fucking straws or packages of red wrapped gunpowder. And then the orange and red flames enveloped them both. They curled in hot pain and eventually burned into a sad stack of ash.

Then Wilbur turned his gaze upon the living and he knew he’d done right by them.

He dumped the jokers’ family out onto the grey concrete in front of him. The diamonds glowing with purpose. The clubs sitting in silent strength. The spades clear of grime and gore. The hearts full and unbroken. And the royal court looking stoic as ever. Will pulled them all together and thought of a game to play. He shuffled the cards in his hands, ignoring the vicious pain looping his left arm. The cards had edges so soft that they trickled like rain through his fingertips. Then he laid the cards down spreading their smooth surfaces out like seamless lines of coke and his sadness seemed to soak into the intricacies of their pretty blue design. This would be his first game of solitaire. The first game out of 58,728.

[iknowcharmingsmemories]

Fancy Monsters AU

I’ve had this in my head for a while now. This is not to diminish or hinder what these creatures are in ANY way possible. I just think it’d be hilarious and fresh to see. 

I wanna see orcs in high society. Sipping at their tea and getting their teeth sharpened regularly by professionals because they’re hosting a gathering later that afternoon. I want them to be good at archery and combat (that focuses on fighting smarter instead of purely JUST brute force). I want them to be GRACEFUL. I want them to have balls and go to cotillions and be the most beautiful dancers you ever did see. I want them to be the most fashionable creatures on the block and have corgi’s in their purses. (They’ve evolved over centuries from eating any small thing that moves).  

Of course, they are still taught the history of their ancient people, and can DEFINITELY throw down when the need arises, but let’s not have that be their first thing that comes to mind (except for the young ones perhaps). 

More over, I want the elves to be the looting, loud, uncouth vagabonds for once. I want them to be jacked, and carrying around weapons that are obscenely heavy (ie. maces, clubs, anything that’s too bloody heavy). I want them cooking their fresh moose kills over the fire (And not clean kills like one shot through the head with an arrow no I want them to be bludgeoned or something that gets blood everywhere just because they are BRUTES). I want those suckers in freshly skinned furs and LOIN clothes. I WANT HE-MAN WITH POINTY EARS. 

On the same vein, I wanna see werewolves be the proper ones for once. Enjoying the finer things, like arts and music. Let them know all about the history of the world. Have them practice violin. Have them talk about politics. Have them paint even better than Picasso. Van Gogh or Da Vinci even!  

I wanna see them playing Mozart on the piano as their butler hands them champagne from a stainless steel platter (of course it’s not silver). Give them arranged marriages to secure political alliances between Packs. Give them passive aggressive talks with werewolves outside of their pack (because they’ve MOVED ON from all of that bloodshed and fighting, and won’t stoop to an ELF’S behavior). 

I wanna see vampires be the crazy impulsive ones for once, who go on hunts and convene at all times of the night. Who gather and pass around the animal blood because it’s the hot new thing that all the kids are participating in these days. I want them to pull pranks and see them traumatize any human passersby with dismembered animals for s**ts and giggles. I want them to do all manner of stupid crap because they’re immortal beings and nothing can kill them and they have all the time in the world to be absolute idiots and WHY NOT?? 

[lucarus]

                                                  𝟽:𝟸𝟿:𝟶𝟻 𝙿𝙼

When   you   open   your   eyes   you   wonder   if   you’re   going   to   go   blind.   There’s   a   light   that   shines   so   bright   it   hurts   to   pry   apart   your   eyelids.   It   takes   a   second   for   you   to   realize   that   there   is   no   light.   There’s   just   white.   A   white   as   pristine   as   freshly   fallen   snow,   the   type   of   white   you   picture   in   your   head   but   can   never   seem   to   create   with   your   two   hands.   A   white   that   seems   eternal,   like   it’ll   soak   up   anything   that   gets   too   close.   It’s   dangerous   to   feel   so   serene   in   a   place   that   feels   so   hungry   for   your   bones.   

You   don’t   realize   you’re   in   pain   until   you   try   to   stand   up   and   your   body   threatens   to   crumble   underneath   you.   It   feels   like   weights   are   tied   to   every   lower   joint   and   you’ve   never   felt   this   sort   of   ache   that   seeps   into   you.   You’re   fighting   against   quicksand   but   your   feet   are   planted   firm   on   the   ground   below   you.   In   the   battle   against   your   body,   you   find   yourself   wondering   if   death   was   supposed   to   feel   so   painful.   It   takes   you   months   to   remember   that   you   were   aware   of   your   lifelessness   in   that   moment.   A   fleeting   thought,   but   a   conscious   one.   The   dead   are   well   aware   of   when   they’ve   stopped   existing   on   the   plane   of   mortality.   

When   you   look   up,   there’s   nothing   above   you.   The   space   seems   to   blend   into   itself,   and   you   only   come   to   the   conclusion   that   you’re   in   a   hallway   when   your   arm   span   doesn’t   reach   its   full   potential.   Your   fingers   graze   against   the   sides   as   you   slowly   put   one   foot   in   front   of   the   other.   Your   vision   has   begun   to   adjust   so   you   can   make   out   the   slightest   shadow   that   carves   out   the   path   in   front   of   you.

You’re   in   a   maze,   and   it’s   a   daunting   realization.   Like   a   mouse   in   an   experiment,   you   instinctively   look   up   as   if   you’ll   find   your   captor   watching   down   on   you.   There’s   no   profound   disappointment   when   you   don’t.   In   fact,   there’s   a   sense   of   ease.   Like   you   belong   here.   Like   curling   up   in   the   corner   of   this   maze   will   lull   you   into   a   tranquility.   For   a   second,   you   even   humour   the   idea.   Your   knees   knock   against   each   other,   and   you   picture   your   body   sliding   down   the   wall   and   coming   to   a   still.   You’re   not   sure   what   part   of   your   brain   decides   otherwise,   but   you   don’t   give   in   to   the   hypnotizing   urge.   You   continue   forward.

The   first   dead   end.

You   hear   them   say   your   name.   With   the   right   curl   of   their   tongues,   you   hear   Luciana.   The   walls   speak   to   you   and   you   close   your   eyes   because   you   like   hearing   the   way   people   say   it.   Strangers,   people   that   don’t   really   know   you   but   convince   themselves   they   do.   There’s   not   many   of   them,   enough   for   you   to   discern   voices   from   one   another.   You   think   you’d   hold   each   individual   near   and   dear   to   your   heart.

There’s   a   smell   that   wafts   into   your   nose   and   it   makes   your   forehead   crease.   Something’s   burning   and   it   reminds   you   of   the   cheap   salami   you   had   to   live   off   of   during   your   student   years.   It   brings   back   memories   of   barely   making   ends   meet   and   you   wrap   your   arms   around   your   middle   in   discomfort.   A   life   you   had   tried   to   leave   behind   with   the   promise   of   fame   and   fortune   creeps   back   into   your   senses.   The   voices   come   and   go   like   waves   washing   up   on   a   shore.   They’re   loud   all   at   once,   they   applaud,   they   jeer   and   then   they   disappear   and   that   smell   comes   back.   

The   lump   in   the   back   of   your   throat   spills   down   your   cheeks   as   tears.   A   vicious   cycle   of   recognition   and   the   consequences   of   fifteen   minutes   of   fame   dawn   on   you.   You   stumble   backwards   as   the   voices   come   to   a   stop.   They   don’t   return   this   time,   and   that   feeling   of   sudden   fatigue   threatens   to   swallow   you   whole.   

The   second   dead   end.

This   time   there’s   more   of   them.   The   voices   are   so   loud   they   ring   in   your   ear   drums.   This   time   they   call   you   Lucy,   some   call   you   Lulu,   but   none   of   them   say   Luciana.   They   won’t   shut   up   and   you   try   to   place   your   hands   over   your   ears   but   it   only   makes   it   worse.   You   take   a   deep   breath   in,   the   way   you   do   before   stepping   out   of   a   car   and   onto   a   red   carpet.   You   brace   yourself.   You   put   on   a   smile   as   if   you’re   actually   addressing   a   crowd   you   can’t   see,   but   there’s   a   sinking   feeling   in   the   pit   of   your   stomach.   You   want   to   crawl   out   of   your   skin,   and   before   you   can   stop   yourself   you   feel   your   nails   clawing   at   your   own   arms.

What   scares   you   more   is   that   there’s   no   voice   in   the   back   of   your   head   telling   you   to   stop.   They   don’t   stop   crying   out   your   name   with   joy   and   enthusiasm,   and   you   can’t   stop   wanting   to   shed   the   face   you’re   wearing.   It’s   not   yours.   You   don’t   recognize   yourself   in   the   mirror.   And   you   won’t   recognize   yourself   in   your   own   casket.

So   you   run.

The   third   dead   end.

This   one’s   all   too   familiar.   Maybe   because   your   routine   is   always   the   same,   it’s   hard   to   pry   one   event   from   the   other   when   you   follow   the   same   steps.

You   hear   the   roll   of   tires   against   the   road   and   it’s   like   you   can   feel   the   silk      draped   across   your   skin.   You   hear   yourself   shuffle   to   find   the   compact   in   the   purse   you   brought   with   you   and   your   driver   asks   if   you’re   okay.   You   hear   his   voice,   gruff,   he   always   sounds   like   he   has   a   sore   throat.   You   offer   him   a   grin   that   he   catches   in   the   rearview   mirror   and   sends   you   one   back.   You   experience   the   bliss   of   not   having   a   care   in   the   world   as   you   fish   around   your   purse.   Chopin   plays   on   the   speakers,   and   you’re   mildly   embarrassed   that   it’s   the   only   thing   that   keeps   you   calm   before   a   big   party.   You’ve   never   understood   why,   the   piano   wasn’t   even   your   favourite   instrument.   You   much   prefer   a   violin.

Suddenly   your   head   feels   like   it’ll   burst.   Your   heart   is   racing   and   you   reach   up   into   hair   that   you   expect   to   come   out   bloodied   and   matted,   but   your   fingers   come   clean.   Your   hand   shakes   in   front   of   you,   and   you’re   not   sure   what   happened.

Somewhere   in   the   distance   you   hear   the   faint   sound   of   sirens   approaching.   The   world   is   still   spinning   and   you   have   to   keep   your   hand   against   the   wall   to   remind   yourself   that   you’re   still   here.   You   hear   the   static   of   a   police   radio   somewhere   near   your   left   ear.   You   can’t   hear   anything   out   of   your   right.   You   shudder   when   you   feel   a   finger   against   the   side   of   your   neck,   their   pulse   beats   against   your   skin.   Yours   isn’t   there.   The   police   report’s   a   car   crash,   and   you   think   you’ve   heard   enough.   So   you   continue   in   your   search   for   an   exit.

The   fourth   dead   end.

You   stop   and   stare   at   it   from   a   distance.   There’s   nothing   menacing   about   the   way   it   hangs.   

As   you   draw   closer,   you   think   you   can   hear   it   speaking   to   you.   Whispers   that   curve   around   the   shell   of   your   ear   as   your   arm   reaches   out   to   it.   Your   chest   heaves   as   your   heart   pounds,   and   fear   seems   to   take   control.   Your   thoughts   don’t   run   in   a   straight   line   and   you   feel   like   the   only   way   to   stop   the   world   from   spinning   around   you   is   grab   onto   the   rope.   For   stability.   For   closure.   Tied   tight,   you   clutch   onto   its   circular   form   and   you   find   everything   coming   to   a   still   again.   

You   wonder   if   your   head   will   fit.

                                                 𝟽:𝟻𝟼:𝟸𝟹 𝙿𝙼

You   wake   up.

[evening-starlight]

Chances {Chapter Ten}

I think this is my longest Chapter so far lmao

Master List

Tainted

Word Count: 1867

    I'll be honest with you guys, our first kiss is tainted. This chapter will explain it. I will also mention that this might be hard for some readers to read, so reader discretion is advised.

    I pray for the world to open and swallow me whole right then and there. Of course, he would show up. He has to insert himself into every wonderful thing in my life. He has to plaster his face in every corner of my mind. Tom looks over my head at the man I used to be married to. This is not how I wanted to tell Tom about who it was. I slip my hands out of Tom's and turn around to Jared.

    He smiles wickedly like I've fallen into his trap. The smile sends waves of nausea and anxiety coursing through every vein in my body. "What do you want, Jared?" He hands me a bouquet of flowers. Purple and green daisies. I cross my arms to avoid taking them. "I was thinking of you, so I bought you some flowers." Jared's attention shifts his attention to Tom behind me. "Thank you for dropping my wife off. I really appreciate it." Oh, absolutely the fuck not.

    "Jared," I snap, pushing him away from Tom so we can speak semi-privately. "Why in God's name are you here? I am not your fucking wife. I don't want your damn flowers, which you never bought me when we were together anyways. I don't want you near me." My voice rising with the anger I feel boiling inside me. "You are nothing but a horrible stain on my history that I wish I could erase. You have ruined my life from the moment you walked in with that stupid book. You are the most possessive prick I have met in my life, and I regret every minute I spent with you." Jared continues to smile down at me. He has me right where he wanted me, yelling and spewing venom.

    "I just wanted to show Tom what kind of girl you really are," He says, looking at Tom behind me. "A venomous bitch." My jaw drops to the floor when I realize I walked right into his trap. He pushes the flowers into my chest and grabs my face roughly in his hands. The kiss is forceful and possessive. I feel the bile rising in my throat the longer he keeps his lips pressed to mine.

    Jared finally pulls away, wiping his lips. "I'll see you later, Jules." He walks off like nothing volatile just happened. I have approximately five seconds before I spew popcorn all over the steps. I drop the flowers on the ground and rush to the door, slamming my keys against the sensor pad and hoping it works. The door clicks like a heavenly sign. The gold trash can next to Will's desk is the closest and safest spot for the vomit.

    "Holy shit, Stella. Are you okay?" Will asks, standing up from his desk as I empty my guts into his freshly cleaned bin after falling to my knees. Someone rests their hand on my back before pulling my hair out of my face. I wave them off.

    "Fuck off, Jared." I manage between heaves.

    "It's not Jared." Tom answers. "I want to make sure you're okay, and then I'll leave if you'd prefer." I have no energy to fight as I continue to dry heave, nothing but saliva and air coming out. Will hands me a handful of tissues as I sit back on my heels. I manage a small smile in return as I wipe my mouth.

    "Sorry, Will." I apologize.

    "Don't be. I'd rather it the trashcan than across the floor," Will jokes back. "Let me get you a water from the back." I look at Tom when Will leaves.

    "I'm sorry. Theater popcorn doesn't taste good coming back up." He shakes his head with a small laugh.

    "Don't apologize, Love. He seems like a cock." I chuckle with a nod. "I'm not going to force you to talk about it now, but I would like to understand more about that relationship." I nod. It's a fair request.

     "If you grab those stupid flowers for me, we can head up to my apartment and talk. If you want," I suggest. Tom gets up to grab the flowers as Will comes back with a cold water bottle. I trade Tom the bottle for the flowers, pushing them bud first into the bin I just hurled in. I give Will another apology and tell him I'll get him his favorite bistro next time I'm at the studio.

    Tom follows me back to the elevator silently. I have no idea what to say to him, especially after something like that. What are you supposed to say when you kiss the guy of your dreams, and your abusive ex comes by and forces one on you? Sorry I have a fucked up past I've been conveniently avoiding? I unlock my apartment door and walk in first. "You can sit anywhere. I have to go bleach my mouth." I mumble, making my way to the bathroom.

    I avoid looking at myself as I gargle mouthwash, turning my back to the mirror. I can't believe I let that happen. I should have done something other than stand there like a statue. Why couldn't I do anything other than stand there and let Jared do that? Tom must think I'm a whore.

     The mouthwash is traded out for my toothbrush and toothpaste as I continue replaying what the hell just happened. Jared showing up out of nowhere with flowers after years of saying they're meaningless because they'll just die. And of course, they were purple and green; self-centered prick was probably thinking of himself as he bought the Joker colors. I meet my own eyes in the mirror as I stand straight after spitting the toothpaste out. I have mascara tear streaks running down my cheeks. I've paled considerably enough to enhance the dark circles under my eyes. I look terminally ill.

    I fix my makeup steaks quickly before walking out to the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?" I ask Tom. "I have beer, Capri Sun, and water, but you'll have to drink out of a shot glass because the two cups I have are dirty." Tom opts for a CapriSun. I hand it to him as I sit on the opposite end of my couch. We sit in silence for a few minutes while I think of how to start talking and how much I want to tell him.

    "Your apartment is quite nice," Tom starts, looking around at all the frames I have of the band and I. "Do you play all those?" He asks, gesturing to my elevated music area by my balcony door. On it is a bass guitar, acoustic and electric guitar, along with a keyboard and violin.

    "Yeah, when my parents heard I wanted to make music because Jared was, they paid for multiple lessons. I fell in love with singing, but I can definitely shred it on bass." I joke. Tom laughs with a slight nod.

    "How old were you when you met Jared again?" Tom asks in such a casual tone it calms me down slightly. Maybe he's just worried about me. Or maybe he just wants to know where Jared went wrong so he won't make the same mistakes, good or bad.

    "I was introduced to him at fourteen." I avoid Tom's sudden worried look by looking at the floor beneath my sneakers. I should get a carpet in here. "My parents wanted to be millionaires, so they moved us all to LA when I was, like, three, I think. I don't know how they met Jared's family. They never told me, and neither did Jared.

    "Everything was really innocent at first. He was my closest friend for years. He helped me with homework and practicing my music. I wanted to be just like him." I let out a bitter laugh. "I was sixteen when I realized I like him as more than a friend. We had to share a bed in a hotel on tour, and I remember not sleeping because he was right there, and he was cuddling me. He asked me out the day of my eighteenth and proposed two months later, married two more after that. We got divorced when I was twenty when I realized how much I really did miss out on life, and he was so possessive he stopped letting me go to band practice without him.

     "The band started pointing it out too. Robbie was the one who literally slapped sense into me. Because why would I hit Robbie back and tell him off, but not Jared? So, yeah. Jared's super possessive and still is." I finish quickly, realizing I was going on a tangent.

    "And he called you Jules?" I almost wished Tom would have forgotten about that. I know it's somewhere on my Wikipedia page, but would Tom have gone that far in learning about me?

    "I've had three legal names in my life," I say, finally bringing myself to look at Tom. He seems concerned, and his eyes are so soft and welcoming I could curl up into his chest right this second. "Juliet Davis is my birth name, and I took Jared's last name when we got married. Then, about a year after our divorce, I decided to rebrand myself and use a new name entirely. Don't ask me why I chose Thompson; I googled it when I was drunk, and it just stuck. Stella is from this one kids' book I was obsessed with for years, Stellaluna. I don't know why, but I carried it everywhere with me until about junior high."

    I guess I didn't notice the tears falling or that my voice was faltering. However, Tom did. Without hesitation, he pulls me into his arms, resting his head on mine. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that, Love," He says in a soft voice. "You didn't deserve any of that. Thank you for sharing with me." I let him hold me for a while longer. I enjoy his touch, but I really just want to be alone to cry and break shit.

    I don't know when I fell asleep; I just know when I woke up on the couch with a blanket on top of me and water on the coffee table in front of me, that Tom had taken care of me. He left a handwritten note as well, which I still have in my house. It said, 'I didn't want to leave you alone after something like tonight, but I felt it weird to stay the night uninvited. I truly appreciate you sharing something hard with me. I hope it's alright I washed a cup for you, and found some medicine as well, in case the crying caused a headache. Text me when you wake up. Much love, Tom.' Yes, I did run through the house like a crazy lady trying to find the letter so I could write it down verbatim.

[sahbibabe]

Truths

Truths

Soulmate AU

Sephiroth/Fem! Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

In which Cloud provides you the identity of your soulmate indirectly, even though you've already been acquainted with him before, and tells you to stay away from him. It's never that easy.

IT WASN'T EASY, adjusting to seeing things when previously all you saw was darkness. Your home, the building attached to the tea shop, was not as you had envisioned it in your head all these years. It was snug, cozy, and invited warmth that you had somehow been oblivious to, that soothed your soul to a calm serenity.

For the first few days, you directly avoided looking at your hands and heart, leaving things that required them to other people and praying that you hadn't missed your chance a thousand times over already. There were times where your vision did leave you and stutter out into darkness once again, but it was always repetitive and during the same time of day; you charted them on a calendar to be able to work around them. It wad always at the same time and never deviated, usually in spans of thirty minutes every couple of hours.

When Cloud visited you one morning, wanting to try out the green tea that Tifa suggested would ease his indigestion from years of SOLDIER rations, he listened to your mindless blubbering, almost bewildered as you met his gaze head on and seemed to be able to see him.

"Here you go," you said, placing the tea cup in front of him. He seemed almost out of place in your little shop, blending in just enough to not seem suspicious. "The tea was freshly ground today. I added some anti-inflammatory herbs just to make sure your stomach feels a little better."

Cloud blinked up at you, green-blue eyes wide. He was very pretty, you had come to notice, with an interesting facial structure not unlike that of a doll's. His hair was somewhat different, spiky and fluffy, but you had no room to judge since your eyes were still gray.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." He withdrew a fifteen gil and handed it to you. "Is that enough?"

You grinned and gave him back five gil, pocketing the ten in your apron. "You overcounted a bit, that's all. Would you like a matcha cake to go with your tea?"

"No thank you. I don't really like sweets."

"You really are odd, aren't you?" You laughed and left him to finish his tea, cleaning up the crumbs and napkins your other patrons had left for you to wipe up. There were some tips that you found pinned to the table under the napkins and as you reached over to sweep the gil into your hands, you directly looked at the very thing you had been avoiding for nearly two weeks: the strings.

Not a pale pink or even a crimson red that meant you had yet to find your soulmate, they glittered a bright gold, interwoven with sections of silver and purple that made quite the flattering combination. The colors meant different things, of course, but you didn't own the color book that everyone else had because knowing those colors had been an impossibility for you.

While Cloud was busy drinking his tea and making faces at it, but soldiering on anyways, you gently touched the strings, tugged at them the way you would a stray thread. They vibrated and sung like violin chords, settled, and stilled. You watched with bated breath as those threads began vibrating again, singing a different tune, but not because you did it; someone else, the person who was your soulmate, was doing it.

You swallowed the disappointment and returned to cleaning up, giving Cloud his receipt when he finished his tea. As you were laughing at some dry humored tea joke he had given you, mostly to the expense of the green powder, your vision went completely black. You were blind, again, and Cloud noticed.

"[Name]?" He questioned, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Oh. Sorry. This… happens, sometimes." You reached up and wiped your eyes, feeling them water at the lack of blinking. "It's alright. I expected this to happen."

"How often does this happen? Does it bother you?" Cloud pressed gently. You had gotten to be good friends over the past month or so, and you trusted him as much as you would Aerith. It was only concern that kept him there. "Can you function?"

"Of course." You fiddled with your apron, then reached up and patted his hand. "It's okay. It's only for thirty minutes every three hours or so."

That comment meant nothing to you, but it clearly meant something to Cloud. He stiffened for a moment, fingers tightening on your shoulder, as he asked,"Are you sure your sight isn't because your soulmate is lending you their sight?"

Your brain came to a harsh, skidding stop. "What?"

"It's common enough among SOLDIERs." Cloud paused and ushered you to sit down. When you were comfortable, he continued,"I lend my sight to Tifa when we're in battle. It never lasts very long, or at all, but those brief instances she can see as vividly as I do."

"But I can see all the time," you whispered. "Other than the hour and thirty minutes where my vision blacks out."

"Right. Which means your soulmate is a far more powerful SOLDIER than I am to be able to maintain it for that long." Cloud cleared his throat. "If they haven't told you already, then there's probably a good reason why."

"I guess so." It didn't sit well with you, that your soul mate was lending you their vision nearly all day. Those thirty minutes had to be while they took naps. "You're ex-SOLDIER, right? It's a dangerous job, I suppose, to have."

"Yeah. I wouldn't look too deeply into it. It's safer to maintain distance. That guy, Hojo, likes to test soulmate bonds in… I won't say how. If you have any questions, you can call Tifa. I'm sure she'll be happy to help you out."

"Oh, no, that's alright." You sighed and fingered the black feathers on your hip when a bolt of realization hit you. "Cloud? Can I ask you something? It's okay if you can't tell me."

"Sure."

"Do you know a SOLDIER named Sephiroth?"

You felt his aura plunge down to negative temperatures. It happened so quickly that your own aura felt the need to take a defensive stance, bristling. Sephiroth's name did not seem like a nice topic for Cloud.

"Where did you hear that name?" He asked, strained.

You didn't want to tell him. Some part of you told you not to, that whatever you said wouldn't help you in the long run. You valued Cloud's friendship, so you bullshitted your way out of it. You were, thankfully, still blind at the moment, and that helped push your lie to seem genuine.

"There were some Turks here the other day." Not a lie. One of them had flirted with you, which had been odd. "They kept talking about a SOLDIER named Sephiroth." A half-lie. "I was just wondering if you knew anything about it."

"...Oh." Cloud's aura seemed to calm as he digested your explanation, but it wasn't any less aggressive. "Yeah. I do. He's dangerous, [Name]. If you ever see him, run the other way."

It was far, far too late for that.

"Okay, but…" Gaia, you were lying out of your ass today. "What does he look like? I wouldn't even know good from bad."

You had to be certain; had to know for sure if that man was the same one you knew. It had to be, because who had such an odd name like Sephiroth?

"I forget you've been blind most of your life." Cloud sighed and leaned back in his chair. "He has eyes like mine, but his pupils are like a cat's. He has long silver hair. Taller than I am. Wields a long katana. You'll know if you see him."

"Oh. Okay. I'll remember that." Eager to change the subject, you asked,"How's your stomach? Is it better?"

Cloud hummed, distracted. "Yeah. It's better. Thanks, by the way, for the tea."

"No problem."

After Cloud left, your sight came back little by little, and you flipped the open sign to closed. There was no way you were going to be able to work today with your mind running miles a minute.

Cloud hadn't quite made the connection yet, but you certainly had. Sephiroth was your soulmate. He had to be. You hadn't met another SOLDIER besides Cloud, and his aura was powerful enough for you to feel emotions through. All of this started with Sephiroth and ended with him.

So why did you feel like it was a bad thing?

[lee-do-hwas]

dodanru university oneshot

@bookishserendipity03 requested a platonic dodanru university fic so here it is! i’m sorry for taking so long, but this went in a direction i wasn’t really expecting and it ended up longer than originally planned. it’s around 3k words and mostly fluff + a lot of lee do hwa (because i love him). thanks for reading!!

When Eun Dan Oh finally found Haru amongst the seemingly endless crowd of familiar faces at Seuli University, it felt like a miracle. She’d searched for him ever since she’d been reborn, even if she hadn’t quite known what (or who) she was looking for at first. They spent hours walking around campus in circles, recounting the events of their previous lives and catching each other up to speed on their current character setups. Eun Dan Oh was relatively the same in this story. She was the sole daughter of a wealthy businessman and engaged to a fiance who would never love her back— the author really hadn’t put much effort into that one. The main difference now was that instead of a heart disease, Dan Oh’s conflict revolved around taking over the family business. She was cutthroat, goal oriented, and constantly focused on how to get ahead in the world. In contrast, Haru was a psychology major and Oh Nam Joo’s stoic but sweet best friend. He was always in the library and spent most of his time tutoring other students. Compared to the eccentric and naive Oh Nam Joo, he was the “mature” friend who kept both their heads on straight. It wasn’t lost on Dan Oh how suspiciously close Haru’s setup was to his actual personality.

The author’s newest comic was an attempt at more mature storytelling, following the lives of various university students as they made their way through the trials and tribulations of adulthood. To put it simply, it was drama bait. But the dramatic tone of “These Fragile Hearts” gave the characters way more freedom than the predictably cheesy plot of “Secret”. Not only were there multiple protagonists this time, but a much larger cast of named supporting characters meaning…they were safe. Eun Dan Oh’s days were no longer numbered due to a heart condition and Haru wasn’t unnamed Student 13. Outside of Dan Oh’s ongoing family theatrics and Haru’s chemistry void romance with Yeo Joo Da (now a biology major and nothing more than an extra herself) they had all the time in the world to meet up in the shadows. Even on stage, they had a lot of scenes together— sometimes entire conversations. They were fine with playing their parts. In comparison to before, they practically had all the alone time in the world. 

Eun Dan Oh became a regular visitor of Oh Nam Joo and Haru’s cramped studio apartment. They only had one pullout couch, a coffee table, and a few foldable chairs, but that was more than enough furniture for three people. Oh Nam Joo was surprisingly chill with Dan Oh’s presence after she was introduced as Haru’s “friend from middle school” and eventually just gave her the extra key so she could let herself in. If she got off first, Dan Oh usually hung around and cleaned up to keep herself busy until Haru got home. After inevitably helping him lead his overly emotional (and sometimes drunk) roommate to bed, they would head out every night without fail. Some nights they went on roadtrips in an attempt to map out just how far their small, fictional world went. Others, they sat in front of their tree and stared up at the stars. Whether their time together was full of conversation or entirely silent, Eun Dan Oh appreciated all of it. Haru was the one to finally put into words how it felt to be in such a fortunate situation, how lucky the two of them were to have one another after going through so much: extraordinary.

It felt greedy to ask for more. But something was missing. Something that felt like it should have been obvious given the fact that Eun Dan Oh remembered almost everything about both “Secret” and “Trumpet Flower”. The small gaps in her memory mocked her, just specific enough to feel significant. After she found Haru, most of her memories came back in waves. There were only a few things that didn’t click and Dan Oh hated it. What could she still be missing? Sometimes she encountered a new, vaguely familiar face and wondered if they were the key to unlocking everything. She’d stomp over to the large library near her apartment and scour the shelves for an explanation. Maybe it was another lifetime she’d lost. Maybe it was something even scarier. Whatever it was, Eun Dan Oh didn’t want to be caught by surprise ever again. Even finding the hardcover copy of “These Fragile Hearts” hidden deep within the psychology department’s library didn’t help much. For days and then weeks, Dan Oh kept an eye out for something strange. She all but gave up…and then one day an extra ran past her, the angle of the sun’s rays just bright enough to shield his face. Someone who was probably not only nameless but also faceless. Without knowing who he was she knew. This was the person she’d been looking for.

After that day Eun Dan Oh kept her eyes out for any and every extra that walked by. She could recognize almost all of them after a week of people watching. There was one girl who had a very obvious (and unrequited) crush on Oh Nam Joo, another student who loved to feed the pigeons every morning, a man who held the door for the main characters during almost every scene without ever being acknowledged otherwise, and many more. None of them had names. Dan Oh went out of her way to speak to them but of course none of the extras she befriended were ever the extra she was looking for. When Eun Dan Oh did finally find him, it was entirely by chance.

“Watch out!” A student carrying a large pile of books and loose leaf paper flew down the library hallway and directly into Eun Dan Oh’s line of sight. 

The man scurried out of the way just in time to not knock her over, but his stack of books wobbled precariously. Dan Oh couldn’t even see his face behind the comically tall barrier of reading material. In a single moment, her curiosity got the better of her and she made the decision to try something dumb. Moving one finger closer, Eun Dan Oh poked the stack of books. It immediately toppled to the ground and into a pile beside them.

The man sighed and stared at his books dejectedly. “I can’t believe this…I’m gonna be late to my nine thirty.”

He ran his fingers through his fluffy blondish-brown hair and glared at the pile through huge, circular glasses. He was…pouting? His facial expression could only be described as similar to that of a kicked puppy. Eun Dan Oh almost felt bad. He quickly looked back up at her with panicked eyes.

“None of those hit you, right? Are you okay?” Both his hands were in his hair and he looked like the picture book definition of “stressed college student”.

Eun Dan Oh stopped staring and crouched down, handing him the book closest to her with a smile. “No, I’m fine. What’s your name?”

“I’m—uh, why do you ask?” he replied meekly. So he didn’t have a name. Eun Dan Oh looked him up and down once again.

This wasn’t one of the extras she often saw around campus. The pastel pink button up and grey jeans he wore both seemed to be in pristine condition, as if he hadn’t worn them for even a day. He wrung his hands together awkwardly and refused to look Eun Dan Oh in the eyes. Just based upon their first meeting, she could tell this character didn’t have many friends. He was probably a studious type, only around to ensure that the main characters were conveniently partnered with a genius during group projects. Nothing particularly interesting stood out about him until Dan Oh glanced at the papers scattered around them. Was that sheet music?

“Do you play the violin?” Eun Dan Oh asked suddenly.

“Yes…?”

“Do you have an older brother?” She picked up another book, some manhua with a smiling couple and cherry blossoms on the cover. “And do you read cheesy comics like this often?”

The boy scoffed. “Cheesy? I’ll have you know these ‘cheesy’ comics actually give really good pointers on how to navigate young love, and you sure weren’t complaining when I let Haru borrow one back in high sc— wait. Who’s Haru?”

Eun Dan Oh covered her mouth with both hands and gasped. Everything fell back into place.

“Lee Do Hwa?!”

Her shout rang throughout the halls and several students looked up in annoyance. She didn’t care. How could she have forgotten him? Lee Do Hwa, the second male lead of “Secret”, one third of A3, and most importantly, one of her best friends. She threw herself into the taller man and hugged tight.

“I finally found you! I can’t believe it took this long!” Her words were high pitched and brimming with joy.

“Wait,” Lee Do Hwa briefly pushed her away to get a better look and his eyes widened in recognition. “Eun Dan Oh?!”

She bobbed her head excitedly. “In the flesh!”

Lee Do Hwa looked around the room with heightened awareness, slowly putting the pieces of his past back together. “Shit. Does this mean I’m not the main character?”

- - -

Haru was just as excited to meet the freshly reborn Lee Do Hwa— almost enough to forgive him and Eun Dan Oh for getting banned from the library for excessive noise. Dan Oh could hear him fussing through the phone the moment she announced the good news, undoubtedly rushing to clean his flat and cook a meal big enough for four people. When they arrived the once unnavigable space was spotless and a military sized pot of spaghetti was cooking on the stove. Dan Oh didn’t even remember them owning any dishes that big. Haru wasn’t one to be underestimated on a regular day, but a worried, nagging Haru? The author themself probably feared him. 

Lee Do Hwa immediately made himself at home, plopping down next to Eun Dan Oh on the tiny couch and sighing dramatically.

“Haruuu!” He whined. “I haven’t seen you in ages and this is the greeting I get?”

A light turned off in the bathroom and Haru’s head of wavy black hair peeked through the doorway. He wore neon green rubber gloves and had probably just finished deep cleaning every corner of the room.

“Dan Oh, is that you?” Haru dusted off his baby blue hoodie and looked up, mouth gaping. “Lee Do Hwa?!”

“Are you that shocked? I know I’m not the adorable second male lead anymore but can’t a man wear glasses every once in a while?” He started pouting again. Eun Dan Oh rolled her eyes.

“No, it’s nothing bad,” Haru smiled reassuringly. “You just look…different.”

Do Hwa fell into Dan Oh as if he’d been shot in the chest. “That’s even worse! Just say I look like a nerd, it’ll hurt less!”

Haru sauntered into the living room and squoze his way into the middle of the couch, immediately putting distance between Eun Dan Oh and Lee Do Hwa. Do Hwa's pout only widened.

“You look like a nerd.” He stared at his friend’s face for a few seconds. “And your hair’s brighter now. It’s basically blonde.”

“It’s chestnut brown…” Do Hwa replied heavily as if the words pained him.

“No, it’s blonde.” Eun Dan Oh said, reaching over to pat his hand with a smile. “And you do look like a nerd—”

“First you tell me I’m an extra and now this? Is nothing sacred?”

“That being said, I think it looks cute! And we missed you! So who cares if you look like a labradoodle.” She reached her arms around Haru for a group hug. Do Hwa hummed annoyedly.

“I guess I missed you guys too. Even though you keep rubbing your happy relationship in my face.” Do Hwa said, completing the hug. Haru squirmed in place and patted his friend’s head awkwardly.

- - -

In the days following their reunion, Lee Do Hwa had somehow weaseled his way out of a two year lease to, in his words, “the shittiest apartment known to man” and made preparations to move in with Haru and Oh Nam Joo. Eun Dan Oh couldn’t begin to explain how he managed something like that. Oh Nam Joo shouldn’t have even remembered him in the first place? But they’d hit it off immediately and under a week later Do Hwa was sleeping on the pullout couch. He claimed it was his natural charm, but Dan Oh was pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that they were lifelong friends in a past life. No other character really remembered anything past Do Hwa’s name, but that didn’t stop him from giving a running commentary before and after every scene.

Eun Dan Oh’s fiance in “These Fragile Hearts” was, of course, Baek Gyeong. As always he didn’t like her back, but unlike before her character was almost entirely to blame for it. Where he was kind and vulnerable, Eun Dan Oh was cold and constantly toeing the line between oblivious and downright cruel. There were more scenes than Dan Oh could count where Baek Gyeong planned a lovely dinner or picnic for the two of them only for her to stand him up for work. It wasn’t surprising that his character arc revolved around a secret romance between him and the much more affectionate Shin Sae Mi (and yes, they were the main couple). Eun Dan Oh had absolutely no interest in dating Baek Gyeong, but every time the two leads exchanged knowing glances right in front of her she wanted to gag. They could at least flirt in private! Why was infidelity okay just because it was the main characters sneaking around?! When Lee Do Hwa found out her predicament, he laughed so hard he got a stitch in his side.

“Oh my god, stop talking. Please, I’m gonna fucking choke,” Do Hwa wheezed out in between his laughter.

“Is my life a game to you?! I have to watch Baek Gyeong and Sae Mi make googly eyes at each other everyday. Everyday!” Eun Dan Oh exclaimed, throwing a fluffy pillow at the taller man’s head. “My character’s too cool to get cheated on, I made my own uncle step down from Eun Enterprises with one threat and a glare. But somehow I’m too blind to see the extremely blatant PDA going on right in front of me? What kind of writing is that!”

“Maybe you just don’t mind it? Your character’s kind of in a metaphorical love affair with work so—“

“Please don’t ever call it that, I’ll actually gag.”

“And in their defense…” Do Hwa started, clearing his throat. “Aren’t you kind of in the same boat? You and Haru are like, fated soulmates. And you go on secret journeys every night. And basically live together.” He smiled knowingly and Dan Oh shoved him to the other side of the couch.

“Me and Haru have tried breaking up with our canon counterparts a billion times. We used to do it every other day in hopes they’d remember somehow. Baek Gyeong and Yeo Joo Da just aren’t self aware yet so until then we have to wait.”

Lee Do Hwa nodded and opened his mouth to reply before shutting it. He suddenly looked up to stare at Eun Dan Oh.

“Yeo Joo Da?” Do Hwa’s eyes were wide and Dan Oh was sure that if he were a puppy his ears would be raised in attention right about now.

“Yes, Yeo Joo Da. Her and Haru are the second most important couple in the entire comic.” Eun Dan said, frowning sympathetically. Do Hwa forced a laugh to relieve the tension.

“That sounds…boring.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Haru’s muffled shout came through the bedroom door where he was studying. Lee Do Hwa shrugged.

“I mean you’re not wrong.” Dan Oh agreed. “They’re super vanilla, who wants to read about a couple with no conflict?”

“Do you think—“ Do Hwa looked down. “Do you think I should talk to her? Introduce myself?” Eun Dan Oh scooted closer and pat his shoulder. She honestly felt for him. At least in ”Secret” Yeo Joo Da was aware that Lee Do Hwa existed. There was no telling how much she knew of their past life or if she’d even be able to remember Lee Do Hwa between scenes. But if Do Hwa was anything, he was likeable. Dan Oh knew that if he put his mind to it he’d make himself known soon enough.

Lost in thought, Dan Oh didn’t hear the telltale sound of Haru opening his bedroom door and coming out to the living area. He gently moved Eun Dan Oh to the side and inserted himself firmly in the middle of the couch once again.

“I think you should do it.” Haru said, opening his notebook and getting right back to studying. “You have a name now. That’s a start, right?”

Haru was smiling brightly at Lee Do Hwa and Eun Dan Oh could tell he was trying to convey his approval and other unsaid emotions in just that look. How thankful he was to have Do Hwa around even if he didn’t say much, how well he personally understood such a tragic situation. And just like Haru had Do Hwa and Dan Oh back then, Do Hwa had them now. They were the Three Musketeers and even if Yeo Joo Da didn’t recognize him at first they’d help him through it. Just the three of them had done things way more difficult. They’d changed fate multiple times, in comparison this was nothing.

“Thank you, Haru. It’s not that I still like her but…She’s important to me, you know? I still feel kind of responsible to make sure she’s okay. I know that’s selfish of me.” Do Hwa sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Why are feelings so complicated. I wish I could just have an affair like everybody else.”

Eun Dan Oh grabbed the pillow and reached across Haru to whack Do Hwa again.

“Asshole.”

“But you guys love me!” He pouted.

Haru hummed but didn’t make a single move to stop Eun Dan Oh’s onslaught of pillow attacks. “I guess you’re right about that.”

Eun Dan Oh finally put her weapon down and glared. “If not for the fact that I love you and it would make Haru sad, I would smite you where you stand.”

Lee Do Hwa stuck out his tongue, only to hop off the couch and dash away when Dan Oh grabbed one of Haru’s three inch thck textbooks. They chased each other around the cramped apartment and Haru closed his notebook in defeat. His studying would have to wait until another time.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

🎻🔮🌷 . How've you been?

(I’ve been doing much better lately!)

send 3 emojis to my askbox and I’ll come up with a story premise/plot based on them

emojis used: violin, crystal ball, tulip 

~

Enjoy reading my original writing? Consider buying me a coffee on Ko-Fi under the name ibelieveinahappilyeverafter to keep more stories coming!

~

Title: Thrice Around and Thrice Again

Rating: Young Adult

Summary: Adrina is a simple cottage witch with regrettable friends whomake poor decisions. Unfortunately for her, one of those poor decisions comesright to her door. 

~

Ragged, freshly pluckedtulip petals slipping through her fingers, Adrina watched carefully as theseven petals floated down to rest in her mortar. A quick search and riflingthrough glass bottles that knocked together and tinkled pleasantly faded off asa vial of spring water was added next, a soft murmur mixing with the grind ofthe mortar and pestle, “Let’s see… Tulip petals, spring water, and… Ah, St.John’s Wort!” 

A quick addition andsoon everything was ground down into a smooth, pleasant-smelling paste thatAdrina took in with a soft sigh. “What do you think, Bastille? Thinks it’s readyfor Mrs. Basil and her impeccable taste?” 

A quiet, warbling meowanswered her, Adrina glancing down to where Bastille, formly nothing more thana starved, stray black cat, crawled up her desk before standing on his backlegs and wobbling. Adrina threw out her arm to stable him, laughing as his armshooked around her own as he looked at the paste curiously. 

“What a silly kitty,”Adrina teased, leaning over to brush a kiss against his head. “You know, if itweren’t for me making you my familiar, you would look quite terrifying likethis.” As it was, familiars always took on human qualities - whether by choiceor by magic. Bastille was still a bundle of purring softness, but he could nowat least walk on his back legs, overall shape of his body more like a youngtoddler than that of a cat trying to balance. “Well? What do you think?”

Bastille burst intopurring, Adrina laughing as she moved to begin bottling up the paste. Itwouldn’t cure Mrs. Basil of her joint pain anytime soon, but it would help easethe pain for a couple of moons. 

Whispering a few softwords and whistling a soft pink mist into the bottle, Adrina screwed a lid ontothe bottle and set it aside to be delivered soon. Settling into the familiarroutine of cleaning up her work bench, Adrina soon found herself humming,sweeping from one end of the floor to the other as she twirled in herskirts. 

It wasn’t until she wasconscious of the fact she was humming along to a violin’s sweet, trillingmelody that she felt herself trail to a stop. She then snapped her gaze to thedoor with a swear and a hiss of, “Sundrid.”

A look back to herfamiliar showed he was making small noises to match the melody, twirling aroundon her desk. She felt her anger grow because charming her was one thing, butcharming her familiar was another. 

Sucking in a breath andwhistling long and low, Adrina closed her eyes and listened to the echo thatdrifted around her small home, bouncing off the walls and slipping out throughthe open windows. A second later and she heard Bastille’s unhappy grumbles anda familiar voice swearing.

Stomping to her door,Adrina jerked it open, glaring right at the brightly dressed man in front ofher who had been fumbling with his violin with a frown. When he looked up,Adrina was pleased to see him pale before throwing on a bright smile that shonewith fear. Good. 

“Adrina, my beautifulflower! You look so lovely today! Have you done something new to your hair?That bright, lovely red shines like the sun and reflects your bright and fierynature-”

“None of your trickstoday, Wordsmith!” Adrina yelled at him, tempted to grab one of her boots bythe door and throw it at him. “The last time your presence darkened my doorstepI had to deal with a colony of drakes!”

“Ah, but what a fineadventure it was!” Sundrid, with sleek, tousled brown hair, brown eyes thatshone like captured sunlight, and a crooked smile that showed off a sharpincisor was charming enough to get his way in whatever he wished. Adrina hatedhim for it. “You, me, a couple of brave adventures, and quite a hefty reward-”

“I knew it!” Adrinathrew her hands up, stalking out into the grass and shoving a finger againstSundrid’s chest. “Don’t you think for one second that I’m going onanother mad adventure with you when I’m still recovering from the last one.”

Sundrid sighed,returning his violin to his case proper and taking her hand softly, eyeslooking into her own, “Dearest Adrina, I never meant to cause you harm. Theinjuries that befall you were ones I could not have planned for. I dideverything I could-”

Jerking her hand back,Adrina shoved it over his mouth to shut him up. She then took a few seconds toremind herself that murder was not something that was in her creed, but oh, howshe wished it was. She gave herself just enough time to not want tostrangle him before she spoke again after removing her hand. “How much thistime?”

“Ten thousand with thepossibility of a bonus depending on how quick we are about the matter.” Tenthousand. Ten thousand- Adrina could move anywhere with that amount!With a quarter of that amount! It was suspicious. It was too suspicious.

“What trouble have youfound now?” Adrina asked softly, eyes narrowed as Sundrid broke eye contact andlooked away and there. There was the twist. “Tell me you didn’t agree toanything foolish.”

“Of course not!” Sundridcrossed his arms, drew himself up, and gave one of his crooked grins thatAdrina rolled her eyes at. “I took on a quest that will make us legends.”Oh. Oh, no. It was this line of thought again. 

Adrina took a steadybreath, remembering that she loved the horrid, vile creature in front of her asa brother and had since childhood. “Sundrid. If this is about a dragon-”

“It’s about a dragon!”No. No. “Specifically, it’s about rescuing a princess from adragon- Adrina?”

Adrina scooped Bastilleup from the doorway, holding him close as she slammed the door shut, closingher eyes and sighing as she heard no less than six things hit the ground.Looking down to Bastille, Adrina asked a soft, “What do you think? Am I beingunreasonable?”

Bastille looked up ather, half-climbing over her shoulder and looking at the door before hissing.Adrina chuckled, setting him down gently and, right. Back to work. She had actualwork to do. Not- Not some quest. Witches like her did not goon quests. 

Picking up the few itemsthat had fallen, Adrina paused at the old, tarnished crystal ball that hadrolled into a patch of soft sunlight. Picking it up before any damage could bedone, Adrina paused as she saw a glimmer from the fractured pieces of crystalinside, reflecting a million possibilities and oh… Now that wasinteresting. 

Settling the relic downon her table gently, Adrina turned back to the door and stared before sighingand marching over to snap it back open. Sundrid, as she expected, was moroselysitting in the grass and pouting. 

Not stopping until shewas right in front of him and he was looking terrified, Adrina stared down athim. “Sixty percent. Take it or-”

“I’ll take it!” Sundridwas already up and clutching her hands and spinning her around, Adrina makingsure to not dare laugh or smile even as amusement curled around herheart. 

If nothing else, she had a feeling this questwas going to be interesting.

[noahstm]

( maxence danet fauvel. twenty-three. cis male. three siblings. ) - have you seen NOAH GOTHEL walking around auradon university ? i hear a lot of people talking about how the JUNIOR is taking ECOLOGY which makes sense because of how + OUTGOING they are. they come across very - NAIVE too , which makes sense as the ADOPTED SECOND child of MOTHER GOTHEL. when i see them , i think of RIPS SEWN NEATLY SHUT, BIRDS FLYING AWAY IN THE DISTANCE, THE WARMTH OF FRESHLY BAKED BREAD, CONSTANT TERROR THAT YOU’RE UNRAVELLING , and the most interesting thing about them is [ REDACTED ] , but you didn’t hear that from me.

heyo, its rose, and here’s muse number TWO. this intro is gonna be more In Depth bc i have absolutely Nothing on his blog rn. that’s also because… Well. i’d like to plot a whole lot with noah first bc just based around his character he is going to be extremely influenced by the people around him. you’ll see what i mean when i Go In. 

basics.

name. noah gothel  age. 23  dob. september 3, 1997  pob. the isle  gender + pronouns. cis male + he/him  sexuality. bi bi bi (all my muses are bi unless i say otherwise)  height. six foot two.  weight. 160lbs. (he’s just like a tall, skinny tree).  distinguishing features. height, messy hair, sweet smile, raccoon eyes, 

background.

SO. noah was born on the isle to some lower level grunts and was sold to a thief’s ring for fifty dollars when he was six. hold on there’s a lot more trauma to go. 

besides being fucking six, he was the worst thief the guild had ever had, and they were thisclose to getting rid of him when mother gothel found him and offered to take him off their hands. she’s told noah again and again this was out of the goodness of her heart, but it… really wasn’t. 

she basically saw this little sad sweet boy and thought “sweet!!!!! free child labor!!!!!!” 

ever since he moved in, mother gothel had him doing chores. and noah did this happily, because after being abandoned once and told he was useless every day by the guild, he was happy to be helpful. plus, as gothel was so eager to remind him, he should be grateful for all she’d done for him. and he was, he really was. 

noah never really properly enrolled in school. sure, when he could, he loved to read his siblings’ books or anything else he could find, but gothel told noah she needed him at home. he cooked, he cleaned, he did errands, he did essentially everything gothel asked of him. 

the world outside of their home was, indeed, dangerous, as gothel loved to remind him. besides doing errands once a week, noah really never left the house.

and then (and this is a massive wc) noah saw Them. probably while running errands one day, but noah saw a kid his age, the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, and convinced himself that that was his true love. he mentioned it to his mother once, and she completely shut it down, so he didn’t mention it again. but still, he Yearned. 

in fact it’s very likely he never really spoke to them at all sigh. but he was still convinced that they were his one true love. he probably left them like, little flowers and stuff, whatever he could find. real secret admirer type shit. 

and then, when he heard his One True Love would be leaving for aurau, he was torn. because he didn’t want to leave his mother and the world he knew, but also… he hadn’t yet told his one true love how he felt. so, he applied without telling his mother. also like, now that he had a chance to leave the isle, part of him really wanted to take it. 

he tried to sneak out without her noticing, but it didn’t work. won’t get into specifics, but ofc gothel was upset and tried to manipulate and gaslight the shit out of him and then noah pushed her, forgetting his own strength, and she fell to the floor and he ran away and he still thinks about that every night because he feels awful. 

and then, of course, he gets to auradon and his One True Love, who is almost definitely and rightly creeped the fuck out that this guy they barely know followed them all the way here, and he realizes he’s fucked up. they don’t want him, and he sees himself as they see him and it hurts. he’s scared them. he’s somehow become a monster. 

but he didn’t leave, because… because he knew if he returned to the isle, he’d never be able to leave the house again. 

plus, he… he kind of likes auradon. there’s fresh fruit and beautiful parks, stores where they sell fresh flowers and warm bread. and school is hard, it’s insanely hard, but he likes it, anyways. he probably has a tutor (another wc) who helps him through it. 

tbh tho he’s probably like. just started leaving campus. he has highkey agoraphobia and if he ever thinks he’s gotten lost he has a panic attack. 

that’s another reason he hasn’t really left campus the past couple years; his mental health is in the garbage. he did start seeing a therapist first year, but he’s so eager to please that he was basically lying to them nonstop until recently. 

he also has crazy insomnia, is known to take naps at random spots around campus to make up for his lack of sleep; has psychosomatic headaches and stomachaches; doesn’t like to express emotions besides happiness period; has regular panic attacks; has a favorite bathroom stall to cry in. he’s goin through it constantly and thinks about going back to the isle every day. 

BUT he’s finally putting himself out there, actively trying to meet people and make friends. we love growth. 

also he found a cat that he named polkadot and he doesn’t want to abandon him

besides all of that, a lot of him and his past is really down to the plotting bc like…. he really is a chronic people pleaser, not to mention extremely naive and gullible. so how people have interacted with him is really going to affect how he turns out. how someone as sweet as him managed to survive the isle should be a mystery, but it isn’t; he survived because he was put through his own hell to keep him that way. 

wanted connections. 

“””””one true love”””””” just pls. pls. any gender at all they just gotta be a vk around his age. 

manipulator. someone play this fool like a fucking violin, if you even have the gall to lie to his puppy dog eyes. 

tutor. pls…… he needs……. all the help he can get……. 

protector. someone who looks at this gullible sweetheart and like. just wants what’s best for him at all costs. 

bad influence. now that he’s finally trying to have a social life there’s gotta be SOMEONE who wants to bring him to the dark side 

im so fucking open with noah give me everything literally everything he needs friends

[arp-ar-performers]

Official Website—Member Profiles

Translations of the artist profiles on the ARP website.

Words in blue are taken from the official English translation. Links have been added for context in the Q&As.

SHINJI

Birthday: December 6th (Sagittarius) / Blood type: A / Height: 178cm / Weight: 60kg / Gender: Male

The son of a famous composer and an opera singer, he received advanced education for playing the violin, ballet, and figure skating from a young age. After graduating from middle school, at the urging of his parents he entered the prestigious artist vocational school ISM (International School of Music) in Yokohama, where he’s remained at the top of his class at school since enrollment. Diligent at everything he attempts, he is the de facto “leader” of ARP. He refers to his fans as “princesses” and “knights”.

Q&A

Favorite international artists: Dirty Loops, Pharrell Williams, Michael Jackson Favorite Japanese artists: Hibari Misora Instruments you can play: Violin, piano Pre-show rituals: Huddling and doing a group cheer Favorite subjects: Music Least favorite subjects: None Favorite school lunch: Omurice (at ISM, they draw a musical note on it with ketchup) Favorite ISM teacher: I don’t like or dislike my teachers Hobbies: Online shopping, cooking, running, and researching Japanese confectionery Talents: Whistling, Internet research Animal you’re most like: Dog Animal you want to have as a pet: I currently have a Boston Terrier named Mimi What you wanted to be when you grew up: Ballet dancer, Takoyaki chef Favorite season: Beginning of winter Favorite movies/animation: Kingsmen, and I’ve also recently gotten into American superhero and sci-fi movies Favorite ramen flavor: Salty Favorite sweets: Freshly ground convenience store coffee, chocolate mint frappes, and handmade traditional Japanese confectionery Favorite onigiri filling: Eggs and ground beef Favorite oden ingredient: Eggs and radishes Favorite type of girl: Someone who likes me, and adores me more than anyone else in the world Least favorite type of girl: I can’t think of anything Favorite hairstyle on girls: Whatever suits them Favorite clothing for girls: Whatever suits them, and also long knit sleeves during winter Gifts you give to girls: Bouquets of roses and dahlias How you spend your days off: Cooking, taking Mimi for walks, going home to my family Favorite amusement park rides: Merry-go-rounds and spinning teacups Events you often go to: Any sort of opera Everyday clothing: GUCCI, YSL, Ron Herman Sleepwear: Silk pajamas, though sometimes I fall asleep in my bathrobe Cologne used: CHANEL No5 L’eau First thing you do after waking up: Take a shower What you would bring to a deserted island: A chef First love: A girl in my ballet class

DAIYA (REBEL CROSS)

Birthday: August 7th (Leo) / Blood type: O / Height: 187cm / Weight: 71kg / Gender: Male

A member of the duo “REBEL CROSS.” His real name is Daiya (大哉). DAIYA was raised at an institution after losing his parents at a young age. While in elementary school, he was invited by his close friend RAGE to form the indie band CROSS BONE. In addition to being the vocalist, he was also the band’s guitarist. He won 1st place at the International Street Dance Competition. He personally designs ARP’s clothing, accessories, and merchandise. He is good at all sports, and serves the role as the team’s “older brother”.

Q&A

Favorite international artists: Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Qemists, Eminem, Jazzy Jeff, and many more Favorite Japanese artists: I don’t really listen to them Instruments you can play: Guitar Pre-show rituals: Polishing my costume's accessories Favorite subjects: PE, Art, Calligraphy Least favorite subjects: Math, anything related to history, Japanese Favorite school lunch: Don’t care, I always just choose curry Favorite ISM teacher: My calligraphy teacher Hobbies: All types of designing Talents: Dancing, doing backflips Animal you're most like: A cow (according to RAGE) Animal you want to have as a pet: An otter or a cat What you wanted to be when you grew up: A superhero Favorite season: Summer Favorite movies/animation: Marvel movies, The Matrix, John Wick Favorite ramen flavor: Pork bone and soy Favorite sweets: I rarely eat sweets, although sweet red bean soup is alright Favorite onigiri filling: Pickled plums Favorite oden ingredient: Konjac Favorite type of girl: Girls with some volume (softness is important) Least favorite type of girl: Girls who use too many fake eyelashes Favorite hairstyle on girls: Long and glossy hair Favorite clothing on girls: Vintage accessories with denim, shorts, short skirts in general, fishnet stockings Gifts you give to girls: Handmade accessories How you spend your days off: Going to instrument stores, shopping for jeans, cleaning and doing laundry, playing video games (WWE/Spiderman) Favorite amusement park rides: Rollercoasters and haunted houses Events you often go to: Pro wrestling and martial arts matches, though lately I've also been watching basketball games Everyday clothing: T-shirt with jeans Sleepwear: Jersey (although I sleep in my underwear during the summer) Cologne used: If worn I use Verveine by L’Occitane First thing you do after waking up: Gargle What you would bring to a deserted island: A fishing rod and Rage First love: My kindergarten teacher

RAGE (REBEL CROSS)

Birthday: August 23rd (Virgo) / Blood type: AB / Height: Private / Weight: Private / Gender: Private

A member of the duo “REBEL CROSS.” Their real name is Reiji (怜士). At age 14, they teamed up with their best friend DAIYA to form the dual-vocalist indie band CROSS BONE, considered to be the predecessor to REBEL CROSS. They became known as the “prize winner” after they won various contests. They were then scouted by AR Productions and signed under the condition of attending ISM. They earn excellent grades in school. They are vehemently opposed to losing. They also work on song production. They refer to their fans as “sub-members.”

Q&A

Favorite international artists: RAGE (REBEL CROSS) Favorite Japanese artists: RAGE (REBEL CROSS) Instruments you can play: Guitar Pre-show rituals: Touch an Ise Shrine charm Favorite subjects: Japanese Least favorite subjects: Cartography Favorite school lunch: Pancake plate (with bananas) Favorite ISM teacher: The lunch lady Hobbies: Living Talents: There’s nothing I’m bad at Animal you’re most like: Cat Animal you want to have as a pet: Any animal What you wanted to be when you grew up: RAGE Favorite season: I'm not a fan of hot weather Favorite movies/animation: The Harry Potter series Favorite ramen flavor: Super carb-heavy ramen (primarily for its cost-effective performance) Favorite sweets: Awkeotsang figs, convenience store sweets, Chinese almond jelly, Japanese parfait Favorite onigiri filling: Red rice and red roe (because they're red) Favorite oden ingredient: Eggs and kelp Favorite type of girl: All girls who love me should be my lovers Least favorite type of girl: Girls who won’t admit that they love me Favorite hairstyle on girls: Pigtails Favorite clothing on girls: Short pants and miniskirts with slit leggings Gifts you go to girls: Ladurée macarons and Échiré candy How you spend your days off: I’m on 365 days a year, I don’t take holidays Favorite amusement park rides: Bumper cards, labyrinths, solving riddles, escape rooms Events you often go to: Musicals Everyday clothing: Nothing looks bad on me (Daiya says jerseys are fundamental) Sleepwear: In my birthday suit (though sometimes I'm in clothes) Cologne used: Cotton candy First thing you do after waking up: Open my eyes What you would bring to a deserted island: Guitar First love: Everyone who loved me

LEÓN

Birthday: March 1st (Pisces) / Blood type: B / Height: 176cm / Weight: 60kg / Gender: Male

LeOn was born in Kobe, Japan to a Japanese father and Brazilian mother. He left home to enter Yokohama’s ISM, where he lives in the student dorms. It wasn’t long before his remarkable 4-octave vocal range and model-like appearance caught the attention of AR Production. He wrote the lyrics and music himself for FANTASISTA. Part of his appeal comes from the stark contrast between his reserved off-stage demeanor and high-energy performances. He refers to his fans as “tantan” and “tantan men”. He is in charge of the “Brief Glimpses” on ARP’s official Instagram account.

Q&A

Favorite international artists: Bruno Mars, Michael Jackson Favorite Japanese artists: Chris Hart, Seiko Matsuda, Mr. Children Instruments you can play: A little bit of guitar, digital music Pre-show rituals: Singing and dancing by myself Favorite subjects: Music, PE Least favorite subjects: Art (I have no artistic sense) Favorite school lunch: Fried pork with ginger (good for the throat) Favorite ISM teacher: My PE teacher Hobbies: Dancing, daydreaming, watching soccer Talents: Knowing trivia about staying healthy, singing girls’ songs Animal you’re most like: Meerkat Animal you want to have as a pet: Turtle (I used to have one) What you wanted to be when you grew up: A soccer player Favorite season: Summer Favorite movies/animation: Toy Story, soccer manga and anime Favorite ramen flavor: Pork bone Favorite sweets: Sofuol yogurt, Country Ma’am cookies, cream puffs, key lime pie Favorite onigiri filling: Chicken mixed with vegetables Favorite oden ingredient: Glutinous rice inside fried tofu Favorite type of girl: Nearby girls Least favorite type of girl: Crude girls Favorite hairstyle on girls: Energetic hairstyles and ponytails Favorite clothing on girls: Anything fluffy Gifts you give to girls: Clothing How you spend your days off: Clothes shopping, watching soccer on TV, visiting Rebel Cross, debugging Furefure Favorite amusement park rides: Freefall rides, haunted houses, carts or segways that go fast Events you often go to: Any sort of concerts, soccer matches Everyday clothing: A parka over a t-shirt Sleepwear: Fleece in winter and a t-shirt with shorts in summer Cologne used: Ultramarine First thing you do after waking up: Stretch in bed What you would bring to a deserted island: DAIYA—he can cook and fight animals First love: The girl who sat next to me in elementary school

[poetictrekkie]

Dance Me to the End of Love

My #merrymonthofcohen submission! A TNG fic based on Leonard Cohen’s Dance Me to the End of Love.

Thank you to @killitwithtears for creating this event.

https://open.spotify.com/track/3mFzIFFFmEXTQs6BDAK2ZZ

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin. Dance me through the panic, till I’m gathered safely in. Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove. Dance me to the end of love.

In his dreams, she was in the family vineyards and she was smiling. She was wearing blue, which complemented her red hair. There were stains from wine on her lips, colouring them a deep, uneven shade of burgundy. She was dancing on her own, humming an obscure melody, holding her arms out as if she was dancing with someone. Yet she was alone. She wore no shoes, and her pale feet glided across the grass and the dirt. He could hear birdsong, but no other music to speak of. But she kept perfect time, waltzing to the sounds of the doves and the wind rustling through the long alleyways of grapevines.

He woke from those dreams slowly, unrushed, and even turned to the empty pillow next to him as if to wish it good morning. There was no head resting upon it, but the stars outside cast fragmented light across the bedspread. Though it was perpetual night, out in the depths of space, Jean-Luc woke to a self-made dawn.

Oh, let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone. Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon. Show me slowly what I only know the limits of. Dance me to the end of love.

“Good morning,” she said.

She was wearing the blue sweater that he loved so much. He didn’t tell her, of course. Complimented it, perhaps once, long ago, discreetly. He ushered her in, pulled the chair out for her, poured her a cup of tea, proferred a platter of croissants. The same old routine. He’d do it a thousand times, and feel a rush of pleasure every time she raised the mug of tea to her lips. He would have loved to kiss her after breakfast, taste the lingering flavours of bergamot and butter on her tongue. He couldn’t bring himself to imagine it, because he knew that the thought of her would hover over his shoulder for the rest of the day. He couldn’t afford such a luxury.

“There’ll be a recital tonight,” she said. “Are you going? They’re performing Kreisler’s Dances.”

“I shall try to make it if I’m not busy,” he said.

“Jean-Luc, you’ve got to emerge from your cave at sometime.”

“In Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, no one believed the philosopher who left and returned to the cave, claiming that the world outside was so much brighter and splendid.”

Beverly laughed, reaching across to touch his hand. It was a gentle graze of the fingers, friendly, teasing, nothing more, but Jean-Luc didn’t speak for fear that some inappropriate declaration of love would escape his mouth.

“The philosopher shouldn’t care,” she said, the starlight catching in her eyes. “He has seen the true world and looked past the projections he had seen all his life.”

Plato evidently forgot to describe the vision of loveliness that tempted the philosopher outside of the cave. That, or he was ashamed that love of a woman had managed to exceed the pure and noble love of wisdom.

His comm-badge let out a shrill chirp just then, pulling him from the verge of clasping her hand and keeping it on top of his. He instead took his hand back, listened to the message, and stood up. He bid Beverly goodbye, promising that he would try his best to make it to the recital, and then left his quarters. One could swear they heard him exhale a sigh of sad relief when he stepped across the threshold.

Dance me to the wedding, now, dance me on and on. Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long. We’re both of us beneath our love, we’re both of us above. Dance me to the end of love.

In her dreams, they were in the graveyard of the colony where she used to live. He wore a suit that fit him well, though rather old-fashioned. There was a top hat resting on his head, and his jacket had long tails. Sometimes she was wearing her grandmother’s wedding dress, the one she had admired when she was a child, though there was a small stain under the arm and the white tulle was yellowing with age. Sometimes she wore nothing at all, though he didn’t seem to notice. They were dancing, a slow waltz beneath the arching canopy of the weeping willow and above the graves of ancestors, of friends. He held her gently, and she rested her chin on his shoulder. There were tears streaming down his face, as if this was the last dance, rather than the first. His grip tightened as he buried his face into the cloud of her burnished-copper hair.

“Don’t go,” he said, weeping. “Don’t leave me again.”

She turned her head to reply but his lips were on hers, and this was the moment she would become aware of her strange nakedness, if this was one of those dreams where she wore nothing, and this was when the rain would begin to fall from the gathering clouds, and this was when she would remember they were dancing in a graveyard, and there were two graves that were freshly dug, the tombstone had their names on it, except under her first name there was his last name instead of the one she always thought she’d die with, beloved wife of Jean-Luc Picard, and then he spun her around and there was Jack standing beneath the willow tree. Her dead husband. Jack.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”

And then she was awake in her own bed, and breathing fast, and she raised her hand to her cheeks, and there she found trails left by tears she didn’t know she had shed.

Dance me to the children who are asking to be born. Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn. Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn. Dance me to the end of love.

He did come to the recital, after all. He sat on her right, quietly wondering how it was that the dress she was wearing looked just like the one that she wore in his dreams. He couldn’t focus on the sound of the violin, though the music was true, and flawless, and very real. He could only think of her, of the way she smiled to herself when the violin soared higher and higher, the way she seemed both lost in the music and yet grounded in the room, in her chair. She was the first to rise to her feet when the music was finished, her hands fluttering like two pale and sinuous birds as she clapped. And even before the applause died down, Jean-Luc found himself asking her whether she’d like to come to his quarters for a drink.

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin. Dance me through the panic, till I’m gathered safely in. Touch me with your naked hand, or touch me with your glove. Dance me to the end of love.

She was stretched out on his couch, holding a small glass of port wine that was nearly drained. There was a flush in her cheeks, and she was laughing.

“Don’t lie,” she said. “I know you’re an excellent dancer. I saw you at Miles and Keiko’s wedding. Why didn’t you dance with me then, Jean-Luc?”

“I danced with the bride,” he said. “One customary dance, and that was it.”

“Dance with me now.”

“I told you I don’t dance.”

“I don’t care. Dance with me, Jean-Luc.”

She drank the rest of the port, and swung her feet off the couch. She was next to him, she was pulling him to his feet, she was taking one of his hands in hers, and putting the other one around her waist. She smelled of antiseptic and something flowery, clean yet natural, proper yet wild. He let her sway with him, revolving in one place. There was no music, but they kept perfect rhythm. Neither of them said a word as they danced in the dimly lit room, under the stars, between the furniture. She didn’t say a word when he drew her closer, barely an inch of space between them. He said nothing when she put her lips on his, and they were still dancing, kissing, dreaming that this was all there ever needed to be to life, to living. That there was no need for concealing love, for feeling guilty about love, or for repressing love. To dance without music, in the light of millions of distant stars yet to be explored, in the arms of the person who loved you, this was all that was needed. All that should be needed.

Dance me to the end of love.