#Top flute music

[soulfulrelaxingaudio]

Lord krishna flute music-Positive Vibration, Cleanse Negative Energy, Deep Meditation

[thecapuletjuliet]

You can post 5 of your favourite songs. Send this to 10 of your favourite followers for them to do it too

1) Lute Song Number Three

2) Lute Song Number One

3) Pan Flute Forest Melody

4) Balladry (Alehouse Version)

5) Capulet Party Song

i have been told by mine cousin, rosaline, that mine tastes are odd compared to any other dame. oh well. i shalt keep listening to lute song number three anyways... 🪈🎶

[azacello]

Royal ballet and opera season in London

[trash-can-sam]

They ran out of musicians at the theatre.

[welcometoteyvat]

yu peng chen's new album is on youtube finally..

[itsbrucey]

Hihiii! I have appeared with an invisible microphone up to you (you seem very talk to me idk why- could be your banner on your profile hmm) Jonah and Lorraine? What’s their deal? (/nf ask ofc :]])

People like commenting on my banners and I just realized both my main and side have fucked up Markipliers. Hm.

Also. Cracks knuckles. Ok this will probably be NONSENSE I am very tired but here's a fucking run down ( maybe I'll add tomorrow/later idk)

Jonah and Lorraine are two of my OCS that are in this circle of my Darling Wonderful OCS aka the ones I actively think about and make content for. They're in the same realm as Dulcie and Eli and Marley and Vio. Which is to say My Main Ocs.

They're also the select few that have a story/narrative of some kind! Of which I'd like to one day actually write or make comics for.

The basics of Jonah is that she's essentially a super soldier experiment, not being "finished" but the newest model that's being worked on. All lab grown, not a "real person" and therefore is not treated as such. She's made as an organic war machine and is extremely strong and durable; tear tanks and armies apart with her bare hands strong and durable. But she's also INSANELY dehumanized and abused within her facility to the point where she's just kind of. Completely apathetic and numb and permanently in a Fight state of being as a defensive mechanism.

She ends up turning on the facility during a regular trial run of her progress and she SLAUGHTERS most of the lab and facility workers. She escapes the facility and doesn't really have anywhere to go so she just Picks Somewhere. She ends up escaping to a city and climbing through a random window post-carnage and meeting Zach. A random fucking English major who can't really do anything about this massive murder woman who is now in his place.

Her entire thing is that she's learning what it means to be human while dealing with A: trauma and PTSD from Everything and B: a government desperate trying to get her back. Big Woman enjoyers who want someone severely emotionally stunted and permanently stressed out but trying her best may like her. Also she's bisexual and her blood is BRIGHT pink.

Lorraine is a chieftess of a sky island that floats over The Abyss, governing it with her two brothers. She basically oversees the safety of the villages and makes sure people are fed and tended to. Things have been getting hard though, as the island keeps crumbling little by little, and the island seems to have been falling apart faster after Lorraine's father died and she took over. She ends up getting betrayed by one of her brother's and challenges to a duel because he blames her for things sucking really bad + he's jealouuuuussss.

Lorraine loses the duel and gets stabbed through the gut with the family spear ( which has lightning magic fun fact ) and physically KICKED over the side of the island by her brother. She falls and falls and falls, spear STILL INSIDE HER, and she falls into The Abyss, which is like. An infinitely stretching void way below the island. If you fall over the edge, you aren't coming back.

But Lorraine falls into The Abyss. And wakes up. In a fucked up new world that is mangled and twisted and decaying. She gets attacked by some [creatures I haven't named yet ValleyStalkers idk] and manages to fight them off with her spear, but just barely. She faints bc of blood loss + exhaustion + lightning magic. But THEN. PLOT TWIST BITCH SHE JUST DRAGGED INTO A LITTLE ROCK SHELTER BY A LITTLE GIRL. PEOPLE CAN LIVE DOWN HERE.

Lorraine gets nursed back to health by this young girl and Lorraine is hellbent on clawing her way back up to the island and slaughtering her brother for his betrayal. And she adopts the girl and sets off on a journey to leave The Abyss. Also she's like in her 40's-50's and is a cool trans woman with a wife. For my woman enjoyers who like a stern and commanding lady who is also very sweet and sacrificial. Also who has a kickass lightning spear passed through her family's lineage.

Lorraine's lore document is collecting dust as we speak but I'd like to finalize some lore of the worldbuilding + Abyss, as well as OTHER CHARACTERS WHO AREN'T MENTIONED BC THE STORY NEEDS DEVELOPED. Jonah doesn't have a lore document yet bc I'm. Lazy.

Thumbs up!! This is like. The general overview of them. My beautiful amazing battle women.

[abandoned-as-mustard]

starting to understand the allure of getting your own recording equipment so you can do duets and trios and harmonise with yourself on as many instruments as you want, when you’ve got no one to do it with you

[sirenthestone]

As someone who grew up listening to Jethro Tull, it's always blows my mind when someone's never heard One White Duck or Skating Away On the Thin Ice of a New Day or Bourée. Like how is that even possible? But that's just how it is.

Anyway, yall should listen to Jethro Tull.

[suzannahnatters]

Last night I remembered another of my favourite Tolkien wifeguy facts.

So in Western mythology we've often personified the Sun as masculine and the Moon as feminine. Off the top of my head: The Sun is associated with purity, reason, scholarship, illumination, constancy, dragons, gold, and masculinity. On the other hand, the Moon is associated with darkness, silver, impurity, flux, change, uncertainty, fickleness, and femininity.

You can see all this imagery being adopted, eg, in the Mozart opera THE MAGIC FLUTE, in which a benevolent scholar wizard (with solar imagery). straight up kidnaps the daughter of the evil, passionate Queen of the Night so that she can be properly educated in Enlightenment rationalism, purged of all those icky feminine night/lunar influences, and turned into a good submissive little wife for the scholar's young disciple. Guys the music slaps but the story is SO gross and misogynistic.

Anyway, what does this have to do with Tolkien? I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

In Middle-Earth, Tolkien does a GENDERSWAPPED Sun and Moon. The Sun is She, the Moon is He. And, like, it's not that he just thought "oh how can I make this mythology Different" - he really thought this through. In THE SILMARILLION, Tolkien tells us that the Sun and Moon are two vessels made from the last flower of Telperion and the last fruit of Laurelin, the Two Trees which once gave light to Valinor. Two Maiar were chosen to pilot these vessels. The pilot of the moon is Tilion, a hunter of Orome, and the pilot of the sun is Arien: "Arien the maiden was mightier than he", a spirit of fire whom I strongly suspect to be an unfallen Balrog.

Now, just as in our world, the Moon in Middle Earth has a reputation for waywardness and unreliability. Because, get this, apparently Tilion falls in love with Arien: "But Tilion was wayward and uncertain in speed, and held not to his appointed path; and he sought to come near to Arien, being drawn by her splendour, though the flame of Arien scorched him, and the island of the Moon was darkened."

And I just. Here's Tolkien, standing up in the face of centuries of unveiled misogynistic symbolism and saying, "oh, we've got two celestial entities, one of which is powerful and bold and glorious, and the other famous for being kind of lame in comparison? SOUNDS TO ME LIKE A SWAGLESS LOVER BOY ABANDONING HIS DUTIES TO WORSHIP HIS GODDESS. I MEAN OBVIOUSLY. WHAT ELSE COULD THE EXPLANATION BE"

[rosesandmary]

shakes back and forth i love you on derwentwater

[abluehappyface]

The sixth installment to the second Yuugi Takeover! This is a replacement cover for the one above. Like I've said before, Idiophonic only covers are now "extinct," and will be replaced by other covers instead. I once again slowed this theme down to see if it would sound good, and BOY does it! This feels so gentle, so soothing, somber even... I love it <3

The third version of this theme! While making this my main priority was to see what Walking the Streets of a Former Hell sounded like slowed down, and this is the result! I REALLY like it! The idiophonic instruments make it sound like a lullaby for a music box 💛. Good to know that this theme sounds good both sped up AND slowed down!

@motsimages @magicalgirlpropaganda @mango-frog @mayumijoutouguu @nucg5040 @caniscreamintoanabyss @castanets @lesserbeans @leafboy-the-great @lordterronus @k4ndi-c0spl4y3r @kinokomynx @just-a-rainy-child @he-was-beautiful @hecho-a-mano @funkyfrogofficial @dunkelfuerstin @seafoam-blues @semisentient-entity @siegesquirrel42 @sophie-i-guess13 @soulless-paper-bag @space-frog-boy @aoihibikii @pastelkonpeito @insertusernamethatsnottaken @the-cinnamon-snail @the-kneesbees @that-bastard-with-all-the-bones @reblogging-corner @rude-occurrence @womensrightsstegosaurus @22ndcenturyschizoidman @starri-collective @please-put-me-in-the-microwave

[woso-dreamzzz]

Mignon & Pollito

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

@wileys-russo's Pollito x Teen!Reader

Summary: You and your partner in crime

Whether it was the gods smiling down on you or just an extreme miscalculation on the staff's part, you and Pollito end up sharing a room.

This training camp was only a week long so it must be fairly expensive to move you all from Barcelona to here but, you're not the higher-ups at the club so you don't get much of a say.

"I'm bored," Pollito declares and you roll your eyes.

"Would you prefer sleeping on the bottom bunk?" You ask dryly," I heard that's more interesting."

Pollito's head appears above you, poking over the edge of the top bunk that she had wrestled you onto the ground to get to first.

"Don't be silly!" She says, a smug grin on her face," I'm doing you a service! I'm letting you stay away from the top bunk boredom."

"I'm sure I can deal with it."

"Yeah, but you Frenchies always change your minds."

"I'm trying not to be offended here."

Pollito's grin only widens and her fingers appear to jab you in the forehead.

"I'm still bored."

"I've got UNO."

"UNO's shit."

"Unless you're playing Jana. I made twenty euros off her in one round."

"Oh, shit, you're right. Let's go and find Jana."

"We're banned," You remind her," After that time that we rigged the game."

"Oh, yeah."

The bed above you creaks as Pollito throws her back against in annoyance.

"Is there really nothing we're allowed to do?"

"Irene said that we can get lunch. We just have to tell the others that we're doing that."

"But they'll make us eat healthy."

"Yeah."

Silence for a moment and then...

"I'm bored!"

You jab your feet up into the mattress on top of you and Pollito yelps.

"What do you want me to do about that? Play you to sleep?"

"You'd play me to sleep?" Pollito scoffs," What does that mean? Kicking a ball at my head?"

"I meant with my flute, dimwit."

There's silence again

"You can play the flute. Since when?"

"Since always? This isn't new information."

"It is to me!"

Pollito peaks back over your bed, a wide grin spreading over her face. "I think I have an idea."

It's Irene who hears it first.

It starts off quiet, barely audible over the phone call with her wife and son. But it's still audible and she frowns.

"Are you playing music?" She asks and her wife shakes her head.

"It must be coming from your end."

Irene pokes her head out of her hotel room, spotting a few of the others doing the same.

"Who's playing that music?!" Alexia complains, looking like she's been woken up from a very good nap if her messy hair is anything to go by.

"I thought it was Pina."

"Me?" Pina scoffs," I don't like classical music."

"It's hardly classical music," Keira says," It's the song from the Muppets. You know that one that goes 'do doo be-do-do, mahna mahna, do do-do do'-"

Everyone to turns to look at her, similar looks of judgement as Keira peters off, face crimson.

"Or, you know, I think that's what it is."

"Either way," Alexia brushes her off," Who is making that noise?"

What started off as soft flute music suddenly gets louder and louder until it's booming across the whole floor and Alexia's grip tightens on her door frame.

Her eyes dart to the room at the end of the corridor and she does a quick count in her head.

Everyone and their roommates are hanging out of their doors, heads poking out to see what all the noise is.

Everyone except two people.

Her teeth grind together.

"Who let Pollito and Mignon in the same room together? Who let them room together with no supervision?"

Usually, Alexia would be the one sorting out all of the rooms but she'd left it to the staff this time because she'd gotten distracted on the bus when Pollito had hidden you up in the luggage rack and you'd taken it upon yourself to drip water onto Mapi's head from your hiding spot.

"Er...They might still be in there?" Pina offers up but everyone else knows that it's a pipe dream to say something like that.

"Spread out," Alexia snaps," And find them." She massages her temples. "They take years off my life."

The longer they take, the louder the music gets until it rings in their ears with every step.

There's thumping at the door and you jolt, your flute music wavering as Pollito pops her head up to look through the window.

"It's Ingrid and Frido! Pretend we're not here!"

You both hide under the window where they can't see you.

The change in position makes your playing a bit unstable for a moment as you adjust, fingers cramping from the past forty-five minutes of nonstop repetition.

"I know you're in there!" Frido bangs on the door," This is the room with the sound system. Come out!"

"You'll never take us alive!" Pollito yells back and you want to hit her for being stupid.

"Shut up! You've blown our cover."

A hand reaches through the window and you instantly want to murder the idiot who thought windows should be able to be opened from the outside because Ingrid's hand immediately grabs onto your flute.

You yelp, finally stopping your playing as you try to wrestle it back.

"Hey! No! That's mine!"

"Give it over," Ingrid says," And we'll tell Alexia that you both cooperated."

You pop your head over the window. "Give us a moment to discuss."

"We can't just give in," Pollito says to you in a hushed whisper.

"Well when our other option is to run the laps Alexia will make us do if she finds out we fought them..."

"You make a good point but...No, you do make a good point." Pollito sigh," Fine. Let's give in."

You clap her on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We may have lost the battle but we haven't lost the war."

Frido sighs from the other side of the door, hitting her head repeatedly against the wall.

"You're both so dramatic."

[hatsukeii]

tip-toe (take me back to the ground) / timeskip!iwaizumi hajime x reader

genre(s): domestic iwa omg... fluff!! very soft, straight up sensual fluff!! iwa is hot!! iwa is romantic!! iwa is good at many many things, and good WITH many many things too!! im rotting in bed thinking about what could be one day ngl

warning(s): he's very handsy let's just say that... so suggestive warning!! no explicit nsfw, gn reader, but this will get decently/pretty suggestive towards the end u have been warned:)

wc: ~1.4k

tldr; Iwaizumi Hajime wants dinner (you)

Iwaizumi Hajime likes to come home to the golden glow of table lamps, fluttering wisps of fire on the wicks of cinnamon candles on spice shelves, and a vinyl playing beneath the needle of a record player on the coffee table of his living room. It's not an extraordinarily good record player. Sometimes the pitch wavers uncertainly, almost like when the service drops on a video call and the other person's voice suddenly drops half an octave. Occasionally, the needle skips a note and adds a fleeting pop to whatever song is playing on the record, like when a few embers of a fire crackle a little louder than the rest. Whenever he hears the record player, and the muffled hums from somewhere else that fill in the jumps and correct the warped melodies from the grooves of the vinyl, Hajime feels like having dinner.

When Iwaizumi Hajime stands over the stovetop of his kitchen, sleeves of whatever top he's wearing rolled halfway up his forearms, he listens for something beyond the scratchy song from the vinyl across the living room. He squeezes a few rings of oil into a pan, and pretends to press down on the ignition at the sound of carefully muted tiptoes against wooden floorboards. Hajime is unfazed when a pair of arms slither across his stomach, and cross at his chest, but he smiles at the sensation anyways. Beneath the guise of diffused cinnamon candles, he smells soap and laundry. By how a pair of loose short sleeves slide down your arms to bare your biceps to him, he knows that you're wearing one of his freshly washed t-shirts, and pulling his back closer against your body.

"I'm sweaty, love."

"Good, you know I like it."

If you creep up on Iwaizumi Hajime, clad in slippers and his t-shirt, he can blame nothing but his inhibitions when he abandons the empty pan, and lazily turns to hold you instead. Your arms travel up his back now, hands feeling for every groove around his shoulders, the dip of his spine, the hairs that line his nape. Hajime's fingers reach beneath your shirt for your hip bones, and the record player in the background pops a note. He sinks his palms into the flesh of your waist, pushes you close until he's certain you will melt into him. His thumbs massage the outskirts of your stomach, drawing the scales and arpeggios from the song on the vinyl into your skin, and he begins to sway and step in tandem with the music that fills the room. You press your ear to his chest, synchronise your heartbeats with his own that pulses through your ears and sends your mind into a golden haze. Your feet step from side to side with him, and suddenly, Iwaizumi Hajime is slow dancing in his kitchen with you, instead of having dinner like he initially planned to.

"Missed you all day." He mumbles into the top of your head, lips against your hair.

"I know, missed you too, Hajime." You speak it into his heart through his clothed ribcage.

The song on the record player fizzles out into its next track, one that plays out in piano keys that staccato across rocks in a creek, saxophone that glides like a breeze over the surface of still water, barely causing a ripple, flutes that fly past a waterfront like birds that soar above the earth in bimbling chirps.

Iwaizumi Hajime then decides he wants a little more than just dinner.

His hands push past your waist to your ribs, fingers splaying across the two sides of your back and palms lying flat against the sides of your chest. His vision spins and flips when you sigh against his ribcage, whole body flinching at his sudden advance. He relaxes into your embrace even more, shoulders loosening and hunching into you. He feels your body shift by the way his hands seem to move up with you, and your lips leave their mark on the right side of his neck. You nibble at his skin, and the record player jumps a note again, like a flat stone skipping past the surface of quiet waters. Hajime's throat gives out, a full hum vibrating through his Adam's apple, and your lips curl into a smile against his pulse. He thinks he wants this more than dinner.

You don't realise you are stepping backwards until your heel hits the base of your kitchen island, one of Hajime's hands now settled on the small of your lower back to cushion the impact of the cold countertop. It doesn't matter anymore, really, when Iwaizumi Hajime finally dips down to catch your lips in his own, giving his dinner a first taste. Your eyes flutter close, lashes tickling his cheeks as he sinks himself further into you. Your hands grip the edge of the counter now, steadying yourself so your knees don't give out and collapse beneath you. Hajime kisses slow, but pervasive. He finds every inch of your mouth, swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, swallows your stutters by pushing even harder. Something is off with the track in the background, perhaps the needle is wearing out with how every second note seems to warp and crackle. But you're pressed up against the kitchen counter, Hajime's hands feeling for every inch of your body, so you don't really have half a mind to care about the record player right now.

Strong arms pull you up and onto the countertop, and you part your legs to let Hajime settle between them. You sit taller than he stands here, head angled downwards to meet his own. He is completely at your mercy, and he surrenders his control to you. Your hands grab at the back of his neck, pulling him into you as if he can get any closer than this. Iwaizumi Hajime is content with slow dancing, lingering touches, patient kisses. But he sighs into your mouth. You cut him off by nibbling on his lip. And when he pulls away for air, he thinks you've forced him to want more.

The song fades out into the space of the living room. The water is still again, and the moon invites itself into the scene, painting the notes that still hang in the silence a misty silver.

Your vision soaks in Hajime's expression. His eyes are lidded, half-open, yet something glimmers in his irises that travel across every detail of your face. His cheeks are stained red, the tips of his ears even more so. A glossy sheen of saliva coats the entirety of him mouth, and the skin around it too. You bring a thumb to his mouth, and wipe away at the edges of his lips with the pad of your fingertip. Looking down on Iwaizumi Hajime is not something most have the privilege of doing, and you bask in every second that he stares up at you, as if there is nothing in this lifetime that will be better than the view from below. Your hands hold his face now, fingers running themselves through his hair. He shivers at your touch, dips his head into the crook of your neck. You rub and scratch at his scalp, handfuls of soft hair brushing and pressing against your palms.

"So good to me. Too good."

"Want me to fix up dinner for you, Hajime?"

The record player doesn't make a sound. Night has settled, birds hide away in the branches of trees, the breeze smooths over the surface of the water, rocks and stones sit in the riverbed, unmoving, grounded.

When Iwaizumi Hajime separates his face from your neck, he thinks to himself, one day, I'll put a diamond on that pretty little ring finger. You continue to thread your fingertips through his hair, when he pulls you back for another kiss. This is softer, but you can tell that he is getting hungrier. He moves teasingly slow, almost agonising. His lips are hot against yours, warm breaths from his nose fanning across your cheek, and you don't miss the way his hand slides from your waist to the inside of your thigh. A finger slips beneath the hem of your shorts, pinching and tugging down at the fabric. You wrap your legs around his chest, and he pushes them apart again, holding them in place with his rough palms.

Fuck a dinner, Iwaizumi Hajime wants you instead.

"Gonna take you to the moon tonight, love."

author's note:

yall iwa is so sexy... i can't help it... i've never felt compelled to write anything overtly physical or suggestive but for iwaizumi hajime 27 athletic trainer i felt many many things... i need him sb and i hope that you do too after reading this because i need people to understand how FERAL i am for this man ;P

anyways tags!!

@catsoupki @akaakeis @staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @4ngelfries @bailey-reeds @fiannee @stars-tonight @wyrcan

ok love u all bye bye muah see u next fic

[carpkoinobori]

[☆] mean girls — momo x reader

[𖤐] 1/1 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): applause - lady gaga | moments in love - charli xcx | paparazzi- lady gaga | old friend - mitski | mean girls - charli xcx | west coast - lana del rey | pink in the night - mitski

summary: getting on the survival show sixteen was really just a way to kickstart your acting career. who would’ve guessed it’d take such a toll on you?

pairing: momo x actress!reader

tags: not that much angst, happy ending, barely frenemies traumabonded to situationship to kinda friends to lovers, reader is just a little unstable, there is a good amount of fluff though

wc: 9.3k

cw: dieting, mild sexual content, alcohol, cigarettes (smoking), mention of covid, making out (like 4 times)

ex: not beta read, timeline was as accurate as I could make it given the fact that for some reason no one knows where twice was at during november and october of 2017

a/n: is it me if the story doesn’t have either an ed/restriction reference or catholic elements.. I love charli xcx’s music. reader has a “disgraced” older sister

you were 17 years old when you were told you made it onto sixteen.

you were a JYP trainee— not for an idol group, no, for acting. Yet, you were put into singing and dancing classes. It was a bit weird, but as long as you could perform, you didn’t mind.

you did pretty well, actually. You weren’t a top trainee by any means— this wasn’t your true passion— but you were good. You enjoyed dancing, and were pretty talented with hiphop and other less restrictive styles.

your parents had forced you into ballroom, specifically waltzes, even more specifically the Viennese waltz, since you could remember. You were a prim and proper, well-mannered, upper class girl. Perfect for acting, perfect for the silver screen.

Your father was a business magnate— specifically in transportation. He wasn’t like Samsung, no, but a manufacturer of luxury vehicles. He designed trains, bus systems, even planes, at time— he was a talented engineer, of course, but most of the work had now been relegated to employees. When you told him you wanted to be an actor, he didn’t really mind. Your mother didn’t look like she loved the idea, but it’d be good for the family image, so she conceded. After all, you’d succeed, right?

right?

What they didn’t tell you about being on a survival show is how it gets into your head.

you were competitive by nature, fueled by your parents constant reminders you needed to be the best. You were the daughter of a powerful and rich businessman, with his perfect trophy wife— their only daughter needed to be perfect, of course.

you played instruments— violin, piano, flute— were in extracurriculars— tennis, skiing, dance, language classes— had an absolutely pristine record, and perfect grades. You were the poster child of perfection, a face fit for magazines and your family, the girl a mother would tell you to bring home.

But you know, it gets tiring to be so perfect. You hadn’t had any competition— until now, that is.

Sixteen perfect, beautiful, talented girls. Seven spots.

You had never felt more desperate to prove yourself than in that moment.

It was strange, really— you didn’t want to be in an idol group. You had never even considered it. Your passion was acting, it always had been, and it always would be.

but you had never been bad at anything your whole life. Everything you had tried, you had mastered, a desperate fervor to know and prove yourself. But here you were, for once, not the best at something— and it drove you absolutely crazy.

you needed to be the absolute best, the perfect candidate— the prettiest, the best singer, the best personality, the best dancer—

you couldn’t, though. and it killed you.

You met Momo when you were 15. It was 2013, some time in the winter, although you couldn’t quite remember. Some people said she looked like you, but you didn’t really see it.

She had been a trainee for longer— since 2012– you had never really gotten the chance to talk to her, on account of the fact she didn’t speak Korean. Momo was Japanese, same as Sana. They were both close, obviously, and you had noticed they took Korean language classes with a tall Taiwanese girl you never bothered to learn the name of.

There were the trainees everyone knew would debut— Nayeon, Jihyo, Jeongyeon— and the trainees people didn’t really speak about.

You were somewhere in the middle. You had a lot of skills, both in instruments, languages, sports, and acting, but you weren’t a top trainee by any means. You stayed comfortably in the upper middle, a chance at debut but not too high, not too low to be kicked out, either.

You could dance well, of course, although you sometimes felt a burning pang of jealousy watching Momo dance. She was good at it, unreasonably so. It came so naturally to her. Like she didn’t even have to think about it.

and she was pretty, too. long black hair, black eyes you could drown in. You didn’t to stare too long. She was just.. noticeable. It’s not like she ever noticed. When she was dancing, the only thing that mattered was her reflection in the practice room mirror. Her friend, Sana, would glance at you once or twice, whenever you stared.

She knew.

you never noticed.

Practicing for the competition was obviously stressful, but nothing you couldn’t handle. You were determined, strong, not weak. You learned English, Japanese, played the piano, violin, you had kind of forgotten the flute but you could, once— you had skied since you were four, played tennis at six— you didn’t know, yet, but you would graduate high-school as valedictorian, taking the maximum amount of AP’s for the last four years.

You’d practice till you got a move, perfectly. You were the first to enter the practice room and the last to leave.

you know, contrary to what you’d think, your father’s money isn’t what got you into JYP, or their idol program, or SIXTEEN— well, maybe it played a part into getting you into JYP, but the rest was all you. All your “friends”, other kids you knew, same or richer than you, spent their time partying, shopping, crashing cars and drinking.

some, of course, worked like you. There were parents who didn’t care what their kids did, and parents who needed their children to be the paragons of perfection. Usually, the more high-class your parents were, the more in the public eye they were. Korean standards were strict, and if you didn’t mean it, you’d watch your family apologize for you on public television, renounce your name, and at times, wipe you from the will. Most kids got a pass, their parents pulled some strings, and they were free. But others? Well, the kids that were forced to work hard were usually the ones who had to pay a price.

you would not be disgraced like your sister. She lived in America, now, and you hadn’t contacted her in two years. Not like you missed her. Not like you counted.

“Momo, have you noticed that rich girl staring at you?” The dyed-brown haired girl questioned, twirling a pen in their shared dorm.

“What rich girl?” The long haired girl blinked, black hair dyed close to the same shade of her friend.

“The one sitting across from us? The one that the instructor always says you kind of look like,” she reminded, unimpressed, gesturing at her subtly with the pen.

“Why would she stare at me? She’s the daughter of some famous Korean businessman, we’re two random Japanese trainees,” Momo pointed out, causing Sana sigh and lean in a little closer.

“Momo, that’s not what I’m talking about! Even before she got moved to this dorm, she’s always looking at you. Maybe she’s jealous, you two are always getting compared to each other, after all, and I bet she feels threatened-” She rephrased, Momo’s eyes widening before she cut her off.

“Sana! Quiet down! She could hear you!”

“She’s Korean, Momo, she’s not going to know Japanese, let alone a dialect,” she pointed out, crossing her arms, flicking Momo on the forehead with an amused smile. “You know, I’m starting to think that time you hit your head really did have an effect on y-!”

“Actually, I’m fluent in both Japanese and English,” a cold voice piped up. “I don’t speak the dialects, but they’re understandable,” you added, shifting on the bunk-bed to rest on your hands, a carefully blank look on your face.

Sana turned to you in shock and embarrassment, and Momo pointed at her childishly, exclaiming, “I told you so!”

Sana and Momo had only been in Korea for about a year, at that point, and their Korean wasn’t exactly great.

“Ah.. I’m sorry..” Sana began, slowly, in Korean.

“I just told you, I speak Japanese. You don’t have to speak in Korean. That’s why they placed me here, though. To help you two with your Korean,” you informed, pronunciation sharp and undeniably the standard Tokyo-way of speaking.

“Right.. I’m sorry for talking about you,” Sana began, again, feeling a little humiliated, which made her a bit annoyed. She wasn’t a gossip or anything, you just stared at Momo a lot. It was noticeable. You two were constantly being compared to each other for your similarities in looks, after all.

“It’s fine,” you dismissed, with a wave of your hand. “I’m sure it seems like I stare a lot, but it’s just because I like to analyze the competition, not because I’m jealous of.. well, you two,” you voiced, regarding them both with an amused smile.

To be completely transparent, you were a little jealous of Momo. She was an absolutely amazing dancer. But of course, no one had to know that.

“You know we’re going to be on a survival show, don’t you?” you asked, with a tilted head and pointed stare.

“Well, yeah, we know.. but why am I competition?” Momo blinked, pointing at herself.

You let out a sharp, pointed laugh, almost in disbelief.

“You’re not a bad dancer, and don’t rank too low, either. It’s a seven member group. There’s not a lot of room to be mediocre,” your words were calculated, given sharply, seriousness gracing your words. Momo frowned, mood souring slightly at your clipped, dismissive tone. She didn’t notice, though, how serious you seemed— how some cutthroat ideology laced your words.

Sana did, though. As much as Sana presented herself as an airhead, she was unbelievably smart— especially with people. She knew intentions, how to talk to people, how to get what she wanted with words. You knew this, and recognized her for what she was— a clever, determined, but kind girl. She’d do what she needed to do to get what she wanted, of course, but she’d try to help you along as far as she could. It wasn’t clear to you, yet, if she’d give up her space to let someone else take it.

You weren’t sure you’d ever know.

“Anyway, I have some essays to finish. I’ll graduate this year,” you added, breaking the tension, laying on your bed and taking out your school laptop, beginning to write.

The two Japanese girls stared, dumbfounded, and quietly slinked out of the room after a few minutes. It was too awkward, and you seemed so unbothered, unflappable after that little display— some of the other trainees were intimidated by you, whispers of how you were only in this program to “challenge” yourself, or that it was sure you’d debut because of your father, or talents, or how you were the smartest trainee— all rumors, all untrue. You were placed here for a reason unknown to you, and didn’t even rank particularly high at the moment. You were slowly climbing the ranks, though, and had sat comfortably in fifth place by the time SIXTEEN started.

Although, you’re sure all those people who whispered about you in the halls would be shocked to learn that you’d never end up debuting in the nation’s girl group. A successful actress, of course, but an idol? That wasn’t your fate to have.

Right at the end of June, falling into early April is when filming began.

Your life became practicing, training, working out, practicing, showcasing, and only barely sleeping.

You were still in a dorm with Sana and Momo, although a fourth girl— Chaeyeon— happened to be there as well.

She was the first to be eliminated, though, and it was just you three again.

Sana and Momo had gotten very close with another, younger Japanese trainee named Mina. Mina was very pretty, and had done ballet, and you could already just feel she would debut.

You liked Mina. She was probably who you were closest with. She grew up pretty well off, as well, and did ballet. You could relate to her, and she was the only one you’d keep in touch with after the show.

It was getting harder and harder to believe you’d debut.

Nayeon and Jeongyeon would definitely debut— Mina would, too, along with probably Momo and Sana. Dahyun was really popular, as well as Tzuyu, and there were only seven spots. Jihyo was too good of a singer to be sure what the final lineup would be, and Chaeyoung would be a good rapper— it was all so confusing. It made you all the more desperate to prove yourself wrong, though, because a part of you knew, deep down, you wouldn’t debut. A week before the first day of filming, you had snuck out to the convenience store. It was dark, late at night— you had a craving. Your father smoked cigars, your mother drank vodka and whiskey— not mixed, of course.

you were just scraping 18, now, having graduated in February. You couldn’t legally have a drink, or even smoke till 19, but a part of you itched to try it, curious.

obviously, you weren’t going to risk ruining your image. You loitered around the store, scanning the aisles, but ultimately not buying anything, unable to find something worth possibly gaining weight for.

the managers had been particularly strict before the start of the show.

you went back to your dorm, still restless, and exhausted at the same time.

the life of a trainee was draining.

When SIXTEEN began, everything shifted. You and Momo were still dorming together, but Sana was moved with Mina and there were a lot of other changes.

you were becoming antsy and restless. Watching people get eliminated was taking a toll on you. You ate less, slept less, practiced more— it was getting to you.

momo had begun eating less. a lot less. You couldn’t afford to be worried, you had to focus on yourself.

What no one would tell you about a survival show is that bonds are fickle. You wanted to care about other people, but once you had gotten a taste of the applause, the fans, all the love that came with being in the spotlight— you got hooked.

you were popular among the fans, your skills weren’t bad, maybe you could really debut. It started worming it’s way into your head.

the hunger and exhaustion was making everyone a bit volatile, a bit too confrontational— you were guilty of it, too.

you refused to build any friendships, while you were there, but built a very strong rivalry with Momo.

Everything she did, you did, trying to do it better.

You’d practice at the same time, next to each other, giving backhanded compliments on form and criticism to each other’s footwork and lines

You’d try your best to outdo each other, fueled by the constant comparison and the fact that you two were almost never on the same team together.

but when Momo was eliminated, you felt your heart drop.

you told yourself it was good, less competition that way. But a part of you felt.. empty.

you practiced, going through the motions, but it felt wrong. It was all robotic. There was no passion or emotion, and for that, you were eliminated the ninth episode, along with another girl.

from there, you threw yourself back into acting. You made your acting debut about a year later, months after Twice had debuted.

no one would ever know, though, that you had watched of the rest of the episodes, and congratulated Mina on her debut, telling her you were happy the three of them (Mina, Sana, Momo) would get to debut together. You debated on telling Momo yourself, maybe heading to the practice rooms to do so, out of begrudging respect and happiness, but you never did.

and so began the next nine years.

year 1; mid-May, 2016 | Korea

you had just exited the JYP building, into the cool night of the city after light rainfall. May wasn’t ever too hot, an easy 70 degrees out. It was a bit cold, but that was nothing. It was maybe thirty minutes to twelve, the city sparkling like the stars that were drowned out by smoke and light pollution.

You leaned on the building, debating on whether or not to go out to eat or just go straight home. You were pushed out of your thoughts when you heard the doors open and close, glancing at the person exiting the building.

Momo. Hirai Momo, with light caramel hair, now, looking tired, in some casual practice outfit thrown together hastily.

she still looked good.

her eyes were dark, glancing at some message on her phone. The bright white light illuminated her face, and you were about to quietly slink away when you both made eye contact.

“Momo,” you began, always eager to get the first word in, but not sure what to say.

She stared at you, obviously recognizing you. “Y/n,” she greeted. “I heard you’ve made your acting debut. Congratulations,” she offered, and the Korean off her tongue didn’t sound exactly right to you.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “I saw that you debuted. The song was good. Congratulations,” was your reply, tone polite. Momo knew that you and Mina still spoke, even going out to eat together whenever you both had the time, which wasn’t often.

“Thank you,” she replied back, and you hated how awkward everything felt.

“Well, I’m gonna g-”

“Do you want to come with me to the convenience store?” Momo asked, suddenly, immediately backtracking when your words registered. “If you have to go then go, don’t worry about it, nevermind,”

“I’ll go,” you agreed, not entirely sure why you did. “I haven’t eaten yet, anyway,”

the two of your walked a bit far off, entering the convenience store with a little chime and feeling the need to make conversation.

“So.. Momo, why are you practicing so late?” You asked, conversationally.

“We have so many albums and songs lined up, for this year.. we’re working on one right now. I’m sure Mina’s told you,” she murmured, voice low so as to not disturb anyone.

“She’s mentioned that you’re all.. busy,” you agreed, and you noticed how she looked thinner, more tired, somehow older in the span of a year.

she was still beautiful, of course, but you’ve been seeing beautiful people your whole life.

“Is it what you wanted?” You asked, forced lightness in your voice, though it might’ve come out more accusing than you wanted. It wasn’t her fault you got eliminated. Kind of.

She looked at you for a long time, fingers ghosting over some matcha candy you couldn’t name, parts of a life you probably wouldn’t ever see.

“I think it will be,” she replied, looking at the selection of green, instead of at you. the night was warmer on the walk back to your dorm. A grassy, slightly bitter taste sat comfortably in your mouth.

you’d have to start drinking matcha, more.

year 2; early November, 2017 | Korea

Likey had just dropped, and signal had won Twice international success. They were pushing Japan, doing promotions there so constantly you had half a mind to just ask them why they wouldn’t move there, and a nomination to the Korean Popular Culture and Arts Awards.

you were there too, of course, for your roles in a myriad of dramas, at that point.

You had been the lead role in “Strong girl Bonsoon” and “My Ghost” respectively. You were young, yes, 19, almost 20, now— but you had achieved amazing successes, just like the girls you sat near, now.

there was a reason there were almost no pictures of twice at the awards, and you couldn’t find their speeches.

You won, not unsurprisingly, as did Twice, and sat through the performances. You spoke to Mina, easily, but she went to go talk to Jihyo about something, at one point, and you couldn’t really remember or care— both you and Momo could drink now, and they were giving out free champagne.

as the performances closed, everyone had received their awards— you headed to the bathrooms. They were empty, and you stared at yourself in the mirror. Face flushed, hair and makeup still intact, though, black silk dress unmarred by any stains, something you’d bought just to prove to yourself you made it, had your own money now, didn’t need your parents—

the door opened, and Momo appeared inside. It took one glance and the sound of a lock clicking before her lips were on yours.

she tasted like good alcohol and something sweet, your hands in her perfectly styled hair. She pressed you against the wall, your pretty and pink lipstick mixing with her darker one, pulling apart after nearly a minute and a half, panting, your eyes dazed and dilated.

“you have an apartment now, right?” she murmured, breathless.

you did have an apartment, bought the second you turned 19, trying to prove you didn’t need your parents, still. You had made it, for fucks sake.

“I do,” you answered, and you both managed to make it there without any cameras flashing.

your apartment was near the Han river, a testament to your success. It was small, one bedroom, with a large-enough kitchen and spacious living room, large windows that let the city lights in.

the apartment was bathed in a cool, blue glow, by both the night sky, and the building outside the window.

You and Momo had stumbled into the space, hurriedly locking the door without breaking the kiss, barely making it to the bedroom. The apartment had large, wide windows, taking up nearly the entire wall. There were curtains, of course, but they were a bit sheer, and white. The lights of the city illuminated the dark room, letting your fingers fumble with the zipper of Momo’s dress, getting it off.

Her hair was mussed, and you were sure yours was the same, but you didn’t care, right now.

Lipstick stains adorned her mouth, the two of you having created a muted, glossy color, that would later become a favorite, then something you hated, to something you’d think about, fondly.

She took off your dress, carefully— it was Dolce and Gabbana— although hers was much the same, in the sense that it must’ve been designer, as well, although you didn’t bother to check the tag.

Both articles of clothing ended up sprawled on the wooden floor, anyway, forgotten.

you kissed her desperately, the two of you thoroughly lost in each other.

your skin burned, her hands feeling too hot, your brain slowly melting away every other worry other than her.

to be honest, you were a little too drunk to remember everything that had happened.

you kind of wished you did.

Waking up the next day at four thirty in the morning was rough. Running on two and a half hours of sleep, you groaned when you heard Momo’s alarm go off.

she didn’t wake, though, you had turned it off fairly quickly, and the alcohol mixed with the sex— the word left a bitter taste in your mouth, for some reason— had knocked her out cold.

you watched her, for a bit. Hirai Momo was beautiful, you’d always known that. You never really realized it till now, though. Soft, short brown hair, dyed, a peaceful expression, smooth skin bathed by cold light, in a mostly white space.

your apartment was sparsely decorated, feeling more like a museum than a home. You didn’t even call it home, just ‘the house’ or ‘the apartment’. There wasn’t any life to it. It wasn’t a place to get attached to.

You contemplated waking her up. You didn’t really want to, but you knew you had to.

“Momo,” you murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. “Momo, you have to wake up,”

She groaned, turning, screwing her eyes shut. “No.. I’m tired,” was her muttered response, and you could barely even tell if she was speaking korean or japanese (it was japanese, she had only been in korea five years at that point. that’s not enough time to completely switch languages).

“Momo, your alarm went off, you need to get up,” you urged, speaking in japanese in hopes it’d get through her head, better.

She let out a sound of protest, but opened her eyes, sitting up. “What time is it?” She muttered, running a hand through her hair. The both of you weren’t wearing clothes, obviously, but the sight of her was still a little much for so early in the morning.

“It’s fifteen minutes to five,” you informed.

“I have to be at Inkigayo at five thirty,” she exclaimed, eyes widening. “Oh god,” she cursed, under her breath, distressed.

“Look, you can borrow some of my clothes. No one’s gonna know it’s mine,” you muttered. “You can keep it, so we never get caught for sharing clothes. Plus, the worst that could happen is we say you slept over because I invited you to go eat, or something.. it doesn’t matter, we’re two girls anyway,” you explained.

Momo stared at you, dumbfounded, still processing the words that came out of your mouth before agreeing. “Okay, yeah.. can I use your shower?”

“Sure,” you shrugged, trying to be nonchalant when she was naked in your bed, and looked too fucking good for having just woken up. Fuck those instructors, you definitely did not look like Hirai Momo. You wished you did.

you handed her a simple pair of pink sweatpants and a dark red hoodie. They weren’t things you had actually worn, yet, just thought they were cute. Momo wasn’t too far from your height, anyway, so they fit fine.

She showered, changed, and it wasn’t that long of a drive to Inkigayo, and a taxi could probably get her there in fifteen minutes.

it was 5:15, now, and she was drying her hair on the balcony. You had also gifted her a pair of white sneakers, to complete the outfit. It fit their concept, anyway.

you were on the balcony, too, watching the sunrise with a Bohem Cigar Shake hanging out of your mouth, lit.

Momo didn’t smoke, you had learned when you offered her one. She didn’t like the smell.

truth be told, you weren’t the biggest fan, but these were sweet, they left an aftertaste in your mouth a lot of people hated, but you kinda liked it.

You put it out on an ashtray once you accidentally burnt your finger tip, sucking on the mark and snubbing the cigarette out with your other hand.

Momo gave you a slightly concerned look, but you assured her you were fine.

she left in your clothes (no one would ever know, just you and her members) into a taxi you paid for, to perform at a music show you’d watch.

you and momo met on and off for the rest of that year, between promotions and award shows and restaurants and going shopping with Mina and taking pictures together and her visiting you on set—

the public called you great friends.

at least they didn’t see where her hands tended to rest.

year 3; mid-February, 2018 | Japan

you were 20, officially.

Twice had begun their Japanese tour, releasing Candy Pop a week into February.

the 14th was the Gaon chart music awards, which twice attended, of course.

you were still filming some dramas in Korea, but had managed to get time off to go to Japan. For no other reason than the fact Japan was beautiful in February, of course. It’s not like you attended the Gaon chart music awards to see Momo— no, Sunmi had released some good music, too, and of course you were friendly with all of twice.

the after parties for the awards were always fun.

“Momo, wait,” you murmured, breathily, pressed up against some wall in the buildings seemingly-millions of bathrooms.

“What?” she blinked, deep brown eyes blown wide, staring deep into your own.

“I didn’t.. it’s. I got you something,” you admitted, quietly. You handed her a small, dark red box, that you had kept in the small black bag you had taken.

you were wearing 2017 MiuMiu, a black minidress that your stylist had complemented with pearls and silver, tightening the waist and removing some of the collar. What was left was a striking black dress, soft fabric, and a lower neckline, paired with, of course, a vintage black MiuMiu leather handbag.

“Open it,” you instructed, to which the other girl did, to reveal two Mikimoto pearl earrings, having 18kt gold yellow gold posts. You had found it at an auction, they weren’t relatively expensive— $500– and from ten years prior. You thought they’d suit her, and so you bought it.

she just stared at you, a bit surprised, dumbfounded—

“Why’d you get me this?” were the words that slipped out from her mouth. She had the same shade of lipstick on, this time liquid, and your lips were colored with a pink gloss, girlish.

“Don’t you know what day it is?” You laughed, amused, tilting your head. “It’s the fourteenth of February,”

“You got me a gift for valentines?” She clarified, slowly, recoiling, a grimace slowly morphing onto her face.

you noticed, of course.

“No,” you lied, easily. “For the win,”

you both knew it wasn’t true, but allowed yourselves to indulge in the lie just a little more.

you two were just high off the high-life, making it big for the first times in your life.

momo left your hotel room before you saw her in the morning.

the note; “早退してごめんなさい。コンサートがあったんだ。” (sorry for leaving early. there was a concert)

you knew there was no concert the fifteenth of February. momo was a horrible liar, but you knew, later, from photos, they were in an airport that day.

you never asked to where.

(It wasn’t a question, but she did send you a silver-chain necklace, a pearl-heart pendant, march 14th. you hadn’t taken it off)

year 4; early August, 2019 | Korea

you were nearly 21, now.

“Momo, who the fuck is Heechul?” you spat, looking at a news article. The girl, who now had black wavy hair, a little lower than her shoulder, was currently lounging in your bed. Promotions for Dance the Night Away had just started, and she looked better than ever.

Her eyes widened, and she sat up, looking hurt and a little panicked. You never spoke to her like this, not since Sixteen, and you both rarely spoke in Korean, anymore.

“What do you mean? He’s just a friend-”

“Don’t lie to me,” you cut in, sharply. “You’ve been acting weird ever since I gave you those earrings, Momo. Why?” you demanded, the anger masking all the hurt you felt.

she was silent, for a bit, drawing into herself, looking to the side and holding her arms.

“We can’t be anything more than this,” she murmured.

“What?”

“I have a career. I have a group, I can’t just.. leave it all,”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, a little high pitched.

“We should stop. You.. you like me too much,” she decided. “It’s safer if I’m.. you know, with a guy. It won’t be favorable, but it’ll get people off us both. People talk too much, nowadays,” she continued.

“I mean.. it’s just that.. you know, we’re both girls. That’ll ruin both of our careers. And I like being an idol. I won’t.. I won’t just give it up,”

“Momo, are you serious?” You exclaimed, shocked. “You’re refusing to see me, when we’ve been pretending to be just friends for over three years now, and instead.. you’re gonna date some guy? Momo, that could ruin your career, too! No one knows about us, I haven’t told anyone! Why are you being so-“

“It won’t be as bad as if it were us two,” she reminded, pointedly and acidly. “Not all of us have a rich family to fall back on. I had to work to get here. I will not give it all up just because you want to.. to play around, and pretend we’re in love!” She cried, aggravated.

you stared in shock. You didn’t even know what to say, the whole reason you refused to use your parents was your desperation to be independent from them.

you knew what they’d do to you if they found out what you were.

you didn’t want to have to rely on them, in case they ever found out.

you didn’t want to be like your sister.

“That’s not fair, Momo. You don’t-“

“I do!” She shot back. “I do, this is fair! This is my life, this is my career, you don’t get to tell me what I should do! Just- god!” She shouted, throwing her hands in the air, collecting her things. She got dressed, fixed her hair quickly into a bun, and stormed out of your apartment.

“Don’t contact me again,” were her low, parting words.

year 5; early January, 2020 | Korea

you had just turned 21 a little bit ago. the rest of 2019 had been absolute hell. you saw Momo everywhere you went— on advertisements, on tv, heard her on the radio.

and now, New Year’s Day, it was confirmed that she was dating Heechul.

you were in your apartment, still mostly empty save for a few things you had bought for her— like a tea kettle, an assortment of matcha flavored snacks, a second toothbrush—

everything hurt.

you did the only thing you could think to do.

you called your sister.

it was eleven something in the morning in New York, she’d have to pick up.

“Hello? Y/n, why the hell are you calling m-“

she was cut off by the sound of a choked sob, more like a hacking, and a shaky inhale.

“I get it now,” were your broken, pained words. “I fucking get it now,”

“Oh, y/n,” she murmured, quietly.

“I’m so sorry,”

10 years prior; late September, 2010 | Korea

“I’m gay. I have a girlfriend,” were the earth-shattering words your sister, freshly 18, had dropped on the shoulders of you and your parents in the middle of a family dinner.

“You’re what?” Your mother asked, slowly, giving her time to play it off. She stood, steadfast.

“I’m gay. I have a girlfriend,” she repeated, clearly.

Your father and mother stared at her, for a long while. You didn’t really know what would happen, yet— you had never heard your parents even mention their opinion on homosexuality, but there’s no way they’d care, right? It didn’t really matter-

“Get out,” were your fathers cold, flat words.

your sister nodded, once, clenching her jaw. She packed her things, appearing back downstairs within twenty minutes. (she had already packed the day prior. She knew how this would go).

“Wait, why does she have to leave? I don’t-“

“She’s not your sister anymore,” your mother informed, curtly.

“She’s not apart of this family anymore,” your dad restated.

“But.. why?” You asked, barely 13.

“It’s unnatural, and bad for the family image. It’s not good for us,”

you didn’t really think that was enough reason to kick a child out. But you couldn’t argue.

your sister left, that day, passing you her number secretly.

you didn’t have a bad relationship with your sister.

but for a few years, you refused to talk to her. You would not disgrace the family, you would not give up everything—

you just couldn’t understand why she give up a cushy life of luxury to go to school in New York, all for some girl.

“You’ll understand when your older,” she’d tell you, quietly, over the phone, when you both still got the chance to talk— before you had become paranoid of getting kicked out, like her.

“One day, you’ll meet someone you’ll love. You’ll love them, to the point that nothing matters as long as you’re together,”

“I don’t think I will,” you’d reply, so sure. “That’s stupid,”

“It is, isn’t it?” She’d laugh.

“You’ll get it, though, one day,”

you had flown to America, right in the beginning of 2020.

you went to New York, to live with your sister for a bit— you just needed to be around family— family that wasn’t your parents. you got an offer to shoot a drama there, anyway.

you had no idea you’d end up stuck in america for nearly a year, due to Covid.

whatever, you’d think.

not like you’d have anyone to come back to in Korea.

In America, you were more free.

no one particularly cared what anyone was doing— you couldn’t go out, and you were alone in the apartment you had rented.

your sister would come over with her girlfriend— now, wife, because you could get married, here— sometimes, but not often.

you smoked camels, now, unfiltered, by the balcony, overlooking a city so much the same and too different.

you texted Mina, a lot. She kept you updated.

you both made a point not to talk about Momo.

the necklace Momo had gifted you was left in your jewelry box in korea.

the house was a perfect snapshot of your life, then, untouched by changes.

it was a picture frozen in time.

god, fuck this place.

year 6; late June, 2021 | Japan

you were 22, now, having made it back to Korea in late may after finishing your drama, finally getting everything together and back to your apartment in early June. Your return was publicized, there were a few people who still came to the airport even with all the restrictions, but you had made it back to your country.

it had really helped, to get it all out, put everything in perspective.

you still smoked camels, now you drank tequila— the remnants were mementos of a life most people wouldn’t see.

you flew to Japan, though— you had the prospect of an ambassadorship, and they wanted you to fly over, for some reason.

you messaged Mina about it— maybe you two could meet up, go eat. you hadn’t seen her in a while. you spoke, gave her your hotel and room number, and you both agreed to see if you could schedule it.

the next day after you'd messaged her, there was a knock on your door.

you thought it’d be Mina.

Momo had shorter black hair now. It suited her.

Momo had hurt you.

you cried for at least three weeks. She seemed happy enough when you saw her through a screen. she was still with Heechul. She shouldn’t be here.

you opened the door.

momo’s eyes were watery, and she looked up at you, pleadingly.

“Y/n,” she began, voice shaky.

“What do you want?” You snapped, even though you didn’t really mean to.

“We broke up,” were her words. You stopped, for a second. You knew what this was. You were her rebound.

“I-“

“When I saw you came back, I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, y/n,” she murmured, crying now. “I didn’t want- I- I just.. I was so scared. But, I just- I can’t- it’s been too long. I can’t keep going without you, I need you, I..”

you pulled her inside, shutting the door, locking it, and pressing her against it. You hadn’t forgotten how her hair felt in your hands, soft and silky, how she always tasted a bit sweet.

people said she was a peach, but she didn’t exactly taste like it.

except for when she wore the peach lipgloss you got her, one time, as a joke.

she ran a hand through your hair, tugging on the strands, pulling you closer. god, she kind of reminded you of herself.

her tears made the kiss taste salty.

this time was different. it was not slow, it had no love in it. she had hurt you, she had left you, and now she was crawling back.

you left marks where no one but her would see. you ran your teeth over her pulse point, but never bit down.

your kisses were bruising and filled with anger and resentment.

this was a bad idea.

this was always going to be a bad idea.

it was only around 11 when you had both felt too tired, resigning yourself to sleep.

momo had hated sleeping alone, without you.

she pressed her face into your neck, eyes screwed shut. you felt a little bad, despite yourself. you had been a bit mean..

“Momo, go to sleep,” you spoke, softly, carding a hand through her short black hair.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for leaving. please don’t-”

“It’s okay,” you interjected, because you really didn’t want to have to hear the rest of her words. “I don’t have a schedule tomorrow, anyway,” which was not true, you had to go discuss the drama you were shooting at one in the afternoon, but you weren’t telling her that.

they weren’t the exact words she wanted to hear, but they were as close as you could get, right now.

you ran a hand through her hair, as her arm stayed around your waist. she was clinging onto you, like you’d disappear.

you probably should, to get back at her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to quit.

momo was kind of like every bad habit you couldn’t quit— smoking, drinking— they weren’t good for you, but they made you feel better.

she was addictive, like that.

but here, in your hotel room bed, kind of like last place you saw her, now the first time you’ve seen her in almost a year and a half—

she kind of seemed like something you really couldn’t live without.

July 8th, 2021 | Japan

they had flown back to Korea the day prior. You were still in Japan, when you saw the article.

momo and heechul had finally announced their break up to the public.

good, you thought.

you had gone out to eat with Mina a week ago, you both talked about your lives— work, vacations, how busy you both were. you asked about her members.

July 1st, 2021

“How is everyone?” you asked, with a tilted head.

“Everyone’s good, I’m happy we’re back in Japan, I got to see my parents, so did Sana, so did..”

“you can say her name, you know,” you muttered.

“Listen, y/n, I’ve tried not to get involved, but this isn’t good for you two. After you left, Momo could barely sleep. She ate less, too, and she still had to go on dates with Heechul to make it look real. She didn’t even really want to date him, she was just-”

“I know, Mina. But- you know, it’s not up to me. She’s too scared to be with me. She doesn’t really love me,” you chuckled, though it was more bitter than amused.

“I think she does,” she replied. “I just don’t think she’s realized it yet,”

year 7; late May, 2022 | Korea

“Momo!” you called, just a few months into being 23.

you had decided to pick up Momo from the airport.

now, fans would never know, but you just really wanted to see her.

she had been in the U.S. for months, now, touring, and you had missed her.

even with all your miscommunication you both still met up, sometimes— you visited your sister as an excuse when they held their concert in New York City.

you did meet with Momo, after the show.

“How was America?” You asked, in english, as she got into the car. She looked tired, her hair now ash-blue and a little longer.

“Good,” was her response, a tired smile under the mask.

she coughed, and you glanced at her, a bit worried.

“Nayeon and Tzuyu are sick, too,” she mumbled. “Can you take me to the apartment?”

and so you did, the apartment she shared with Nayeon. You helped her with the luggage, and you tried to kiss her but she moved her face— she didn’t want you sick.

Nayeon, Momo, and Tzuyu all tested positive for Covid-19 the following day.

To no one’s surprise, you tested positive for Covid as well, but with very mild symptoms that felt more like an annoying cold.

you obviously couldn’t go to any filmings or schedules, and Mina ended up positive too—

so you drove to Momo’s apartment with soup. Like a lovesick idiot.

Nayeon let you in, and you knew better than to not bring her some soup as well. You handed it to her, and went straight to Momo’s room.

she looked.. sick. coughing, exhausted, you were sure she was achey and had a headache.

her fever wasn’t too bad, on account of all the medication she was taking.

“Momo?” you called, running a hand through the girls hair. “I made you soup,”

she sat up, blearily, looking a little hazy.

“I’ll get you sick,” she mumbled.

“I’m already sick, don’t worry,” you assured.

you fed her the soup, because you were that painfully whipped, talking quietly about what you had been doing since they went on tour.

you made her take some Tylenol, because her face felt hotter when you put the back of your hand to her forehead.

you got up to leave, but she grabbed your hand, tugging you back like a child.

“can you stay?” she mumbled, looking at you pleadingly. you would never say no, of course.

it’s not like you had something better to do.

for the rest of the time you were sick, you would visit Momo, watch dramas with her, sleep in her bed, next to her— you both acted so much like a couple Nayeon pulled you aside after almost a week.

“Y/n, I don’t know how long this thing with Momo has been going on, exactly, but it looks like you make her happy, so.. thank you. It’s been a lot, lately, with touring and Heechul.. take care of her, okay?”

she walked off before you could explain that, no, you two weren’t dating, and you were scared that if you asked her to date you she’d run away again.

you had to go shoot some drama, again, even if you really didn’t want to, after you tested negative.

you both got busy, after that. Especially you— you had so many dramas to film.

February 8th, 2022

@OT9TRANS … BUBBLE MESSAGE 🍑💬 220208 MM: I have watched Call, watched Burning, watched Nothing Serious, and Money Heist. I have watched them all🫠❤︎ MM: i really like y/n l/n nim ♡ She’s my style 🫣

year 8; early January, 2023 | Korea

it was your 24th birthday party— you had turned 24 in winter of last year, but this was the only day you could make it work, because Twice had another tour starting in February.

You invited them, all 9, to noraebang— karaoke. obviously, some of your own friends came, too. You had made a lot of friends in the industry after so many years.

Momo’s hair was still black, grown out a bit more, but not as long.

you all sang and drank— Nayeon, particularly, having a good time singing every Twice song she could.

you sat next to Momo, pleasantly tipsy, and everything felt warm.

it was a little crowded, but you had rented a bigger space than normal. It was dim, the only lights coming from the screen in front of you.

after a little bit, you slipped outside. The place you rented had a rooftop, and you planned to make full use of it.

The skyline had changed from 8 years prior. It used to have less buildings, smaller skyscrapers— now it almost seemed as if the blue and red lights of the city were truly the stars in the sky.

You lit up a cigarette, this time, Cheyenne peach, and took a drag.

you heard a metal door open and shut.

Momo sat down next to you, and you offered her a drag.

she wrinkled her nose.

“They smell, y/n, why do you still smoke them?”

“Just a bad habit, I guess,” you shrugged.

she plucked it out of your mouth, tossing it to the side.

“It’s bad for you,” she chided.

how ironic, for her to say that.

“There’s a lot of things that are bad for me that I still do,” you replied, quietly.

she was silent, for a second.

she held your face, pulling you closer. She tasted like soju, which is to say smooth alcohol, of which you’ve been drinking the whole night.

it was sweeter than usual, because you can’t stand bitter tastes, and you noticed Momo was wearing nearly the same shade of lipstick as six years ago

your hands held her waist, loosely, the both of you sitting back on your heels, only leaning forward for each other.

when Momo pulled away, you felt a little dazed.

“I don’t want to be bad for you,” she mumbled, and all these years had seemed so childish— just two girls, trying to figure it out. You never wanted to hurt each other. It was just fear, and maybe a little shame, and so much love that it nearly drowned you.

“Momo,” you began, quietly. You knew that what you were going to tell her would force her away from you forever, but you didn’t care.

“I love you,”

the confession hung in the air, ringing through resounding silence. Seoul in January was cold, and your breaths could be seen in the air.

when Momo didn’t reply, you felt tears well in your eyes even if you knew this is how it would be.

“I’m sorry,” were your nexts words, and when you hiccuped, Momo finally broke out of her daze.

she screwed her eyes shut, snaking her hand to your nape, pulling you into her, kissing you desperately.

“no, don’t apologize,” she muttered, between gasps for air.

“I love you, y/n. I love you,”

it felt like the world stopped, in that second.

“I’m sorry for.. being scared, but I’m not anymore. I love you,” she repeated, wiping the tears from your eyes, thumb caressing your face.

“Really?” you asked, hope and fear mixing into your words. This could just be some cruel joke, after all, it could-

“y/n,” she said, seriously. “I love you,”

you leaned in again, and it was softer, now, feeling a year roll down your cheek, not from sadness but from relief, and happiness.

“God, Momo,” you choked out. “I love you so much,”

you both stayed like that, for a little under half an hour, telling each other all the things you wished you had so many years ago, making hopeful promises and swearing never to hurt each other again.

“Here,” Momo said, suddenly, producing another small box.

it was a beautiful silver chain bracelet, with a little pink gemstone in the center in the shape of a small star.

momo had the same bracelet on her wrist, though the gemstone was in your favorite color and the chain was in gold.

“Happy birthday, y/n,” she offered, putting the bracelet on your wrist.

you smiled, genuinely, eyes crinkling. You pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted, softly, before a teasing smile worked its way onto your face.

“You’re beautiful, too, so do you think you could be my gift, instead?”

that comment earned you a slap on the shoulder and a chiding ‘yah’, but it gave you the view of Momo’s face flushing pink, and the sound of her infectious laugh.

“If you ask nicely, I’ll consider it,” was her response, in the end.

you and Momo were definitely dating, now, and you leaned your head forward, resting your forehead on hers.

“How do you say girlfriend in Japanese?”

Momo’s cheeks turned a little pink, again, and she was well aware you already knew, but she indulged you. It was your birthday, after all. “恋人” she mumbled, but you knew well enough. (lover)

a smile grew on your face.

“I know you already know Korean well enough, so you shouldn’t call anyone else 자기야 but me, okay?” you informed, mostly joking.

“Sure,” she agreed, smile blooming on her face at the thought of you calling her your girlfriend. “Anything you want,”

year 9; early April, 2024 | Korea

Momo’s black hair had stayed the same for almost two years or so.

it was still a bit short, but you didn’t really care.

you were 25, now, didn’t smoke anymore, having been dating Momo officially for nearly a year.

You two had actually gone on a date— you had been commenting on each other’s Instagram jokingly for weeks now. Her fans had been convinced she would “not pull” with her.. strange choice emojis, but they didn’t know you had already fallen head over heels for the loser you were currently sat next to.

you went to go get something to eat, with her, and it was still a little cool in Seoul.

you took photos, together— and posted them— something you would’ve been terrified to do a few years prior, fearing a dating scandal or something worse— the destruction of your careers.

your worlds weren’t as scary, anymore. Twice had been around nearly 10 years, and you had been acting for the same amount of time. The public loved you, and though you didn’t feel like announcing your relationship status to the world, (you were both private, like that) it was nice to know that if anything were to come to light, you and Momo would be safe. Korea had gotten a lot more accepting, over the years.

your parents were still the same, though they had become less strict about it. Your sister came home, sometimes, and your mother might actually love her girlish and kind wife more than her own daughter.

you made jokes about it, frequently.

your dad didn’t know about Momo, neither did your mom— your sister did, but after what happened to her, she wouldn’t force you to tell them. You didn’t think your parents would freak out, demand you to leave and disown you— but you didn’t want to risk it.

on breaks, you and Momo would visit Japan, or any other city she wanted to go to.

if she had a fashion week schedule, well, you’d try to go! Especially as a fellow ambassador of MiuMiu. The public knew you both as close friends, so any antics were now ignored and written off as just friendship.

honestly, your house was better, now, because of her. The apartment was no longer something not lived in, out of a catalog—it was filled with little reminders of you two.

photos of each other, your achievements on a bookshelf, a tea kettle you’d thought Momo would like, her clothes she’d leave there, plants you thought would make the place look better, little knickknacks from traveling, a second toothbrush—

it felt like a home, full of little curios and plants, a reminder of the life you loved with Momo.

and now, as you sat next to her on the couch the two of you had bought together, under warm lighting and lights of the city outside the window, so much different than the one from the skyline eight years ago, completely different buildings but the same cool, multicolored glow, taking pictures for an Instagram post that others would call like it was, a “date”, but never know how real it really was—

you pressed a kiss to her cheek, smiling into it, as she took the photo.

she turned to you, an amused expression on her face, albeit a bit surprised, perfectly tinged the pink shade of the lipstick you used to wear—

“What was that for? You know we can’t post that-”

“I love you,” you interrupted, with a stupid smile on your face.

“I love you too, silly, but we still can’t-”

you cut her off, again, pressing a kiss to her lips, discarding the phone, somewhere, smiling as you cupped her face in your hands.

those pictures, of you two kissing? They wouldn’t be posted.

the rest would, of course, a day late— you had gotten a bit sidetracked.

it didn’t matter, though.

you truly, irrevocably, loved Hirai Momo. She was beautiful, talented, funny, kind— you could keep going, there were a million and one reasons to love her.

but for some reason, she loved you back.

A/N: hi guys!! I had been thinking about this plot line for actual weeks but I managed to finish this in 10 days.. crazy.. I only started actually working on it 3 days ago though LMFAO

so.. there was a lot of research put into this fic. I tried to make the timeline as close to the one in real life as possible, but obviously there will be some inconsistencies. y/n is momo’s fav actress if you could not tell.. I wonder why

i don’t exactly love how this fic came out— I kind of lost the plot and repeated myself a lot. it actually came out completely different than how I originally imagined, which is why the song doesn’t exactly match? but I hope you enjoyed!

I will hopefully be posting more frequently.. I have a few things in mind, but my works take me a long time because I usually set them up, get the plot, then sit down and finish like 8k words in two or three days.

not beta read, I’m tired, maybe tomorrow.

please feel free to send asks and reqs! I love talking to you all <33 id love to know what you think..

I must sleep, now. goodnight, byebye!! ><

[tac-the-unseen]

OUAGH the last one gave me the idea of a musician reader x slasher

If I were to suggest a specific genre maybe they’re into rock because. Yeah.

Could you do something with that?

Slashers x Musician Reader

Micheal Myers:

•Plays it off but thinks it cool as hell

•He did play the piano for a very short time in his childhood, but the ward made him very rusty 

•Will happily watch any concerts you put on for him

•Will Secretly watch you if you don't 

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•They both immediately pitch in a song request 

•They bring up the fact that you play an instrument to win arguments with people 

•Will eventually find a way to break your instrument 

•They will be very apologetic about it 

•attempts to replace it 

Thomas Hewitt:

•very interested 

•He's curious by nature, he wants to know everything he can about it 

•Your instrument is the most expensive thing in the house 

•daydreams about being able to play a song for you, one day

•until then, he'll try to figure it out himself 

Bubba Sawyer:

•Tries to sing along when you play

•he also dances but always ends up knocking stuff over

•Will sit in front of the door so her brothers can't get in while you're playing

•They constantly complain about the racket 

•Chop-top will occasionally sit in while you play 

Bo Sinclair:

•immediately shows you his acoustic 

•brags about how he can out play you

•loses miserably because he only practiced for a couple months 

•mad about it

•polishes its case whenever he comes around to it 

Vincent Sinclair:

•romanticizes it by thinking about how you're two different types of artists 

•Sketches you playing your instrument 

•Sheepishly asks you to pose

•makes a mini wax sculpture of your instrument 

•He get super giddy if you play a song for him

Lester Sinclair:

•extremely impressed 

•He's always thought of being able to play an instrument as a high class/rich person activity 

•Falls asleep while you play, Not because you're boring, But because he finds it soothing 

•will find out how to care for your instrument so he can help repair any damages it might face

Billy Lenz:

•probably was the reason He zeroed in on you in the first place 

•fines it incredibly alluring and wanted you to play all the time 

•Will find a way to get his grubby hands on your instrument 

•Will eventually break it but not feel sorry 

•(Not So) patiently waits for you to get it fixed

Brahms Heelshire:

•He can play the piano and just uses it as another excuse to hang out with you 

•looks up songs to properly make a duet with you 

•whenever conversations died down or get a little stale, he whips out the instrument card 

•whether you did or didn't know how to play an instrument he's going to romanticize it anyway 

Hannibal Lecter:

•insists on making some kind of duet with you, and whether or not your instruments align with each other 

•buy stuff to make for your instrument is a mint condition 

•’humbly’ braggs about your talent at his dinner parties 

•Will make you food associated with your instrument(s) (look that up, it's a real thing because of course it is)

Will Graham:

•Like to watch you play whatever it is you play

•He's never really had any interest in instruments, But he starts listening to videos featuring your instrument. 

•Casually asks Hannibal facts about your instrument 

•makes you a little charm related to your instrument to put on your keychain 

•Has flashbacks to the guy with his throat turned into a Cello 

The Lost Boys:

•They all at some point have picked up an instrument 

•David can play the Piano, Organ, violin, and guitar

•Dwayne can play the Hand drums, flute, and Bass guitar

•Paul can play the clarinet, electric guitar, French horn, and marimba 

•Marko can play the Drums, Harp, Cello, and viola

•They have all genuinely considered starting a band 

•No matter what you play, you'll fit in

Thanks for reading <3

I went for a more neutral tone with this fic. Because I don't want to write 16 other fanfics about specific music genres ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠🎀)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

[delicatebarness]

the hard launch

Pairing: Actor!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky have been secretly dating for a few years, and it's finally time to tell the world.

Warnings: Fluff.

Word Count: 725

Masterlist | Support: Ko-Fi

A/N: I love them. - Please feel free to leave feedback, you know I love hearing your opinions. - B

Tags: @princesscore-angel | @msanimeotaku181

Everything Tags: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

The world knew James ‘Bucky’ Barnes as the brooding, captivating actor who brought characters like The Winter Soldier, to life on the big screen. However, the world didn't know that the man behind the character had been holding a secret close to his heart.

To that same world, you were known as the singer-songwriter whose voice melted hearts with lyrics that spoke of hidden sorrows and forbidden love. Your latest album has taken the world by storm. It climbed to the top of the charts, with each song more poignant than the last. Yet, behind your public persona, you lived a secret life: one shared with Bucky Barnes.

You had met Bucky at a charity event– a glitzy Hollywood soirées, filled with flashes toward fake smiles and whispers behind champagne flutes. You had agreed to perform your latest single, your voice called to Bucky like a siren’s call. The pair of you talked, laughed, and exchanged numbers as a professional courtesy. However, as the weeks turned into months, your text messages turned into late-night FaceTime calls, which shortly turned into stolen weekends away.

The relationship was a guarded secret, known only to a select trustworthy few. There were suspicions, of course, throughout the tabloids and your respected fanbases. As things between you and Bucky grew more serious, paparazzi photos of Bucky slipping out of your apartment at odd hours, and mentions of his eyes lit up when your songs played in the background of interviews. 

But, neither one of you confirmed anything, you relished in the intimacy of your private world. 

That was until, your new single, “End of the Line” was about to be released. A heartfelt ballad about a secret love, cherishing stolen moments, and the bittersweet beauty of hiding. You suggested to Bucky that should star in the music video, but at first, he hesitated. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked you, his brow furrowing as he held your gaze. “This is a big step.” 

Taking his hand, your fingers interlocking with his. “I am, Buck. We’ve been hiding for so long. I want the world to see our love. Plus, the song is ours, it’s about us. Who else could bring it to life the way you can?” 

The way your passion for music mirrored his own for acting, he saw the fire in your eyes. And, he agreed. 

~

Directed by a close friend to you both, who already knew your secret, the shoot was an exercise in restraint and release. Set in a secluded cabin, surrounded by nature, the scenes were tender. They were filled with longing glances and gentle touches. Your real emotions poured into your performances, the chemistry you shared with Bucky was undeniable and electrifying. The camera captured your unspoken love as you danced in the moonlight, and shared whispered secrets.

During one intimate scene, he whispered, “Are you nervous about how they’ll react?” 

You looked up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “A little, but we’ve come this far together. No matter what happens, we’ll still have us.” 

He brushed a strand of hair from your face as he smiled down at you. “Till the end of the line.” You echoed his words softly back to him. 

~

Shockwaves were sent through your fanbases when the video was released. The cinematography was stunning and raw, unfiltered emotion haunted the song. Your secret was out, and it captivated the world. Instead of the scandal you had feared, the response was overwhelmingly positive. 

Fans and critics alike praised the authenticity of your love and the bravery you both had shown by sharing something incredibly personal to the world. 

~

The ‘hard launch’ was a success, and as you stood on stage at your next concert, you sang the song live to a crowd for the first time. The crowd erupted in applause as Bucky appeared on stage behind you. Turning in confusion, your voice trembled slightly with emotion as the love of your life ran toward you. 

The second he reached you, he took your face in his hands and pulled you into a kiss. Right there in front of thousands, sealing your love in the spotlight. He whispered against your lips, “I love you, till the end of the line.” you smiled, repeating the words back to him as tears of joy streamed down your face. 

---

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