#i lost all the faith in music when she died and my heart lies in the music from the old days

[ineffabeatlemindpalace]

Overthinking yet again this particular sense of nostalgia attached to the person who’s been with me from the beginning to the end of adolescence and how insane it is how a mostly bad time got even worse with this gruesome outcome which will always be there at the forefront of my mind and make it difficult to carry the tiny amount of good memories. Because all the best things in my life happened to me afterwards.

[liljakonvalj]

Time to make you realize why every single one of these is a worthy winner:

Lill-Anna was the oldest of Kristina and Karl Oskar's children. In Missväxt they both remark on how clever she is and how proud they are of her. But food is scarce and the whole family starves after some years of bad harvests. They have managed to save up for a "decadent" (by their standard) porridge to celebrate their newest child. But Anna- trying to sate her hunger prematurely - eats the grain before it's done soaking, which leads to them swelling in her stomach and killing her. Lill-Anna's death leads to Kristina agreeing to cross the Atlantic since "my children might die whether we stay or leave". Lill-Anna's death is essentially what starts the main story. KO keeps Anna's shoes to remind both him and Kristina that all their sacrifices and struggles are worth it if they ensure that Anna's fate doesn't befall any of her siblings.

(Sidenote i was singing Kom till mig alla while cleaning today (as you do) and i was hit by kristina's line - just before Anna's passing "visst kan det hända vi får svälta lite nu i vinter. Men nästa år blir säkert bättre- vi får äta upp oss då! Och under tiden ska vi säkert klara oss på något sätt" (sure we will starve a bit this winter, but next year will for sure get better - we'll eat more then! And until than well get by in some way) and then Anna dies 😭😭)

Inga-Lena together with her husband dreams of being able to practice christianity the way they want to, not according to the strict teachings of the state church. On the way to their new country she falls sick and died. She gets buried at sea since they cannot keep the body onboard.

Arvid who had been an outcast befriends fellow farmhand Robert. Robert dreams of making a fortune in America - and Arvid is quick to join. Once they've crossed the ocean Robert wants to continue further west to dig for gold. Of course Arvid wants to join. But their journey is perilous and they get lost. They stop to take a drink at a water hole, but only after Arvid has drank from the nasty water does Robert realize that it's poisonous.

Fina-Kajsa travels across the ocean to be with her son who has told her through letters of his new farm. When she comes she realizes that while yes, her son does have a farm if his own he needs help tending to it. One day while working in the fields she dies (probably because of her heart) but she isn't found until a neighbour looks for her, her son to drunk to have missed her. (The musical has changed this to Kajsa's son being dying before she reached his new home)

Robert returns from his search for gold a broken and sick man, ridden with guilt over his best friend's death for which he feels responsible. But he brings home a bag full of cash - a new currency called Wild Cat Money - that he gives to his brother. When Karl Oskar tries to use the bills at the bank he gets laughed at - this is fake money! KO is humiliated - he who have tried so hard to be a respectable part of his new society has lost face because of his dreamer of a younger brother. Outraged he returns home and drives Robert out of the house, not knowing how sick his brother is and deaf to his pleas of forgiveness. Robert walks away from the only home he has ever had on this continent and stops by a small brook. He is reminded of how he always longed to be as free as water, who can go wherever it pleases. With those thoughts he lies down to die. His body is later found and he becomes the first one buried at the new church the settlers have built.

Kristina has been pregnant many times, but after a tough miscarriage the doctor ordains her to never be pregnant again. And the surest way to ensure not fall by pregnancy - is abstinence. Ordered to no longer lie with her husband she has a crisis of faith. After some time she feels better and one night she beseaches KO to once again partake in their marital bed. KO is reluctant, fearful of the doctor's warnings. Kristina cites KO's words from before they left Sweden - that it would be treason to their love to abstain from each other for all time. KO gives in and soon Kristina is once more pregnant. KO is frightened and feels guilty but Kristina is optimistic. However civil war breaks out - the native americans are rising up for better rights - and all settlers in their area must flee. Kristina suffers another miscarriage and falls severely ill. KO sends the children away with Danjel and stay with his sick wife. After being sick for days, Kristina recognises her husband for the first time in three days. He brings her an apple - the first one grown from seeds sent from home a couple if years ago. She smells the apple, reminscens of home and tells KO that just like how she waited for him by the gate when they were courting - she will wait for him by the gates of heaven. Then she dies in her husband's arms.

[runtedfiction]

nicer

day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021

ao3

* * *

Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.

* * *

The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.

“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”

Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”

“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”

“Princess!”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.

Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.

“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”

“Guilty.”

Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.

“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”

Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”

“Yes?”

“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”

Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.

She lies. “No.”

Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.

* * *

In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.

There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.

But all she wants is for Link to look at her.

He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.”

The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.

“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”

It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.

She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.

(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)

She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.

* * *

Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.

If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.

Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.

A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?

* * *

She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.

There’s no way she could summon him, but…

She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.

Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.

“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.

He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”

Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.

“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”

“The band is nice.”

She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.

“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”

He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”

“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”

He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”

“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”

She blinks. “What?”

He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!

“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”

She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?

They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.

How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.

Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.

Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.

They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”

She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”

“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”

She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.

“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”

The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.

“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”

“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.

* * *

When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.

“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”

“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”

She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.

This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)

The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.

“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.

“Great, how are you?”

“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!

He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.

She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”

“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”

She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s ok if it was.”

“No, no, you’re too kind.”

Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”

She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

Link clears his throat.

She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.

She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.

She turns around when they reach her doors.

“Tonight was fun,” she says.

He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”

This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.

“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—

“I think I have feelings for you.”

She blinks. What?

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”

What?!

She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.

Holy fuck. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.

“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.

He’s surprised. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”

“Really?”

She laughs. “Really.”

She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.

“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.

(She wants to kiss all of them.)

His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.

“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.

There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.

“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”

[emiliaheartfeel]

Supergirl

Chapter 7: Bro Code

AN: Atsumu did a shitty thing, that I do not condone. Hope your ready to feel smad!

It’s been two weeks since you started ignoring and avoiding Atsumu. You didn’t even reply to his message and he has been too stubborn to apologize. It’s starting to get on Osamu’s nerves because avoiding Atsumu included avoiding Osamu. He hasn’t seen or heard from you and Atsumu has been a bitch the whole time too. The coach had to bench cause he was being down right cruel to his own teammates. Osamu can’t talk to you and he hasn’t wanted to ask Atsumu, but this had gotten ridiculous and the team agrees. Kita calls a team meeting after practice one day. Atsumu is extremely bitter and becomes even more annoyed when all heads turn to him.

“What happened with you Atsumu?”

“I don’t know what your fucking talking about!”

“You have been rather irritable as of late”

“What he means is you have been a bitch.”

“In a sense, yes”

“I am always like this”

“Like hell you are man”

“Why don’t you all just leave me hell alone!”

Osamu can’t take it anymore and lunges at he’s brother in pure fury. This already was more intense then their usual petty fights. Fights about you always were. Osamu has Atsumu pinned under him hands in his collar holding him down. Both Aran and Kita are ready to get involved but Osamu sends them a nasty glare.

“What. The. Fuck. Did you do?”

“I already told you I don’t know what you are talking about”

“Bull fucking shit. Y/N is so mad at YOU she isn’t even talking to me”

“She chose you,”

“What”

“Three months ago she chose you,”

Osamu is lost now. What was Atsumu on about. Confusion is all he feels as he watches Atsumu looks broken. Years ago Atsumu was the first twin to tell the other he loved you Osamu revealed he did too a few months later.

“Last time she was in town she came to me to talk about you,”

“I don’t understand she barely even said goodbye when she left.”

“Because I had slept with her,”

Osamu’s mind goes blank for a moment before he pulls his fist back in punches Atsumu in the nose hard enough he feels a crunch. Aran grabs his arm as he pulled again to hit his twin again. He looks feral and Atsumu looks torn and ashamed. He’s not even fighting back not making eye contact with anyone.

“You! What!!”

Atsumu doesn’t answer finding his hands much more interesting. The team is stunned into silence this wasn’t the petty bullshit they were expecting. This was deep and personal.

“Answer! Me!”

“She loved you... Loves you”

“...”

“She came to me nervous a few nights before she was leaving to ask me a question”

You were in the Miya house in your pjs when you are pacing in the hall. Your right foot goes to rub up and down you left calf a sign of pure nerves for you. Atsumu raises an eyebrow at you with an annoying teasing smirk.

“What’s up, Supergirl,”

“Umm..I...”

“What? Finally confessing your undying love to the lesser twin,”

He knew. Knew you had a crush on Osamu. You had told him a year ago, but you hadn’t acted on believing it would make your relationship with both the twins weird which Atsumu fully agreed with.

“Haha, no it’s something else...”

“Come on, you can always tell the great and generous Atsumu what’s troubling you”

“I don’t think I want to”

“Oh! She doesn’t want my advise! I am not good enough to give you my advise! Oh the betrayal. That promise when you were 8 and sobbing on front porch and I told you I always got you. That means nothing to you appare...”

“You dramatic bitch.”

*overdramatic sigh*

“Oh my god! Fine...I....to...Osamu...”

“What was that?”

“I want to give Osamu my virginity!”

“Oh”

Something in him really broke. Knowing you loved Osamu was and not acting on it was one thing, but this would definitely lead to you and his brother dating. He couldn’t handle if you two actively together. He couldn’t watch you be with another man.

“What’s that look for”

“I just think that’s a bad idea”

“Why?”

“Tell me have you really thought this through”

“Yes I want my first time to be with someone a love and trust,”

“Then let me do it!”

“What?”

He knew he was running purely on emotions and needs a cover and fast. He’s panicking this isn’t how he imagined confessing to you. He had even thought about ever confessing to you.

“We love each other and you trust me”

“You know that’s different!”

“Not really it’s going be completely yours decision everything. Think about how weird it’ll if he says no or worse he says yes and doesn’t have feelings for you. Having sex with someone you love, but doesn’t love you is a new kind of torture that I don’t want you to go through!”

“How do you know he doesn’t love me!”

“I just do!”

“How!”

“He told me!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Atsumu I just love Y/N she’s like the perfect little sister!”

He know it was fucked up. He knew he was breaking her heart and lying to do it.

“Obviously I am not saying you need to have sex with me, but I am your safest bet,”

“I need to go home,”

“Let me walk you then”

“I don’t think that’s necessary”

“No it’s not but I need you to understand I am not trying to actively sleep with you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

BULLSHIT! He was a liar and a horrible friend.

“Atsumu I just found out the guy I have been in love of with for years doesn’t love me and his brother, who looks exactly like him, offers sex. I am going to be fucking hurt! I need time to think and get over Osamu. And rethink shit about my virginity,”

He knew this wasn’t gonna be good for you. You already looked destroyed and all he wanted to do was hold you, but he knew that might just confuse you. Though the really dark voice in him wanted you confused, cause maybe then you would finally pick him. He couldn’t go that far. Everything had to be your choice.

‘But is it really her choice. You lied so she wanted go to Osamu, to make you seem more attractive more desirable. You are soliciting sex from the girl you claim to live because you are jealous and maybe this is the closest you’ll ever get to her loving you. You thought if you can’t have love, lust is just as good.’ He thought to himself. Guilt riddled him before you were even out the door.

“Y/N forget I said anything. You should love and trust the man you give your first to.”

You walk out and don’t back in until a few days later. Osamu isn’t home again. You knew that and Atsumu knew you knew it. He’s hesitant to even approach you, but it is clear he is who you came to see.

“I need to know this won’t change anything between us,”

“What won’t?”

“That if I give you my virginity. Your still my friend Atsumu. I can’t live my life with out you. You were right I didn’t think it through. Even if Osamu did love me it doesn’t mean we wouldn’t eventually fall out of love and then he would just be out of my life right. I need you by my side even if he isn’t.”

It almost sounded like a love confession to Atsumu, but he knows better. You are so desperate to keep Osamu in your life you have torn yourself a part to hide that you loved him. You just assumed Atsumu was always going to be there, you just need him to say it. It not like Osamu where you won’t even risk it. Atsumu, he knew you could live without him you just don’t want to.

“No matter we are gonna be weird with each other we both have to have faith in each other, but Y/N I was talking out my ass. It annoyed me that you were gonna have sex with Osamu over me. Yeah it doesn’t make sense but you know how competitive we are. You don’t got to do this. We pretend this never happen and have a sundae night.”

“I am sure Atsumu.”

That’s what he told his teammates and that’s how it went down. Osamu is livid. Aran is holding him tightly as Kita had put tape over his mouth so Atsumu could tell his story without interruptions. Everyone taking it all in.

“Wait then why is she mad now?”

Atsumu pulls out his phone and shows them the texts he sent.

“You are an idiot”

As soon as Osamu signals he is calm enough Aran slowly and with hesitation let’s him go. As he turns to his twin face hardened and swallows tightly.

“She can never know you lied”

“...what”

“It would ruin her, Atsumu. You are her confidant and you took advantage of her. She can’t know. We pretend it never happened, we follow our bro code and neither of us go for her ever. We be the best big brothers we can. Nothing changes between us.”

“...I”

“Shut up! You did a terrible thing and should be treating her like a goddess until one of you dies. You barely deserve to be in the same room as her. You are lucky I don’t break your hands.”

“I know”

Masterlist

AN: I don’t think I capture the amount of heartbreak Atsumu actually was suppose to be in but boy is suppose to seem fucking broken. Doesn’t excuse his action but he insecure scared baby that just wants love.

AN: Sorry this chapter took a little longer. If I don’t have you in my tag list just message me! I am so so nervous about how you all are going to react to this chapter and the next ones. Also there are more then 10 chapters this is just volume 1 🙃.

Please Comment!

@kaleidoscopekai @je-suis-argent-miel @liferuinedby5idiotsand1genius @poppi144 @idontevenknow129 @ssuna @im-the-music-whore @kac-chowsballs

[crypty]

An Ode to L’Manberg

It all started on a day like any other All the salmon had swum to the sea When my lover she darted away down the stream With the heart that she'd taken from me

Wilbur watched the stream and the fish in it. He saw the dark bodies flash down the river. He felt empty. Every time he saw the fish he was reminded of the way he lied. He lied, he lied, he lied. It was fine though, right? Ignorance is bliss, as they say. He would tell his son one day. He had time. He just wanted to preserve the goodness in his son for a bit longer. Besides, it was close to the truth. Fundy did have a mom out there. A mother who left him. 

And my chest, though it ached, there was hope A little beacon of light Though my sunniest days are now stolen away I still had our son by my side

Fundy was wanted. He was abandoned, yes, but he was wanted by Wilbur. He was wanted. He was good. He was everything good in the world, to Wilbur. His gentle demeanor, his bright smile, his curious brown eyes. The young boy who deserved everything Wilbur could give him and more. He deserved more than the cards he was dealt. Wilbur wondered if this was how Philza felt with him. Perhaps not, after all, Phil still sent Wilbur to war. He still had scars from the battles and calluses from the swords and bows he wielded. 

And as he looked up at me with those wondering eyes I just knew that I must protect him with my life And make a land that is good and a land that is free For the better of you and of me

His son ran up to him, a shining blue beetle in his small hands. Love overflowed in Wilbur’s heart as he watched his son babble. “Blue... beeble... beeble!” His son giggled, and Wilbur melted. He looked a little past his son and saw the lands of the Dream SMP. His son would never be in a land he could call his own. Dream was fine but he was... well, he liked to be in control. Fundy deserved better. He deserved a land where he could be free. Where he would never need to fight. Where he was safe.

We'll build these walls with our own fair hands Through the wind and the rain and the snow And I swear on my life that I'll stay by your side Through whatever the world has to throw

Eret built the walls. Eret, one of his best friends. There was harsh weather but while Wilbur was inside with Fundy, Eret was dutifully building. Sometimes Wilbur would invite Eret in for a warm drink. He left Eret to play with Fundy as Wilbur prepared three mugs of hot cocoa. He left him alone with his son. God, he thought Eret would be loyal. He thought he knew Eret. 

So I summoned my men to my side And we sung a familiar tune As a final goodbye with our fists to the sky To our past as we started anew

He declared independence, surrounded by his most trusted men. Tommy and Tubbo, with round cheeks and dreams of glory. Eret, with his elegant sword and dark glasses. Fundy, now a young teenage boy, with his chipped wooden sword and adult fangs just growing in. This was a new start for all of them. A land where children wouldn’t have to bleed on thee dirt they fought for. A land where Wilbur could be the father hat Phil never was. 

We built these walls with our own fair hands Through the wind and the rain and the snow And we swore that we'd keep an unwavering faith To the land that we'd carved for a home

Phil, who exposed him to the horrors of war too quickly. Phil, who couldn’t understand his son’s love for music and peace. Phil, who made Wilbur fight battles for the chance to live free. Wilbur would make a land, a peaceful land, for his son. Wilbur would be better. He promised his son he would be safe. Fundy believed him. He had no reason not to. 

Oh the thought of the day set our country aflame As the sun rose bloody and true Arrows burned through the skies as we swallowed our cry And we ran with our backs to the moon

Oh the day. The day he fled, men right in front of him. The day they all scrambled own a narrow tunnel, trusting blindly in their friend. The traitor. That’s all Eret would ever be to him now. Other’s may bow and call him king but Wilbur will stare him in the eyes and call him by name. Small victories. That day would never be forgotten. The day arrows fell like rain and the once proud soldiers of L’Manberg died in a trap made by one of their own. The day his son died for the first time. The day Eret betrayed them. 

To our demise From a friend full of lies

Eret. Eret who stole a life from his son. It was Eret’s fault Fundy lost his innocence. Eret was thee reason Fundy flinched at the sound of a sword unsheathing. If it weren’t for Eret, Fundy would still be a child. It was Eret’s fault, not his. Eret’s fault. Phil’s fault. It’s the same, isn’t it? Not Wilbur’s fault. It couldn’t be. 

Oh the break of the day shed its light On our hearts left battered and bruised All the hopes that we'd laid on the home that we'd made Torn to pieces and left in the blue

One by one they all found each other. They were still battered from the recent respawn but there they stood. Their backs were straight, their heads held high. They wouldn’t show weakness, they refused. The brutal deaths shook them to their cores but they were not broken. They weren’t, were they? They were still strong. General Wilbur Soot and his army of children. Their hope, their love, their pride all in one country. There was only one way to save it now. Tommy stepped up. Wilbur wished it were him. 

But my friend with an angry cry Held the weight of our world at his side Took a trembling stand with an arrow in hand As he muttered a final goodbye

He promised that children would never bleed for their land. 

~~~

Masterlist

https://thelullabyer12.tumblr.com/post/639129395216433152/masterlist-of-2021

[shangyangjunzhu]

Go Ahead: Thoughts

I feel the heavy need to rant about my new favorite drama; Go Ahead.

It is a touching story about a family who aren’t necessarily blood related but love and cherish each other.

Here is a short summary of the first 11 episodes (spoiler alert)

Li Haichao is the owner of a noodle restaurant and is a widower with a daughter named Li Jianjian. His life changes when Ling Heping and his family moves into the same building. Ling Heping and his wife, Chen Ting, have lost a daughter from which his wife hasn’t totally recovered. They also have a son Ling Xiao, who Li Jianjian immediately thinks of as a brother. The couple fight everyday and poor Ling Xiao starts to become traumatized. One day Chen Ting decides to divorce Ling Heping and leaves her son to him in an attempt to get over her past. Simultaneously, Li Haichao is introduced to He Mei, a divorcee with a son He Ziqiu. They plan on getting married for the sake of the kids, but suddenly her mother gets ills and she borrows money from him to go look after her mom. Her mom dies and she runs away with the money. Haichao decides to take in Ziqiu and raise him with the assistance of Heping along with Li Jianjian and Ling Xiao  therefore becoming a small family of their own.

Years later, now all of the kids are in high school, and are closer to each other than ever. However, their paradise is struck with tragedy forcing Ling Xiao and He Ziqiu to go back to their own families, resulting in a seperation of nearly 9 years.

Tan Songyun as Li Jianjian

Song Wei Long as Ling Xiao

Zhang Xincheng as He Ziqiu

Tu Song Yan as Li Haichao

Zhang Xi Lin as Ling Heping

I have lost the number of times that I have sobbed my eyes out watching this show. I can’t even go to school without thinking about what will happen next.

The chemistry between the leads is amazing and nothing seems unnatural. The dads in the drama are the best fathers cdramas have ever seen. They’re cute and they fight like an old married couple. Li Jianjian’s brothers adore her and the best part is that they recognize she is a girl and they cherish her for the way she is instead of trying to make her seem like a guy. 

Ling Xiao is the stricter of both brothers; he makes sure she is studying and pushes her to improve her natural talents. He is very much in love with Li Jianjian and he knows it very well. From what I’ve seen in episode 11, he is constantly and I mean CONSTANTLY reminding her to focus on her education instead of dating (ahem could you be any more obvious) during the time leap. Also he becomes a dentist just because Jianjian off handedly told him once to become one. I can’t even start with how cute he is.

Another thing I appreciate about the drama is that it is very realistic. They stay in touch all these years and they do a good job of how their relationship starts to get strained. In regular cdramas and kdramas nobody stays in touch and dramatic music plays when they meet again.

He Ziqiu is the fun parent of the brothers; always indulging her and being there for her. Jianjian means a lot to him and her feelings are a huge priority for him.

Ling Heping is the dad of the family; spoiling the kids and letting them have fun. Li Haichao is the mom; constantly worrying about the kids and being a protective figure. 

The seperation is heart breaking because it is obvious that no one wants it. Unfortunately, the always cheerful Li Jianjian whose world revolved around her brothers becomes a little bit colder and indifferent losing the faith she always had about their family.

Upcoming previews suggest the brothers return and make attempts to restore their relationship and conflict ensues. I am not ready for it but that doesn’t mean it isn’t gonna happen. I need a distraction from this show because I am so sad everytime I finish watching an episode.

[ineloqueent]

dialogue prompt? “don’t kiss me ‘cause if you do, i’ll kiss you back.”

this is long, and quite dramatic. oops.

gif by @imladrs , which i had to include because it’s absolutely beautiful.

⭒

1977

The room was full of strangers.

They called him a friend, when in reality they knew nothing about him.

They knew of his fame, sure, how he’d built his guitar from scratch and was in a band with three others, three others whom he had named equals in family to anyone who shared his blood.

But they knew nothing of him.

Not how his heart ached in its loneliness, not how he dreamt of belonging to another, because he could not imagine a purer form of love than that of sharing your entire world with another person, enthralled by them, indebted to their kindness though they never expected a repayment, someone to share one’s happiness with in its entirety, someone to promise him that he would make it through the darker hours of his life.

Somebody to love.

Oh, he loved, there was no doubt about that.

He loved so much that it hurt, and though he wasn’t always good at showing it, he would have died of grief had he lost any of his friends, or his mother or father. He had so much love to give, and no one to give it to. He longed to hold someone’s hand for the sake of holding their hand, to dedicate his touch to their skin and prove to them that they were loved, to show them how much brighter the world looked when they looked upon it with a fondness for life, a fondness for being alive, like gazing up at the moon and being in awe of its beauty, thinking of how lucky one was to see such a glow, even from so far away.

Brian had never in his life felt special. And he knew that it was a ridiculously self-deprecating thought, but he supposed he was simply never meant to feel special, because if everyone was special, then no one was special. He knew in his heart that no one would ever love him as much as he loved them. He knew he would never be special. But damn it all, he wanted to make someone feel special. If he could make someone happier, then he would be happier too; he would die happily in his accomplishment.

But there was no one to give his love. With each passing day he felt lonelier than ever before.

Until she walked into the room.

⭒

Much to your dismay, there was not a quiet corner to sneak off to at this party.

Every corner was occupied by lovers or friends, and though you had come here with a friend, you suddenly found yourself entirely friendless, surrounded by strangers and people you vaguely recognised but did not know well enough to strike up a conversation with.

You had never been a talent in the realm of small-talk, and you weren’t willing to start a career now.

The room was full of people, and yet you had never felt more alone in your life.

Deserted by the one person you knew, you sighed and fought the urge to sink to the floor in despair. She hadn’t meant to leave you, but she’d always been like that— self-assured and well-adapted— and was easily swept away by a tide of companions that might have repulsed you, if you had not known how kind she was, and how that kindness ebbed and flowed, and attracted every human in sight.

You had always been bluntly honest, and few people, very few people indeed, valued honesty to the degree where they did not mind a slight offense to their character if it was the truth. Even you understood, because you were honest, but struggled to deal with the honesty of others. Particularly when it involved romantic involvement.

In the past year alone, four people had confessed attraction to you, and you had broken down each time, crushed by the horror of having to hurt them and say that you did not feel the same way, as well as the sinking feeling of how perhaps you were incapable of loving anyone, for but the idealised versions of people that lived within your head.

But many years ago, there had been a person you had loved, though perhaps you had been too young at the time to understand what it was you were feeling.

Since you’d left the place where he existed, you’d turned bitter and cynical.

You chose your friends carefully, not out of haughtiness, but out of a fear of being hurt, of trusting the wrong people with the terrible fears of your heart— ones that would certainly make them love you less, if they loved you at all.

And yet. You idealised the memories of people to an extraordinary degree. Far too often.

The ones you trusted you hefted upon a shrine of goodwill, embracing them longer and more fiercely when they departed your company, never ceasing to speak of them to anyone who would listen, thinking of them every day. It wasn’t an obsessive habit, you told yourself. It was just like everything else.

It was a desperation to be loved.

To be loved despite your faults, despite your vices and your numerous, unyielding virtues, to be loved even in the face of everything that made you unlovable.

And so you idealised those who made you feel loved, even when they ignored your letters or shunned your sentimentalism, because you knew that deep down, they wanted to be loved as much as you, but simply deigned to have more shame than you.

But you’d been ashamed for too long.

Now, you would be ashamed no longer, and would live in the dreams of your head if that would make you happy, because you were tired of being unhappy. And you were as good as addicted to the version of life that you’d created inside of your mind.

More often than not, however, the idealism caused you no end to grief, when years later, you would reunite with someone and they would turn out to be so very unlike the person you had dreamed them to be.

But there was one person. One person who, every time you ran across him, unbidden but never unwelcome, renewed your faith in humanity, and in being loved. Because he always made you feel loved, important, special. It was like there was no end to the love he could give to you, through his smiles, and the way he held your hand, even though the two of you had never been anything more than friends, through his quiet laughter at the silliest of your musings.

You were never quiet around him, as you were with most people. In fact, when you were in his company you had absolutely no filter at all, because he was the least intimidating person you had ever met. He wasn’t intimidating, because he was honest. Like you.

But he was also endlessly kind and endlessly romantic— he lived his life by the light of the stars and the music that hummed beneath his words, as though he found everything beautiful in some way or another.

You were angry at the world. He was in love with it.

Better still, you had never idealised him to become that person. He just simply was.

And you would never see him again.

He’d always been in and out of your life, but this time, it was over. You were sure of it.

You’d known him since the two of you had been no more than five years old, and you’d been in the playground with your all-girl friend group.

Even from a young age, you’d spent much time occupied by your thoughts, and standing in the middle of the playground on that summer’s day, counting to a hundred in this game of hide and seek, you’d thought it odd that you’d ended up with only girls for friends, when your very first friend, at age one, had been a boy.

You had wondered then, opening your eyes to find that your giggling friends had all hidden away, whatever had happened to him. When you’d started a new school, you’d lost contact with him…. Jacob. Yes, that had been his name.

And at five, insecure in the onslaught of new culture that surrounded you, you’d been overwhelmed by the terrible thought of your name fading from someone’s memory.

You’d started to cry.

You hadn’t meant to close your eyes a second time, having finished counting and intending to go and find your friends, but it was an easier way to hide your tears from any teacher who might have wandered past and asked you what was wrong. But in closing your eyes, you had dimmed your senses, and were thus startled by a hand on your shoulder, turning you around.

“What’s the matter?”

You’d opened your eyes to find a boy staring at you.

“I— I can’t find my friends,” you lied.

His smile was quick. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll help you. If you want..?”

Feeling strangely at ease in his presence, you’d nodded, unsure of yourself, but sure of the kindness he embodied. He took your hand into his own, and without a thought, kissed your cheek.

Baffled, you blinked.

He seemed to sense your startled reaction.

“It’s what my mum does whenever I’m sad,” he said. “She says it means she loves me, and that she’ll be there for me, no matter how lost I feel.” He shrugged. “You looked lost.”

And with that, he’d pulled you along at a jog, smiling a gap-toothed grin and going around the playground with you until you’d found each one of your friends.

Everyone had teased you from that day on, about how he was your boyfriend. They’d said it in such a sing-song way, though, and you couldn’t help but giggle at their remarks, to smile when he smiled at you and witness the oohs that chorused from the kindergartners around you.

So you’d let them tease you, and begun to call him your boyfriend.

He became one of your closest friends, taking you to the cinema on ‘dates’, paying for the tickets and the concessions with his own pocket money, the money he’d earned from whatever little chores he could pick up from his neighbours— weeding out the garden, walking dogs, polishing shoes.

He taught you how to play chess, how to swim faster than anyone else, and how to stand up for yourself, even when the people you had to stand up to were adults, ones who had proclaimed themselves older and wiser than your young, knobbly-kneed self.

You’d grown older, and when six years had passed, the remarks about him being your boyfriend had turned earnest. Your friends asked constantly whether you would ever kiss him, whether he’d asked to kiss you, and your parents joked about the two of you marrying one another when your ages eventually passed into the twenties.

But at the time, you were only eleven, still naïve and innocent of mind, and when you’d moved away, you’d thought next to nothing of your last day of seeing him, thought nothing when he hadn’t hugged you goodbye, because you were eleven, and hugging people was an intimacy reserved for family.

Over the years— once in every five, to be precise— you’d returned to your old home town to visit, and you and he had gotten on as well as you always had, though now he would hug you properly and tell you how tall and beautiful you’d grown in the time you’d been away. If he hadn’t always been so honest, you would have scorned him for lying to you, because you knew you were not beautiful, and he had always been taller than you.

So perhaps it was a fantasy to think that you should see him at this party tonight, in the city where it had all begun.

But still you hoped, because despite how your other friends had told you about his various new girlfriends over the years— real girlfriends, because you had been too young to ever be that to him— a part of you still dared to think that he could love you, as no one had ever loved you before.

⭒

She was here.

He walked with her in memories, had savoured her touch even when they’d been only eighteen, shivering, terrified beneath her fingers when they skimmed his arm, because he was afraid of acting upon his feelings, lest she rebuke him for crossing an unforgivable boundary— the boundary between friends and lovers.

It was a cliche, he knew, but his terror was real.

And seeing her now made him think he was dreaming, because she was standing alone, in precisely the manner that had characterised her solitude when they had been five.

Only this time she was not weeping. She had learned to stem her tears, as all children eventually must, and in her resolve, she was more beautiful than ever.

Anyone else might have found her eyes cruel, surveying the room as though the world was hers, and hers to judge, but he knew what she was doing.

She was doing what she had always done, compartmentalising and rationalising her fears until they withered beneath her incessant will to be stronger than that which scared her, and looking for a place to escape to, beneath the dim lighting and close-crowded bodies of the party.

If he hadn’t known any better, he’d have said she was looking for him.

But Brian was nothing if not honest, and so he quelled that train of thought before it was even fully formed.

Still.

It couldn’t hurt to say hello, could it? By some quick head-maths, he reckoned they were due for a reunion. It had, after all, been a good deal more than five years since he’d seen her last.

He downed the last of his drink, flexed his shaking hands, and began to carve a path through the crowd toward her.

⭒

“Y/N?”

Your heart had already been in your throat, but by god, surely it had ceased to beat at the sound of your name breathed from his mouth.

You turned around and your stopped heart nearly broke at the sight of him, standing there short of breath, tall as ever, those hazel eyes liquifying you completely with the earnesty of their gaze.

“Brian, hi.” You were as breathless as he, and when you stepped closer to him, you found that you were dizzy too, because you nearly toppled in your low-heels when he smiled.

“H-ey, watch yourself, love,” he gripped your hands before you fell, and you flashed him a grateful smile.

“Sorry,” you said, and, to your dismay, blushed.

He shook his head, gentle laughter bubbling up over his lips. “It’s okay,” he assured you.

You stared at him for a moment before the words fluttered from him like a net-full of butterflies, newly freed, only to choose their new home to be your stomach. “It’s so good to see you,” he gushed, and wrapped his arms around you.

Caught by surprise, your arms found residence around his neck, and when he leaned his head against yours, you breathed in the fresh-linen smell of his curls, the slight musk of his skin that was between vanilla and sage, impossibly both rain and perpetual sunshine.

“Why do we wait five years every time?” you wondered softly against the shell of his ear, like the honest person you were.

This was the most honest you’d been in years.

Because your honesty seemed to hurt others, and so you forewent honesty for honeyed lies, to spare them of the pain your words might otherwise have caused.

It was draining to lie all the time.

But you never had to lie with Brian, because where your honesty seemed to hurt others, it enamoured him. He told you so, as often as he had the chance.

“I honestly don’t know,” he whispered back, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

He pulled back at the sound and smiled again.

You suddenly couldn’t bear to spend another minute in this room full of strangers.

“Outside?” you said, and he nodded, taking you by the hand just as he had done all those years ago.

Outside, it was quiet and cold, and without a second thought, Brian had his arm around your shoulders, his warmth a welcome replacement to the coat you hadn’t thought to bring.

“So what brings you back home?” he asked as you sat down with him, by what appeared to be a garden pond. The water babbled with the presence of a small, adjourning stream, and the surface of the pool brimmed with blush-pink water lilies. The moon’s friendly light showed you as much.

And it showed you the marble-carved contours of Brian’s face, the bow of his pretty lips.

You licked your own, willing yourself to glance away, but finding the action utterly inviable.

“Oh, you know,” you began half-heartedly, “old friends to meet, new memories to be made.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Old friends?” he said. “And here I thought you were here to see me.”

He was joking, but his closeness abruptly dampened your skin with a nervous sweat. You wrinkled your nose and pushed his arm off of your shoulder before he noticed.

“Shut up, Brian. You know I mean you.”

Brian chuckled, carding long, elegant fingers through his tousled hair. “No, don’t worry. You don’t have to lie to me.”

You looked at him.

“When have I ever lied to you?”

The air was pulled taut as a string when his eyes met yours.

“Never,” he responded quietly. He made no movement for but that of speaking. He did not blink, and you did not breathe.

“I always come back to you,” you said, and now that the words were flowing, you could not stop them. “Because no matter how many years pass, no matter how much other people change—” you had to take a breath before it physically killed you. But it was a sharp breath, and Brian hung on your every word, so when you inhaled, he gravitated toward you.

“You,” you whispered. “You never change.”

He let out a little sound, something like oh, like a realisation.

And you couldn’t keep yourself from your honesty any longer, because you leaned in to kiss him.

His thumb curved over your lower lip, depriving you of that final touch, the one which held you suspended before him, with no modesty left, no secrets, no shame, no nothing.

No end to the love which you carried in your heart for him, like a candle you had held shielded for years, cupping your hands around the flame, even if your fingers burned, because keeping that candle alight mattered more to you than the suffering of pain, more than anything in this world.

“Don’t kiss me.”

How easily three words could shatter a soul.

“Wh—”

“‘Cause if you do, I’ll kiss you back.”

You dared exhale, and his eyes fluttered shut when you kissed the pad of his thumb.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Brian’s eyes opened, as his thumb tugged softly on your lip again. It was difficult to keep quiet when he touched you like that.

“Then despite our proclaimed honesty,” he said, “you’ve lied to me every day of your life.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, Brian. You just haven’t let yourself hear what I’ve been telling you.”

His eyes widened, and you were staring into a hazel-ringed abyss, a black hole super-positioned over dying nebulae.

Brian’s thumb slipped from your lip, and he replaced its pressure with his mouth.

Exhilaration surged through you and wound itself around your heart, turned your brain to nothingness as his kiss turned you to treacle, thoughts abandoned in favour of returning the tenderness of his touch.

It felt like he’d waited forever to kiss you, from the way he cradled you in his arms. And you felt suddenly desperate that he should never let you go, that he should stay this way forever, with the curve of his hips melded against yours, the press of his chest and the fold of his hands keeping you closer to him than you could ever have hoped to be, a breathless whine escaping his perfect mouth as he kissed you deeper, more desperately, as desperate as you felt. You were his equal in your want, in your need, and the understanding between the two of you set you free, because never had you felt such an easy, mutual understanding as this. It was the simplicity of his kiss that killed you a little— how plain he was in his emotions, how willing he was to show them to you. He had the same honesty as you, even if it manifested in a different way— a better, more loving way— because he understood how truth grounded you, and in revealing to you his affections, without the intent to play games or string you along, he understood you as well.

He was quick to love and slow to judge, and though his movements were languid, his kiss was not, dissolving you like sugar beneath his lips, wet from your tongue or his— it was difficult to tell. His senses were yours, his desire a divinity when you needed his touch as hopelessly as he needed yours, and you craved for the world to always hold him this close to you.

When he brought your lower lip between his teeth, you allowed yourself to shudder, and he smiled, pressing another quick kiss to your mouth.

“Why did we wait so long with being honest?” he murmured.

You laughed in response, winding your arms around his slim waist and kissing his shoulder. You felt him kiss your hair, and you nestled further into his hold.

“Never again,” you said.

He repeated the words in his lilting voice, and combed his fingers through your hair— lingeringly, lovingly.

And in the cold and the dark, you knew he would continue to be honest with you forever, because Brian was unlike anyone you’d ever met before.

Brian was special.

[magiefish]

hhhhhhhhhh guess who drew all the batim characters in prep for the comic they’re making!

yeah so it took like 4 days to draw all these guys, and it was actually pretty fun figuring out colours and designs and stuff!

(also, update on the Reveries Twisted comic, I have a plan for the first chapter but i have like, 7 tests next week and I haven’t started drawing it yet so it’s definitely not going to be coming out anytime soon sdfgsdfsj but i am still working on it!)

anyway, i felt like writing little descriptions for every character, so feel free to read these below the ‘keep reading’ line if you feel like it! My ask box is also always open, so if u have any questions feel free to ask

Bertrum Piedmont-he/him, gay/ace

-Started working as a mechanic at about 15 and worked his way up from there -Everyone in the studio @ him: why are u british -His big ego often gets in the way of things, but at his core he's a good person (doing bad shit but ultimately having good intentions is common among these guys shdgfs) -Wlw & mlm solidarity w/ Lacie, who is his most trusted confidant and friend -Actually treats his employees well, even when they do basically nothing all day, so he does a lot of work himself most of the time Linda Stein-she/her, straight as a ruler -Parents immigrated from Spain -She's very catholic and very into 'traditional family values' and that sort of stuff -She is sweet, but her strict morals and black and white ethics often make her do unintentional harm -She is also pretty oblivious to most things Jack Fain-he/him & they/them, pan/ace, OCD -Mother immigrated from China to France, and then he moved to America, it's confusing -Can play the violin really well, but is terrible at composing his own pieces -Peak friend material -Short and round and soft with a love of a good espresso -Kind and quiet but ultimately ineffective and happy to watch from the sidelines Daniel 'Buddy' Lewek-he/him, aro/ace, autistic, jewish -He is curious and observant, but very very naive -He finds it hard to pick up on social cues, and tends to daydream a lot -Never really had a father figure, and unfortunately kind of half sees Joey as one (baaaad choice), but his mother is great -Loves drawing and tends to chew on pens (and most objects really) -Too young Susie Campbell-she/her, demi -Her parents were Russian and she picked up their accent, but taught herself how to cover it up. She is now excellent at voice acting. -Has a birthmark most theatres turned her away for. But luckily voice acting gave her another chance at performance, and the music department really does not care about it. -Her dad was a butcher, so she now knows a concerning amount about how to cut up and dissect meat. -She gets easily attached to things emotionally, and has a whole pile of random bits and bops she keeps on her person because she can't throw them away. -Naive, but smart enough to know how to read and deceive people if needed. Ms Abigail Lambert-she/her, lesbian -A very gifted artist, who is quite frustrated with the business aspect of animation. -Picked up quite a few things about engineering from Lacie. -Stern, but kind. Motherly, if she likes you and you squint hard enough. -Used to fighting for things. -Giving her food is a pretty good way to get her to like you. Being an artist, she forgets to eat at the correct times a lot, so a meals always appreciated. Norman Polk-he/him, gay, albino -Knows how to fix things, knows how to fight, knows how to hide -General cool uncle vibes -He watches people a lot, and gives off some creepy vibes, but he does genuinely care about people -Knows something is up and is determined to find out what (even if he dies trying) -Fought in WW1, then worked at a cinema for a bit. Emma Lamont-she/her, heteroflexible -Keep dancing even when everything goes wrong -Bit of a 'i'm better than these fools' mentality going on -But she's pretty chill, and willing to act when needed -Basically every woman in the studio knows her on the basis that she chills in the girls bathroom. -Hates Joey, but knows those who stir up a bit too much trouble usually 'resign' Sammy Lawrence-he/him, (vocal-romantic) bi/ace, ADD -His dad sucked, so he ran away. He's also the reason he's largely abandoned his faith, but he still holds hope that there is some kind of god out there. -He and Jack are basically brothers, they've known each other for a long time. -He can compose music in his head, but can play basically every instrument. -Tall and thin and sharp with a love of black coffee. -He's actually pretty chill and nice, but the conditions of the studio (workload, noises, dreams) have left him quick to snap and a stressed out mess. -He's pretty oblivious to his own feelings and spends basically all his time thinking about music, so he usually only realises that he has a crush on someone if he hears them singing (hence the vocal-romantic joke) Johnny Hart-he/him (she/her), gay (trans), heart condition -A nervous wreck who avoids everything and everyone -Trans but doesn't realise it, he thinks this level of discomfort has something to do with his heart condition or something like that. -Speaking of which, if he gets genuinely terrified or panicked he could have a heart attack. -Hence why he's a recluse who remains in the organ room and interacts w/ literally no one. -Except Dot and Buddy (who forgets he exists and who he also has a crush on). Wally Franks-he/him, pan -Friends with literally everyone who isn't one of the older folks (and thomas) -Honorary member of the music department because he can play a harmonica and vibes with everyone there. -Tries to put a positive spin on everything, often beyond the point of reason -A mischevous, mildly selfish prankster with a heart of gold -Gossip pals with Susie and Norman The Violinist-she/her, nobody knows -Has literally never expressed an emotion ever -Seems to know things are going to happen before they happen -Just generally pretty weird -She isn't friends with Dot, they're both just vaguely interested in what the others doing -She looks a lot like Allison, but the two have never spoken and nobody knows if they're sisters Thomas Connor-they/them, gynephilia -He is just. So tired. -An actual mechanical genius who gets his work used for the wrong purposes. -Is very of the 'when you're on a path stick to it' mentality -Cold and hard exterior that vertually no one except Allison has ever managed to get through. -He can and will beat you up. Henry Stein-he/him, gay, vitiligo -Nice and hardworking. -Doesn't have many emotions other than to draw. -He's in fucking narnia he's so deep in the closest. -Feels emotions, but buries them deep down and doesn't express them too clearly. -Has difficulty setting healthy boundaries with people and represses himself far too much. Joey Drew-he/him, homoromantic/pansexual, bipolar disorder, alcohol and cigarette addictions -Chaotic, feral, short little man who lies to everyone -Charismatic as hell, but also a terrible friend and person in general -He doesn't blink enough, does not know the meaning of personal space, and hasn't aged for about 4 years, which are all very bad signs. -Doesn't understand how to run a business but does so anyway. Doesn't understand how to interact with people but does so anyway. Doesn't understand how to create life but does so anyway- -He isn't pure evil, he just gets into very bad mindsets and makes poor decisions that lead him down the wrongest way to go. -Does some self evaluation and goes 'maybe this wasn't the right way chief :/' just a bit too late Audrey Dempsey-she/her, lesbian, Borderline Personality Disorder -Feral conspiracy theorist -May or may not be related to multiple studio members -Everyone's called her crazy for years and made her feel like a burden, and she is hellbent on proving everyone wrong -Quite socially awkward, and rather sarcastic with a dark sense of humour -Works for Archgate Allison Pendle-she/her & they/them, androphilic/ace -Is forever lost in a vintage clothing store -Most people say she seems nice, but everyone just kind of subconciously registers that there is something up with her -Knows a lot about the supernatural -The person closest to Joey, which doesn't necessarily mean they're friends -Nobody has ever seen the right side of her face Dot Acciaci-she/her, pan -Her parents are Italian, and she speaks a little herself, usually using it to encrypt her private notes -Mischevious & curious, but ultimately kind -She will find out your secrets, and is very good at reading people -Great storyteller -Struggles with loneliness a lot Dr Eleanor Hackenbush-she/her, aro/ace -Science knows no bounds -Doesn't care what your motivation is, as long as you give her some cash and some experiments -Filled with nothing but utter spite Ms Reina Rodriguez-they/them, demi -Tired of everything -Although she puts up a calm exterior, Rodriguez is very attached to the studio and views it as her 'new family', having a terrible relationship with her old one -Her family drama connects to the fact they're very catholic, but she nobody knows what this drama is other than Joey Tessa Arch-she/her, straight -An absolute bitch -Trusts her husband far too much -Not very smart, but compensates for this for being good looking and rich Shawn Flynn-he/him (intersex), pan -Jovial, but gets angry quickly -Willing to do 'wrong' things if it helps someone else out, kind of like Robin Hood or something -His mother taught him how to sew and he helped her make clothes when he was younger -Found it hard to get a job because he's Irish, so despite being tired of all the bullshit of JDS, he is reluctant to look elsewhere -Friends with Lacie and Grant because they appreciate his humour Lacie Benton-She/her, lesbian, trans -Tougher than the toughies -wlw & mlm solidarity w/ Bertrum, who she views as one of the only genuinely smart people in JDS and who she has worked for for basically all of her life -Feels like something is up, but doesn't notice much if it doesn't connect to her work -Has automatophobia -Friend with Shawn and Grant because she respects their dedication to their work Grant Cohen-He/him, bi, depression, jewish -Absolute madlad at maths -Acts like he doesn't care what you think, cares far too much about what you think -Everyone wants him to just get therapy already -Doesn't have many friends, but has a weird 'we're both horribly overworked' kinship with Sammy, so they usually just chill and smoke together -Friends with Shawn and Lacie because they're actually mentally stable and he needs some rocks Nathan Arch-He/him, straight -You should hate him -You should hate him a lot -Super rich and doesn't pay his workers enough -Silver tongued -Basically a spider. Creates webs of manipulation and lies, sees a lot, and knows plenty about waiting for his prey to come to him.

[raevenlywrites]

The Ties That Bind 15 of ???

Rei stayed stiflingly close, even as we laid down to sleep. After the day I’d had--had it really only been one day?--all I wanted was sleep. I wished I could take comfort in Rei’s protective arm over mine, but what should be a thrilling indulgence was lost to exhaustion.

Karashan arrived in the morning to inform us the modest group of serpiente soldiers were in route, and this time, I sent Rei and Erica out to guide them to the Keep. I wanted a chance to talk to Karashan about how to proceed, and I wanted a break from Rei.

I was regretting the kiss more and more. I should have expected that it would change our dynamic--and indeed, it was meant to--but I missed the support of my best friend. I need my Rei back. I didn’t know who he was an alastair. I didn’t have the extra emotional energy to figure it out right now. So I sent him away, along with the overly reactive Erica, and set out for the keep with the much more level Raymond and Emune. It wasn’t lost on me that this was the pair I’d started with, and that they’d been on duty for over twenty-four hours. And Adelina...

The serpent pair had moved a little ways apart, facing the rising sun. Adelina was turned in such a way that she could watch us from the corner of her gaze, but it was clear the white viper had relaxed over the long stretch of being Zane’s lone guard. Either she was too tired to remain on edge, or I was witnessing the beginnings of our first steps towards peace.

I was also watching, I realized, the pair of serpents dance.

What I thought had been simple stretches, much like those of my Flight, were actually the precursor to a series of steps, slow and long and languorous. Hands reached high, fingers outstretched, the dancer’s up on the balls of their feet. They swayed like the trees, moved by a subtle wind that I could not see, but they could clearly feel. There was a musicality to their motions that I swore I could almost hear, an echo of memory...

“Best not to stare too long,” Karashan said, startling me from what certainly felt like a trance. I blinked too rapidly as I turned to her.

“Don’t tell me you believe all those lies about hypnotism.”

Karashan arched an eyebrow. “From what I hear tell, the Shardae magic was alive and wild yesterday, nearly coming to a full Song between you and your mother. You think our side is the only one with magic?”

I knew we weren’t, but surely it was an active thing, not something that happened simply by admiring them in the early morning sun.

I realized my gaze had drifted back to them, and Karashan gave me a knowing nod that made me want to duck my shoulders. I reacted as I always did by standing straighter.

“I want you to tell me all you know as we walk, and hopefully Zane and Adelina will offer their side of things. I know,” I said, raising my hand to forestall her obvious statement of distrust. “If they are planning something, why would they tell us about their strengths and weaknesses. I know. Believe me, General, I’ve spent much of the past several days thinking these exact same thoughts. We must proceed in good faith. As I’ve said again and again, if I am meant to fall by Zane’s hand then so be it. I will not live as if we are enemies. Peace has to come from within our hearts.”

“Peace comes from within people’s bellies,” the older crow said, “Or their pockets. Hearts are a luxury. An important one, granted, but still a luxury. If you want the Generals to follow you, you’ll have to tempt them with things more substantial than hearts. A man who’s known only war will seek only war, unless you give him something more tempting to do.”

“I should like your advice on how to handle the generals as well,” I said, noting from the corner of my eye that Zane and Adelina were wrapping up. “Either privately or in conjunction with Zane.”

I felt a headache beginning to form at my temples. Too many days in a row of too little sleep, too many worries, and too much uncertainty. How was peace proving to be more taxing than war? Or was I simply trading in one war for another? Karashan was right that the general’s council was the real problem. People like Elanor’s aunts were already living in a practical peace with their serpiente counterparts. War out here meant disruption to the vital activities of daily life. War in the council hall meant about as much as particularly compelling duel or chess match. They had all started their lives as actual soldiers, yes. But the pawns had made it across the board and now sat comfortably with the power of queens.

I was getting tired of all these too apt metaphors.

-

“Our monarchy  isn’t quite as defanged as yours,” Adelina said, apparently oblivious to the pun. “The Cobriana’s have always led their people into battle personally--but then, well. You saw Gregory.”

The normally brash woman grew pensive, eyes scanning the trees for potential threats, but also to avoid looking at either Zane or me. Zane’s youngest brother, Gregory Cobriana, had been only fourteen when he’d died on the battlefield. I’d lost my youngest brother Xavier in same battle. Xavier had been there to sing our people into strength; his gifts had always run strongest towards shields of subtlety and hiding. While not creating true invisibility, such songs did give our soldiers a measure of unnatural stealth needed to match the natural speed and athleticism of serpiente soldiers. I had no idea what advantages the Cobriana brought to their people. Gregory had died in my arms just as slowly and awfully as any avian I’d ever sang to their final rest.

I wrapped my arms around myself, cold and miserable. I was not used to so much walking, and my heart and body were equally sore. I tried not to let my discomfort show--especially in light of Zane’s extrasensory  awareness of my emotional state--but the memory of holding Gregory’s dying body was awful, and I was already so exhausted.

Zane’s shoulder brushed mine and I startled, coming to a stop. I gave him questioning eyes; Zane was entirely too bodily aware to ever brush me on accident. His eyes were lost, wide and dark and haunted. Had he been anyone else, I might have taken his hand.

And why not? Just because he was Zane Cobriana? I’d held Gregory’s, why not his?

“You were the last person on earth to feel his heartbeat.”

That statement stopped me cold, hand almost reaching for his, but not quite.

“Yes?” I made the word a question, an invitation to speak further. I had no idea where he was going with this.

“I...”

His eyes rolled shut, closed down with pain, face falling away even though he was no longer looking at anything. Adelina came up behind him, hand resting on his shoulder, body molded to his back. It should have been unseemly, but it was so obviously a gesture of comfort I could see no impropriety in it.

Adelina looked at me from over Zane’s shoulder.

“Among our people, we process our grief by sharing it. A burden carried by many hands is no burden at all.”

Zane pressed back into Adelina, eyes still closed, but face smoothing. I felt suddenly awkward, not at their display, but at the idea that my presence could add anything to it. This was so far removed from anything I’d ever seen in my own court--

Except, didn’t I also let Rei hold me this way, in those quiet moments alone when it was all too much. The only difference was the serpents weren’t hiding it.

And that they were asking me to join them.

“Please,” Adelina said, startling me with the softness of her petition. “As he said, you were the last to feel his brother’s heart beating. If it moved you at all, share that grief with us. Let us remember him with you.”

What could I do but nod and offer them my hand?

It felt too intimate to take his in mine while Adelina was holding him. Somehow, pressing my hand over his heart felt exactly right.

His chest was smooth and solid beneath my hand, tight with the developed muscle of practice and use. I felt an obvious mound of scar there, lines and ridges as harsh as the injury that must have caused it. What I didn’t feel was the heat of another living body, the rapid staccato of a frantically beating heart. Zane’s body was cool, barely warmer than the early morning air around us. And his heartbeat was a slow and steady drum, thick and rhythm, the perfect backbeat to the dance I’d seen him doing with Adelina.

Did all serpent’s hearts beat like drums? Or was it only this heart, who had to keep steady so many could follow it?

Gregory’s body had been cool, but I had thought that the effect of his injuries, and oncoming passing. I had thought his body slowed in preparation to be stilled, but Zane’s was just as stilled, just as chilled. Marveling, and acting only out of the distraction of fascination, I touched Adelina’s hand on Zane’s shoulder. Just as cool, just as still, like the unbroken quiet of early morning.

A natural bird will sun itself in the morning, wings spread wide to soak up the sun. A natural serpent will bask at all hours, their bodies at one with the world around them, heat rising and falling with their movement and environment.

A serpiente will bask in emotions in just the same way.

I felt the moment my memory passed to them. Not a literal sharing of recollection, but the emotion of it. The pain, the hopelessness, the helplessness--and the determination to see it through to the end. My guards had urged me to leave him, to pass this one by. Not that one, my lady. Not that one. I had knelt by his side as I would any other, holding his hand and singing songs of peace and comfort. They were never empty, when I sang, though some days it was harder to hold onto their meaning than others. For the magic to work, I had to sing with my whole heart. So I sang to Gregory Cobriana and thought of my brother, and wished desperately that this would be the last. I sang Gregory Cobriana to the ground, and tried to sing the war to sleep with it.

I had not realized I had begun to sing again now. It was only when Raymond’s voice joined mine, filling out the song with the rich tenor tones that I had never gotten to hear from his cousin, my dear Vasili, that I became aware of my currently reality again at all. How easy would it have been to be lost in those memories? How easy to dwell in that dark place that waits behind our eyelids, where past and future swirl and bleed into one another, and time stands still? But Raymond’s song pulled me back, and Karashan joined too with a simple harmonizing alto. I hadn’t realized the general could sing--but of course she could. All soldiers learned to sing, if for no other reason than to recognize the Shardae songs at work.

Only Emune, Zane, and Adelina remained quiet, though I could have sworn I felt the serpiente heartbeats shift under my hand to match the cadence of our joined song.

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire

[michaelbogild]

Quotes written April 18 2021

our mutual melodies, our ancient lights that are wed to each other

her soul is spangled with astral grace

our love had florid stretches, our love had terrible pits

Give me, Life, a draught of oblivion.

she entered the truth of this love with a heart about to burst

Of course I love her, I am eternally fond of flowers.

how easily charmed I was, how deeply you travelled into my soul

in her heart, a lone buttercup whispering something true to his ethereal dreams

she answers his soul with all the colors of her affections

the ghostly waves of her forsaken ocean

I am just a floating phantom that once were in love but now is lost

he sailed into the star-spangled night of her sirenic beauty

the florid touch of her soul's amorous eloquence

I met the angels that wrote the harmonies of our love. They were devils.

though his love her emotions became songs of starry beauty

your roses were not without their shades, shades that swallowed me and all my eternal foolishness

tonight, tonight you look like the muse of the moon

I felt in her love the true pulse of life

I writ her absence upon the heart of the unknown

Our poem died too soon, but so does all beautiful things

he set aflame the saddest moon of her heart

surreally pulled by the gravity of her cryptic songs

I still linger in the illusion that you actually loved me

finally we meet, two souls divorced for centuries

in her heart, a fearless daffodil that knows how to dream

I am not a great guitarist, but I play the piano really badly.

Touch me with the mystic silence of all your moons.

nothing is mundane when I close my eyes and dream

her love wears the spirit of an infinite rose

Your are the blue skies that lives in my soul as lies.

her beauty is a bird fluttering in the half-light of his heart

Her bohemian soul, her fancy everything.

you broke the spine of my entire universe

Lady luck, what the fuck?

she wore the endlessness of his love, an invisible dress of mystic grace

I will never see you again, I know that, but how you shine in my lyrics.

the flaming music of her wildflower affections

her roses are now praying, where is his love?

her wraithlike eyes, eyes that saw everything and nothing

time dissolved by the power of our touches

the seraphic enchantment of her gorgeous eyes of spring

I am higher than the star of her love and beauty.

A love that could deluge the heart

we ran full-tilt into what we mistook for heaven

the ambiguous rose of her half-light love

What shall tame this heart now that it has gazed into eternity?

the sad whispers of your absence is nothing but ghosts, but I can't forsake them

she is the temple I pray in, she is the darkness outside of it

our love unfolded a higher reality

see was too ethereal to embrace

Writing poetry has become a psychedelic for me.

timeless temptress, muse of my heart, sing, sing into this night that never ends

we were the throbbing pulse of that night, we burned harder than the stars

he orbits her beauty with his delirious verses

I am suspended in a sky that exist beyond my life.

the ascending poetry of our young love

I am as broken as the autumn that gave birth to me.

the burning cathedral of our star-crossed love

The canvas is empty...and will remain so until she returns.

he excites her heart with the force of a thousand dreams

you deserve an ode that will survive the stars

I planted flowers of poetry on the grave of our love

I will rebuild my life, brick by brick, without you.

the bleeding bride of the moon, whispering to me something unclear, in a night, in a night of a thousand oddities

we took flight towards heaven winged with a thousand hopes

I read a page from her mystic heart and fell irretrievably in love

there are definitely moments when I feel like a cosmic child

she rejoiced in the spring with all the roses of her dreams

thinking about you is flirting with melancholy

I exist outside of my brain, in the world of a dream that can't possibly be real.

they married the vastness of each other's love

we were fit for paradise, but we burned it down

a poem written by the ink of God

You do not own my heart, the night does, which has stopped calling out your name.

we belong in the heart of the cosmos, our love will take us there

He scored the royal flush of women, but did he know?

her beauty, a mystic pearl

her heart was slighted by the summer of his beauty

how easily she stirs the depths of his wonder

no one will ever find the broken crown of our love, except of course they read my poems

All her stars were enchanting, she sang their light into his heart.

the lyrical dreams of our far-travelling souls

her love was a hollow poet

he brushed the marigolds of her feelings

the resounding canyon of his hearts flaming love-poems

As you played with my heart your own slowly rotted.

in this mystic night of oddities, a profound deepening, whispers, subtle lights, and all my future seen as memories

She lit a candle in the darkest room of my heart.

the elusive butterflies of her more-than-divine love

her love felt like an ancient secret, a hidden star

she wears the yoke of a thousand yesterdays

the yawning abyss of everything I have become, the endless darkness, oh the infinite darkness

The soul of midsummer has turned into the stars of her eyes

I lost my way when I decided to love you

dancing on the shore of his love, daydreaming with the waves

her hopes are now weeping within the saddest cadences of nightingales

she loves with the persistence of a waterfall

the secret rose of her soul was perfumed with the miracle of his love

the radiant songs of our hearts are now wounds of unutterable darkness

this stranded homeless soul, this soul without a dream

From soulmates to strangers, what a beautiful ending.

every song is a knife that cuts me open, how I bleed your absence

she drinks the wine of his soul

His captivated heart sails upon the waves of her songs.

her soul wears the perfume of his heart's golden poetry

the moons of her love were nothing but mirages

the transient dance of shallow love is all she has experienced

I am stranded in a desert void of her love

...and I drank a cup of stars, and I forgot the world and every traitor in it.

the ink that praises you ought to live forever

she weaves into his soul the astral charms of her wildflower sensuousness

the perpetual darkness of her devilish gravity

the astral flare of our young and burgeoning love

she could dream forever in the warmth of his arms

everything this girl does is shaped like poetry

he painted his dreams with all the colors of her personality

he shapes with his summery love the budding constellations of her dream-wild soul

we stand outside the seasons, touched by colours that don't exist

like a careless wave is fate when she washes over us

I keep circling the soul of what we had, I am knee-deep in memories

her love, my lethe

he held her in a mystic embrace, entering her heart like a thousand pulsating truths

his strong affections are madrigals of summer, strains of serendipitous light

she is perfectly scented with the roses of God

But her songs have shades and only them am I allowed to embrace

Where is my mind? Have you seen it? Did her love steal it? I will ask the moon.

at the threshold of true love, two souls ready to be united forever

kissed by a moon-goddess on a night of sweet surrender

the dreadful dissonance that is now between us, how harrowing to my heart

Snowflakes, so many snowflakes. Where are we? Oh yes, in a dream.

She basks in his vast beauty, transfixed on his beautiful lips.

her imperial eyes of sure victory

His flames are French, his warrior-heart Greek.

he is on every page of her heart

only he can read the pages of her blood

the fleeting muse of my crepuscular soul

we ascended into the heart of a sea-born mystery

I kept dancing at the edge of illusion, trying again and again to trap reality

only through love could we flow into each other's souls

the imperial flame of her ruthless soul

lonely lips, aching skin, fevered heart

the astral joys of simply just holding you

We are satellites in a sorrowful twilight, drifting further and further away from each other

Yes, I fell, but into poems.

The spring moon took us into his dreams.

You emptied day by day my soul of stars.

the spirit of the darkness, her eternal twin

richly charmed I was, deep in dreams that sang your name in rainbows

Not even Shakespeare could produce poetry this rapidly.

I live at the periphery of something that shouldn't exist

another love, another soul whose beauty will grow back my wings

We will live forever. Our love is one of divinity's rhymes.

so wondrously colored were the dreams of our burgeoning love

her words are courtesans, her eyes are lies

we turned into ethereal light in those resplendent moments of sensual love

They interwove their imaginations and composed a dream of endless splendour

you were a secret path to paradise

she liberated with a tender kiss the sunlight of his soul

he crucified with his goodbye all the roses of her hopeful love

the songs of her beauty, chains

She charms his emotions with all the summers of her heart.

the astral richness of her dreamily divine eyes

the wistful dusk has a song for our hearts

my dreams are becoming more and more solid

Often did he sail to the moon when she loved him, often did he enter the pulse of life.

bathing in the moonlight of his faithful love

I feel the alluring gravity of her notes, I throb with every beat of her wildflower airs

we met within the colors of a sudden mystery

The evanescent music of those dreamy spheres, how I miss it.

I imagined a heaven that could never exist

her love is a conduit of colours, the spring of eternal songs

she breaks the borders of my very thoughts, her soul is pure endlessness

the truest colour must be that of your eyes

the soft whispers of angels can still contain lies

the infatuated moons of her sea-kissed heart

he reached with a perfect kiss the secret lyrics of her spring-blessed soul

I clung to a dream that didn't want me.

your love and beauty is the true world and the only world I will worship

our moonstruck hearts spoke in the poetry of sensual touches

To think of you is to walk at the contour of a mystery.

We have never been further apart, so why do I feel you so deeply in my bones?

Venus herself could not have slid into my soul any faster than you

the velvet paradise of her seraphic love

our love had a spiritual chorus, but this religion had to die

the aching ocean of her breakable heart

the burning pilgrim-notes of her desirous love

His imagination has taken on the shape of the universe.

she is made entirely of night-songs

she floats into empty spaces and decorates them with all the colours and shapes of his translatable beauty

she invites another universe into my heart

Everything she is, everything she does, summons poetry from his soul.

the sunset knows my heart better than you ever did

I amorously burn through verses and visions. I miss you all the time.

the liberated Venus of her bashful beauty

he rides on the crests of her oceanic emotions

the luscious strains of her beauty's cosmic song

black tears, all I shed now are black tears

you darken my writings, your dusk is everywhere

I was enslaved within the songs of the sea-nymphs, I felt a thousand waves curse my bones and blood.

though naked she wears the spirit of the night

I am restlessly rooted in nights that call out your name.

her poems like ornately-colored butterflies

I can finally drink the wine of my own spirit.

she danced with the soul of his love on a shore of exotic dreaming

foolishly anchored in the elusiveness of his love

vaster than the dreams of God is her summer-born beauty

nothing can dream like a pair of green eyes

he chases immortality through sonnets of glorious devotion

they were ready to drown in each other's blood

she is the throbbing pulse of his verdant poetry

love, the mirage I supposed real

I am high on the poetry of this life, this life with you

She plays with the unsung darkness, places the dusk upon her tongue.

Ever a slave to her sorcerous spirit.

how rapidly we turned into stars, how deeply we felt the cosmos of love's deepest truths

loving her was like dancing next to an abyss, drunk

I stand in the rich blaze of her mystic spirit

he courts her jasmine heart with a poem of unbeatable eloquence

the sea-nymphs of her silken voice speaks of endless love

[fayewonglibrary]

Wong’s Way (2011)

An anomaly in the cookie-cutter world of Cantopop, FAYE WONG has paradoxically found success by playing against the rules. Prestige Hong Kong follows her down the road less travelled

FIVE YEARS MAY not seem like that long, but it can be a lifetime in an entertainment industry that feeds off the right-here and the right-now. So it came as a surprise when, half a decade ago, Faye Wong decided to step back from the limelight and resume as much of a normal life as might ever be possible for a woman whose music has sold in the millions and who has combined that side of her existence with an acclaimed acting career.

From an existence playing before tens of thousands, what the Beijing-born Wong longed for at that point in time was a life tucked away in the peace and tranquillity of home – and after almost 20 years in the spotlight, and with her every move followed by a fan base that can be tallied in the millions, who could really blame her?

But as an artist who in an age of corporate conformity flatly refuses to play to any predetermined stereotype, Wong has always preferred to play by her own rules. It may come as a surprise, then, to find out that Faye Wong was not always “Faye” – diehard fans will remember a period in which the artist was known as Shirley Wong Ching-man, an affectation suggested by her record company early in her career, because of the stigma associated with the hip factor (or lack thereof) of mainland Chinese artists and names.

Even Wong’s early hits weren’t what you would call “original” – her first few albums were filled with formulaic Cantopop: collections of saccharine, predictable tunes that failed to properly utilise her delicate, lilting soprano. When she broke out of that shell in 1992, after a short travel hiatus, she finally found success, initially with a cover of a Japanese chart-topper in Cantonese, “Fragile Woman.”

Despite her disinclination to be impacted by her local contemporaries, Wong was not without her influences. She covered songs by The Cranberries, took quirky style cues from Björk and collaborated with the Cocteau Twins. The further she strayed from Cantopop, the more fame she found, penning her own songs and admittedly self-indulgent lyrics. She rapped on “No Exit,” yodelled through “Di-Dar” and even won the hearts of nerds by wailing the English-language title track to the hit video-game Final Fantasy VIII, “Eyes On Me.”

Even when her albums weren’t critical or commercial successes, her fame continued to grow, exponentially and uncontrollably. Her handful of acting roles, including in Chungking Express and 2046, showcased a curious, simultaneous aloofness and magnetism, an infectious, ravishing oddness.

In 2005, two months before she married actor Li Yapeng, she announced that she would take a break from show business. And so for five years there have been sightings, the occasional public appearance and the work for her own charity, but otherwise it’s pretty much been silence from Wong, as her fans – and the world at large – waited.

With that in mind, we should not have been surprised at the reaction to the news that Wong would finally be reemerging, to stage comeback concerts that started in Beijing last October, then took in Shanghai and Taipei before coming to Hong Kong, the place where Wong’s career was launched, for a series of shows in March. Tickets – for all nights, at all venues – sold out in a matter of days and the critical response has been overwhelming.

The headlines said it all: “The Diva is Back.”

What the Wong faithful have found is that their idol has lost none of the passion for the music that forms, as she puts it herself, part of her fate. They’ve been treated to nights filled with the songs that have formed the soundtrack for the lives of a generation here in Hong Kong – and beyond.

When Prestige Hong Kong found the interview-shy 40-year-old, she was in between shows and letting that fate take its course. What Wong wants the world to know is that throughout her storied career there has, she says, never been any real plan. She’s simply a woman who lets the cards fall as they may.

Can you talk a little about your return to the stage and playing live? What brought about the decision to play your recent concerts? I consider this a natural move for me. I’ve been doing several commercials as well as releasing some new singles over the past few years. So this was a natural progression back to live performances. It’s all part of my career.

How did you go about deciding what form the concerts would take and the songs you played? There’s no special form or arrangement that’s deliberately conceived for my concert. I believe my singing is the main source of interaction between the audience and me. Every show is unique and my mood is different, depending on the atmosphere. It’s not my practice to talk much with people or have any planned speech in my concert, because I don’t want the conversation to ruin the whole integrity and mood of the arrangement of the concert. I hope my audiences can indulge themselves with my music, while also digesting the message my show is delivering.

After the recent concerts in Shanghai and Beijing, what’s your feeling about coming back on stage? It feels so good to see all my fans again.

Do you have any plans to work on a new album? If so, will you be writing songs yourself? There’s no plan to work on a whole new album. But there is a possibility to release singles, and maybe I’ll write some songs myself.

How different to you is the experience of playing live now as compared to when your career began? What have you learned and how much has the experience for you changed over the years? I’ve been working with different sets of crews, composers, producers etc since the beginning of my career. Each of these collaborations has opened up a whole new experience and been an amazing inspiration for me. Call it a fireworks feeling.

What was it that initially drew you to the music business? What was it that you found most exciting? I believe singing is my destiny, and it’s fate that this became my career. I find it gratifying that I’m able to touch people’s lives with my songs. It’s a form of good karma.

Have your musical tastes changed or evolved as you matured as a person and as an actress? I admire different types of music and things depending on the different stages of my life.

Did becoming a mother change how you approached both your singing and your career? There was no change. I still sing with the same commitment and feeling, and it’s the same with my career.

And how much, do you think, did this change you as a person? The process of raising a child is part of my evolution as a human being. If you’re not a parent or don’t fully involve yourself as a parent, you’ll never realise this traditional, fulfilling role of parenthood. As a parent, it’s natural to want to show your best side and provide the best example to your child. However, sometimes it’s hard to break habits that may surface from time to time. It’s a painful cycle, because even though you realise your own faults, to change yourself completely requires a lot of courage and determination.

We’re curious about a typical day for Faye Wong. What’s your routine when you’re not performing? What time do you go to bed, what’s your favourite meal and what activities do you share with your kids? Basically, I go to bed and wake up the same time as my kids do. I got used to enjoying the regular pattern of a healthy lifestyle, but that won’t happen coming back to work.

Frankly, there’s so much to do when you take charge of a whole household. My life in the past few years was completely occupied by family and there was no time for me ever to feel bored. Sometimes I feel that I was even busier than when I was working as a singer.

Do you think your children share the same character as you? When I look at my kids, it’s like looking into a mirror and seeing the deepest side of myself.

What are the things that make you most happy now, compared with when you were younger? What do you now cherish most? I cherish everyone and everything. I’m fortunate to appreciate what I have and the people I know.

How do you see your image now? Are you an artist who is careful to control her image, or is it more a case of come what may? The most effortless style suits me best. I aim to be the most natural, honest in my approach. I want it to be pure, not something that seems too contrived or created just to fit the latest trend.

What are you most passionate about? To find the real meaning of life, and share it with lots of people.

What about acting? Is this something you’re keen to pick up again as well? If so, what kinds of films and roles might interest you? Right now, I have no plans on filming.

What are the challenges you see ahead in the next few years? What can your audience expect? My life has no planning, and I’m not a person who conceives everything in advance. It always depends on what’s being offered and what I feel like doing at that moment. There’s no pressure on myself – I leave everything to chance and fate.

The Smile Angel Foundation was founded in Beijing in 2006 by you and your husband, Li Yapeng, after your own child was afflicted with a cleft lip. It’s helped a lot of other children suffering from cleft lips and palates. Has the foundation changed your life or your character in any way? My contribution to Smile Angel Foundation is not as much as my husband’s involvement. He’s very busy working on plans to support the foundation. For me, basically, I’ll attend annual charity events and activities to lend my support.

On this project, we started everything from scratch and are very gratified to see how much it has accomplished. My husband is definitely the driving force behind the foundation, and I really admire his passion, courage and capability.

At your current stage, do you think you have evolved in your perspective of things compared with when you were younger? Can you share your road of growth a little bit? I was a bit stubborn, objective and capricious when I was younger. I’m now more willing to be open-minded and flexible, and always try to remind myself about this. It’s quite difficult to stop old habits surfacing from time to time. But I’m trying hard to accomplish it.

Do you have any advice on how to maintain a woman’s beauty and charm after the age of 30? First of all, you have to accept your age. I believe everyone has their own unique way to create their own charm and maintain their beauty, which is sometimes a very personal approach. One should find one’s own best way; there really is no standard formula for everyone to maintain their beauty. I believe the most natural side of a person is the most beautiful.

You’re acclaimed as a pioneer of alternative music. Does that mean you won’t compromise with the commercial market? I never define my music as “mainstream” or “edgy” or “alternative.” I just do what I like.

Photography / Shameless Eye Production AG Styling / Titi Kwan Hair / Alain Pichon Make-up / Zing Wardrobe / Céline Spring 2011 collection

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SOURCE:  PRESTIGE HONG KONG

[notsosensational]

This is my classpect master post for Danganronpa 1! I just replayed the game so it’s fresh in my mind, and I tried to keep these fairly short so I cut out some of the smaller details. Feel free to tell me what you like or what you don’t. I will be reblogging with thoughts about Touko and Genocider Sho. Also check out @jinjojess post about the DR1 classpects! I compared a lot of my thoughts with theirs!

Naegi Makoto - Witch of Heart

-actively manipulates feelings and sense of self. He is not very confident in himself, we know this from the beginning, and I think that manifests as acting as a Seer of Mind pretty often. It gets him pretty far in the trials, but his true talent lies in getting people on his side. Sayaka was into him before she even talked to him, and throughout the game people come to him for help concerning things to do with emotions and sense of self (Touko & Byakuya, Kiyotaka & Mondo twice). Not to mention, he’s labelled “ultimate hope”, which is due to him being able to boost everyone’s spirits (change their mood).

Asahina Aoi - Sylph of Hope

-passively heals positivity, possibilities, and beliefs. I really wanted to go with life for her, but while she’s full of energy, she’s not all that concerned about growth or overcoming obstacles, she just wants things to turn out well and that’s more in the realm of positivity and possibility. When Sakura’s secret was out, Aoi was most concerned with how to get the rest of them to believe her and to believe in Sakura; she needed to heal the group’s faith. She consistently believes in everyone, even though she is frequently disappointed, and the only exception to this is Byakuya and Touko after they insult Sakura. 

Togami Byakuya - Prince of Life

-actively destroys growth and energy. His manner is very, very prince-like, “I’m the best and I can’t understand why no one else sees that”, not to mention he’s basically a literal prince of his family. He’s very quick to shoot people down and destroy their spirit, their energy, and during investigations he’s either no help at all, or antagonistic. All of the life players we’ve seen in HS have been on top of the food chain, the Peixes blood color and Jane’s Crocker corporation, which are both comparable to the Togami family. Before the killing game, he was most concerned with growing stocks, owning businesses, and obtaining knowledge he will use when he is the monarch of his family, which all seem life-like.

Celestia Ludenburg - Heir of Void

-passively changes misfortune and secrets. Originally I had her as light, but she doesn’t really care about information, only keeping secrets. She doesn’t use fortune to her favor, instead she just *is* luckier than the others, i.e. changing everyone else’s misfortune. She’s not actually that active though- she doesn’t do it on purpose and she doesn’t do a lot in general as she prefers to get others to do stuff for her. But she does play into the heiress persona, changing her name to seem like nobility and wanting dozens of servants.

Fujisaki Chihiro - Page of Doom

-actively exploits and is served restrictions and suffering. She is very clearly doom, as she is very empathetic due to her suffering in life, in addition to being a programmer when doom is linked to coding. I really can’t see anything else. Her being a page is also pretty clear- a slow growing class that tends to put up a facade, and is linked to a servant archetype when Alter Ego was basically the team’s servant. Her main desire is to help the rest of them even after her death through the restrictions that Alter Ego has.

Yamada Hifumi - Rogue of Light

-passively steals information and substance. I considered a number of possibilities for him, settling on light first. He has the rambley, self-important dialogue of a light player, he collects information about his interests in anime and fanfiction, and he creates fanfic. While creation isn’t light specific, taking the info and substance from an anime and rehashing it into his own stories sounds like a rogue of light. He is later a servant to Celeste, who feeds him lies and misfortune; he could be called a Page of Void at that point, which is fitting with Celestia’s void aspect.

Ishimaru Kiyotaka - Knight of Time

-passively exploits and serves through time. He’s very strict about time, being on time and using time wisely. Not just for himself though, he wants everyone to hold the same policies he has. He wants to have an environment where everyone is able to give it their all- he wants to exploit the time he has in order to serve everyone. His inversion is Thief of Space, and I think we see this in “Kiyondo Ishida”, as he seems to steal Alter Ego’s creation to add another dimension to himself. And- this is just my opinion- I also think he ghosts his inversion pretty often even before that, due to the impact of the disreputation of his grandfather and his vehement dislike of “geniuses”.

Kirigiri Kyouko - Maid of Mind

-actively creates and heals logic and decisions. She eluded me for a while tbh. I thought light first, but while she focuses on finding the truth, other information isn’t as important, and she doesn’t seem to match any other markers of light. Instead she seems more like Terezi, a mind player who likes law and detective work. Kyouko creates a path of decisions that surround a crime, and she uses logic to help Makoto make the right choices. She is outwardly cold and focuses on controlling her emotions, which makes me suspect she ghosts her inversion as a Bard of Heart due to her lost sense of self.

Kuwata Leon - Rogue of Breath

-passively steals and relocates freedom and direction. I understand him to have only come into himself recently. I think for most of his life he was ghosting as a Page of Blood, getting served bonds and obligations that he didn’t really want but exploiting them so he was free to do things other than study. When he was accepted at Hope’s Peak, he finally took his freedom and decided that he was going to do what he was driven to do, which is pursuing music. Rogue also fits into the outcast archetype of his alternative/punk style of clothes and personality.

Oowada Mondo - Bard of Blood

-passively destroys bonds and obligations. Blood is everything to him, his brother and his gang are most important, and his word and his promises are solid. But his brother died for his recklessness, he lied about it, he killed Chihiro which exposed her secret even though he tried to cover it up, and he broke Taka’s spirit when he died. He destroys the bonds around him passively, without meaning to, and his secret and his act of killing were both fairly out of the blue. No one really expected that of him- certainly not Kiyotaka, and that fits a bard’s MO.

Oogami Sakura - Maid of Blood

-actively creates relationships and bonds. She is defined by her bond to her family and her bond to her destiny. She is devoted to growing stronger, which made me think life, but she’s growing stronger to fulfill her duty and keep the respect of her family, not to overcome obstacles. That aspect though, the desire to help everyone else become stronger too, that’s very maid/sylph. She’s fairly passive, but definitely not passive enough for sylph, and she tends to focus more on creating new bonds especially regarding ones with herself, rather than healing preexisting ones.

Maizono Sayaka - Mage of Void

-actively knows misfortune and secrets. She tells Makoto that she’s known from a young age that she will have to do anything to reach her dreams, and she acts on her understanding of that misfortune which leads to her death. She focuses more on the misfortune and nothingness part of void, acutely understanding that if she falls out of relevancy, she’s done for. She also jokes with Makoto about being a psychic, knowing his unheard thoughts, which plays into the prophet archetype of a Mage, and knowing the unknown.

**Fukawa Touko & Genocider Sho - Page of Heart & Bard of Heart

-actively exploits and is served emotions and self-identity. Touko… has some issues. She is very concerned about herself, who she is, and how she’s perceived, which is the trademark of a heart player. She is actually good at using emotions to get what she wants. She gets people to stay away from her but also be concerned about her at the same time, not to mention she managed to get Byakuya to let her tail him around which I still don’t understand how. She keeps a strong facade up due to her insecurities and necessary caution due to Genocider Sho.

-passively destroys sense of self and emotions. Sho destroys emotions in a literal sense, by killing anyone she “crushes” on, and she destroys Toko’s sense of self through emotions by leaving her to come to at murder scenes, therefore forcing her to stay paranoid and keep a huge secret. Doesn’t really do it intentionally, as Sho tells Makoto that it’s the same thing as a soccer player kicking a ball, it’s just nature.

Hagakure Yasuhiro - Seer of Hope

-passively understands possibilities and beliefs. Even when he’s pessimistic, he’s optimistic by everyone else’s standards. He is always able to see some better possibility… whether it’s true or whether others believe him remains to be seen. He definitely fits the somewhat far-fetched but unshakable beliefs profile that Hope players have. And he’s definitely knowledgeable about his, uh, profession in a way that seers usually are.

Ikusaba Mukuro - Knight of Space

-passively exploits and serves through space. This was a hard one, partly because we don’t see a lot of her, so it’s long; I used a lot of process of elimination and, well, vibes. Space is about physical matter, size and location, creation, and beginnings. At an early age, she ditched her family in Europe in order to join an elite mercenary group in the Middle East. She is extremely proficient in hand-to-hand, melee, and ranged combat, though she admits that she was never good at planning ahead and strategizing. She was also able to accurately portray Junko, the Ultimate Fashionista. Those three things point me towards space, as her past is about location and beginnings, ranged weapons are about distance, planning ahead is about time which is her opposite, and acting as her sister is an act of creation and physicality, not to mention that clothes have a link to the space aspect as well. Most of the classes don’t really fit her, but the little personality she has is devoted to serving her sister, serving her organization before that, and in DR IF, serving Makoto. Knights are also fighters, obviously.

Enoshima Junko - Thief (Lord?) of Rage

-actively steals rage and limitations. Junko is a lot. Just, a lot. I’m actually leaning towards giving her the “Lord” title because honestly, the level of embodiment that she has over the rage aspect is unparalleled. But I just don’t know enough about the master classes for me to feel comfortable enough with that. So I’m going with thief instead. She definitely gets off on everyone else’s despair and sets them up so they have limited possibilities in the killing game. She takes from them and takes from them and leaves them with some hope just to finally steal that too.

[nightwingshero]

❤️🧡💜 for Wren and Blair 🥰

Thank you, hun!!! ❤️

Send me an OC and heart and I’ll discuss that topic and how it relates to my OC! :)

❤️ - Passion (What is your OC passionate about? Hobbies? A significant other?)

Blair: I would say a lot of things, because Blair is naturally a passionate, happy person. She loves her job, she’s very passionate, interested, and enthusiastic about space and everything about it. As for hobbies, she loves watching movies and shows, mostly older and nerdy ones that she can quote and refer to often. Which makes conversations with Felicity and Cisco fun....for Harry, not so much, but this ain’t about him. Video games, board games (girl plays a lot of D&D), going to cafes to drink coffee (while working on a paper, hanging with friends, etc) is also a thing she does, but she spends a lot of time in the lab or in the Bunker, depending on where she is. Girl just likes to work on things and to keep busy a lot of the time. Friends and family are also important to her, and when she becomes committed to someone, she’s in for the long haul. It’s why she doesn’t really give up on Leonard, even after his “death” or when he returns with lost memories. She just really wasn’t focused much on the romantic front after Leonard’s “death”, so that’s more I guess her mourning and just trying to keep going vs her actually staying committed. But once he comes back, it’s more her not giving up because well...Blair loves him too much. 

Wren: Music is probably one of Wren’s top passions, mostly because she loves it and the way it makes her feel, and because she feels close to her mother when she plays the piano and sings. Its a hobby she loves the most. Other than that, she’s watching The Twilight Zone or horror movies, reading and learning new things (because she loves to learn new things), or going to the Spread Eagle to hangout. She’ll go skinny dipping from time to time, and on some occasion, she’ll take her Jeep out mudding. As for significant others, Wren is ride or die to a fault, and yes, that can be a good and bad thing. Her love for John Seed is something that feel refreshing and freeing to her when it happens, despite them being on opposing sides. It’s a connection she feels with him that makes her fall even more, even though he’s not at all the healthiest upstairs. She sees him as her Salvation (and he sees her as his Redemption) when things turn for the worse, the Resistance turning against her and trying to kill her for her betrayal (she doesn’t see it like that however). So she happily marries him and joins him, becoming the Judge and accepting the Dark Siren title as a replacement for Faith Seed (Joseph’s passive aggressive punishment and condition for her to join), but once they leave the bunker after the Collapse...it’s different. Wren is more than aware that John would choose Joseph over her and the kids, and she finds herself more than disenchanted by him and their marriage; she feels as if she’s been lied to and led to believe something that isn’t true--John putting her first and choosing her over all else. But she stays with him up until he dies, for the kids and because she’s committed. Now, that being said, she also has Quinn (one of my security captains) who shows up and helps her fight against the Highwaymen and Ethan. They become a thing after John’s death, which...yeah, it sounds bad, because John’s death is a sacrifice for their children, his redeeming moment of him choosing the kids (and her) over Joseph. But the love that she once felt isn’t really there anymore, and it’s more of a respect of someone like a close friend, because they’ve been through a lot together, you know? She may not love him the way she used to, but they were married for a while and raised kids together, and he did sacrifice himself. 

🧡 - Action (When does your OC take action? Are they a bystander? In what situations would they take action without hesitation?)

Blair: So, this is a bit more complicated, mostly because in the beginning, Blair doesn’t know how to take action. It’s not the lack of trying, bravery, or lack of wanting to help. It’s just that Blair hasn’t been in many situations where a call to action would occur. Growing up without violence, in a happy household, in Central City...she’s not exposed to “bad times”. Now, that changes when she moves to Star City (after waking from her coma, of course) and Ray Palmer offers her a job where she can make the difference. Blair is actually inspired by the Hood (later known as Green Arrow) and how he helps others, because Blair loves the ideas of superheroes and helping people. So, while she would help with research and all that before, Ray asked for her help creating the A.T.O.M. suit so he could make a difference--which was enough for her, you know? Until she blew up a good portion of the lab and hurt Ray in the process (thank you, meta powers), and at that point, Blair sought out the Hood and asked for training. Oliver was against it at first (shocker), but eventually agreed. So she eventually does learn how to take action, much thanks to Sara and Oliver (and eventually Cisco and Barry, who help with her meta training). Her hesitation during situations only come from her accessing the situation and herself, because she has to be careful with her control, and she’s not a very “punch first, ask questions later” kind of person. Now, in situations where her loved ones, innocent people, or teammates are in immediate danger, she more reacts than anything, so I suppose that would be her taking action without hesitation. It panics her or it motivates her, in a way) to just follow her gut and do what she can to save them. It’s how most of the Legends actually find out she has powers, Ray only telling them that he brought her onboard because of her PhDs (which is mostly true, that was why, he just failed to mention she had powers). In a split decision, she used her energy manipulation to shield the team from blasts that Valentina threw their way as Jax and Martin created Firestorm. High-risk situations where the pressure is being applied heavily (loved ones and innocent people’s lives at stake, etc) force Blair’s hand, and she goes into autopilot with the training Oliver and Barry provided. 

Wren: Wren doesn’t normally hesitate in action situations. Now, she’s observant and likes to plan, so she would be more on the sidelines leading up to it. But if its something that’s just happening, Wren is going to take action and follow her gut regardless. Wren is very emotional, so when her emotions call for action, she’s going to take action without thought of consequence. She will hesitate when someone else has the upper hand and it’s very obvious, and it makes her even madder when that happens--she won’t forget it. But most of the time, her problems are because she reacts based on emotion in some cases, when normally she observes and plans the best she can. Its a nature that’s at war with itself, but emotions typically win out, mostly because they run so high. Things that don’t involve her--things she fully knows she shouldn’t be involved in--will make her hesitate, and she will be a bystander for as long as she is allowed. She doesn’t want to be dragged into a bar fight that doesn’t even include her (though it’s happened many times), so she will hesitate and avoid as much as possible. 

💜 - Compassion (Do they easily empathise with others? What is their relationship like with their parents? Does their sympathy easily turn to pity? Have they been met with much compassion through their life?)

Blair: Answered here! 

Wren: Yikes. Okay, so Wren is actually super empathetic, and can be compassionate...to some degree. Wren is known to be a harsh judge of character at times, and will absolutely judge you if it calls for it, or if she feels you deserve it. Her childhood wasn’t at all great. She was close to her mother before she died, but her father didn’t want her, blamed her for her mother’s death, and treated her poorly. She received compassion from teachers, mainly her music teacher who taught her to play piano, but not much from others. It’s why Wren is empathetic and is compassionate to most. Her sympathy can easily turn to pity, mostly because once she’s the Judge of Eden’s Gate, she’s much more condescending and patronizing to those she Judges harshly. Granted, she’s known to soften John’s hand, but in return, he sharpens hers. It’s a balancing act (pun intended), and her Wrath clouds things at times; that’s when sympathy turns to pity and disdain. Before all that, it’s hard to pinpoint because Wren has a lot going on, a lot she has to deal with, but she’s mostly compassionate and loving, but with a high guard. After the Collaspe, she levels out way more and regrets what she’s done, so she’s a lot softer, wiser, and more open because of lessons learned and she believes in second chances more than ever. 

[tracybirds]

The idea of John sending “care packages” as described in @gumnut-logic ‘s Thunderbird X fic (STILL SCREAMING ABOUT THAT BTW) has just CAPTURED ME so yeah :D Thanks for letting me play with the idea!!!

Fic covers time from just after the original explosion right through to 3x24, but obviously the events of 3x25 have influenced my choices so ya know... potential spoilers under the cut.

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“He’s gone,” yells Gordon and John flinches back, his words striking a blow across twenty-two and a half thousand miles of space.

Gordon’s words aren’t meant for him, he’s screaming at Scott and John’s meant to be mediating, meant to help stand up for one and protect the other, but he’s struggling to hold onto reality in the wake of his father’s disappearance.

Death, he reminds himself.

He mutes the feed, unable to listen to his brothers fighting anymore, and pushes back from the holoprojector so that neither can see the way the tears are falling from his face as he watches his family break apart.

A quiet beep catches his attention and he pulls up the call.

“Are you okay?”

It’s Virgil. John wonders how he could possibly know, but then Virgil always seemed able to read John’s emotions better than he himself could.

He speaks quietly, sitting in the dim light of Alan’s bedroom and clasping their baby brother’s hand in his as he sleeps.

When John was Alan’s age, he had both his parents.

Virgil looks older, haggard and grave in a way that doesn’t suit the face of a young adult. It makes John feel impossibly young beside him.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he whispers. “He can’t be alive and he also can’t be gone.”

There’s a loud crash and Virgil winces at the sound.

“I should be saying something to them.”

“No, I’ll go,” says Virgil. “Stay on the line in case Alan wakes.”

He stays, watching the rise and fall of his brother’s chest. He doesn’t know what Virgil says to his brothers but he returns later, his normally calm face stormy.

He doesn’t ask.

The next morning John receives a call from Scott.

“Am I deluding myself? Is Gordon right?”

He hates himself for refusing to squash the desperate hope that is glinting madly in Scott’s eyes. He hates himself more for not wanting to face the cold, objective truth that his Dad was gone. He’s always prided himself on his ability to calmly accept the facts that were and not the ones he wished could be. Now though, John has run out of faith in science, his foolish insistence that the universe could be catalogued into a semblance of order has been overturned by the chaos of an explosion over the Pacific Ocean. His head and heart can no longer agree on reality and John is disorientated by the endless questions that pierce him from the planet below.

“Do you think there’s any hope?”

John doesn’t know what he believes anymore, is tongue-tied in the realm of uncertainty.

“There’s always hope.”

And he finds deep down he believes in his own words. He reaches out to record a message, one to throw away, hoping that this awful, indefinite desperation might be flung out into space along with it if he lets it go far enough.

A high band frequency, a carefully chosen timeslot when he’s certain his message won’t interfere with – or be intercepted by – the radio telescopes on the Earth below, and his own trembling voice on loop.

“Calling Zero-X from Thunderbird Five, Colonel Jeff Tracy, do you copy?”

He stifles a sob in his throat.

“Please respond.”

Alone in space, his final message, his final hope, left Thunderbird Five with as powerful a signal as John could configure. He makes a programme to send his message out to the stars, embeds it into Five’s core so it can repeat whenever the conditions are right, a lonely cry for his father to come home.

Ten months later, Scott calls him down from Thunderbird Five and for the first time they discuss the future and not the past. The subroutine is lost, buried deep within Five and John chooses to forget the constant radio fluctuations that propagate into deep space from his home.

***

EOS stretches out and explores her new home often. John is yet to get tired of her insistent questions and he loves that she prefers to ask him instead of searching for the information on her own. The quirk is a lack of efficiency that tells John how much she trusts him.

He can’t deny the way his heart leaps whenever he’s given the opportunity to teach her about something new, even if he sometimes struggles to put the abstract concepts of emotion into terms she can understand.

“John, why do you continue to transmit to your father after he is gone?”

John frowns. He speaks often to his mother and father as he stares out into the stars and he’s already discussed this with EOS, pushing through the exhaustion and the tears as he explained what it meant to miss someone, what it meant to grieve.

He’s too tired to explain all over again.

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“No,” she insists. Before he can reply, his own voice fills the station, wet and rubbed raw in a way that shoots straight into his heart.

John freezes. Sometimes EOS doesn’t realise what her innocent questions do, the way they can send a spike of adrenaline shooting through his body and engage the section of his brain which wants to run and hide from a reality he’s given up on. He’s back in that moment of desperation five years ago, the recording made in a haze of grief and endless hope that he’d never really relinquished.

He opens his mouth to speak, but instead he sobs, synchronised with the artificial sound of his own voice.

He sounds young.

The recording dies away as EOS observes him and that only makes him cry harder, to see her small developments in emotional sensitivity. He taught her that, the same way his Mom and Dad taught him and he can see the aspects of his life that his Dad doesn’t know, will never know stretching out in front of him.

“I’m sorry, John,” says EOS. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“You didn’t know,” he gasps. “I had forgotten about it.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Yes.”

And he does. She already knows the facts, less than half a second has returned more results than any of them could wish for about his death, but he can give her something more.

She’s silent and turns the new data over as she examines it’s effect.

“I do not understand. Your father is dead. You knew this when you made the recording. You know this now. Your actions are illogical.”

There’s an ache in his chest but it has kindled something greater in his heart.

“Sometimes EOS, things happen that we don’t understand, that we can’t understand. We can accept the reality given or we can search for an alternative.”

“You delude yourselves to make your feelings less significant and have less impact on your life.”

“No, EOS,” said John with a tired smile. “We hope.”

She doesn’t understand yet, he can see that. He doesn’t fully understand it either.

Later that night, he lies in bed and allows his fingers to pull apart the code embedded in Thunderbird Five. He stares at the small subroutine, still running perfectly after all these years.

He has a choice to make, he knows that. It’s a choice they’ve all faced at one point or another – whether or not to keep searching. He glances over at the digital frame, cycling through the familiar sight of his family. His breath catches as he sees the photos he’d added to the collection only a few short weeks ago, of Gordon pushing both Scott and Virgil into the pool only to be shoved in turn by Kayo on the next image. He wishes his Dad could see where they all were now, wishes there was someway to let him know they were okay. He searches for the star that he’d chosen as a representative of his father, but the seasons are wrong and it is lost behind the glare of the Sun.

His hand hovers over the programme he’d built to outlast his grief, hesitating as he considers shutting it down. He doesn’t know why it is so hard, to sever the last remaining link of a delusion. But he needs to talk to his father, wants it so badly he might be sick. He’s not ready to let go and so instead, he encrypts a single photo and adds it to the message.

***

He updates and replace the addition to his message regularly. It’s become a habit, an addiction to the idea that even if his Dad is gone that there might still be a way to communicate with him. It’s illogical, but EOS says nothing when he sits down every month or so to share the events of his life with his dead father.

He doesn’t add much to the message, conscious of the need for privacy in case his cries are ever intercepted, acutely aware of the fact that not once has he mentioned to his family what he is broadcasting into space.

He just can’t seem to stop.

He sends a copy of Gordon’s speech at his graduation the previous year from the boarding school he’d attended.

Virgil’s landscape series of paintings.

A photo of Scott scowling as Gordon crashed in on him getting ready for a date.

“Alan can drive now,” he tells him with a shocked laugh. “I trust him in a plane, but the thought of Alan in a car is terrifying, he has no concept of speed limits.”

If his Dad has to remain absent for the rest of their lives, John can’t imagine a place he’d rather find him than amongst the stars. It had been his Dad who had taught him the constellations, how to navigate, how to survive in the emptiness. He’d loved his universe too deeply for the inky black to scare him. He never liked to be alone out there though, the solitude grating in a way it wasn’t for John, and so the updates continue. He doesn’t want his father to feel alone.

A scientific paper, with Gordon’s name written on it, describing the new taxonomy of Europanian life.

Shyly, he adds a photo of himself and Ridley to the message a few months later. Even if he doesn’t want to talk about it with the rest of his family, not yet, he can tell someone about how nervous he feels about letting someone new into his life. His Dad had always understood that about him.

It’s on his enforced downtime when the music begins to float as gently through the space station as John did. He smiles, recognising the melody of one of Virgil’s favourite pieces.

It had been one of the first modifications he’d made to Thunderbird Five, one of many of which his brothers were unaware. An automatic audio uplink, a connection between Five and their mother’s piano, that relayed the music his brother chose to perform for himself. It provided a tangible link, not just to Tracy Island, but to Virgil himself. He knew from the music whether or not his brother needed a listening ear.

Right now, the music is soft and at peace and John is glad to hear it. With the recent introduction of the Chaos Crew in their lives, his brother deserves whatever peace he can find.

“EOS, make a recording,” he calls softly. He floats serenely above his beloved Earth, the feeling of contentment spreading warm from his chest.

“Wish you could hear this Dad,” he whispers as he updates his message that he’s sent to the stars.

He can see the binary system of Spica in the distance, the star his father had pointed to all those years ago and gently told him that his mother was watching over him from there. He hadn’t known at the time that the one star was really two, and he can’t think of a place his Dad would rather be than with his Mom.

It’s the last time he updates his father for a long while, the work of International Rescue taking over their lives as they struggle to adapt to the disregard for human life the Chaos Crew presents. It’s as discouraging to see as it is exhausting, and John doesn’t have the time or the energy to entertain a fantasy that’s now old enough to be in elementary school.

“Cranial contusion, concussion, vertebral compression fractures, compound radial fracture, spiral femoral fracture, and a shattered patella.”

John reads the list aloud as clinically as he can manage given the image of his younger brother is floating in front of his vision as he speaks. He takes a deep, shuddering breath trying desperately to compose himself for the next words he will speak.

“Dad, we know you’re out there somewhere. We miss you. Please know we won’t stop looking and we will find you.”

He updates the looped message for one final time. In three weeks, Scott will have had enough time to realise his brother’s home doubles as the most powerful communication satellite in the Solar System, and now they have a target to aim for.

He shuts down the programme.

***

He doesn’t stop speaking to his father. He is no longer is speaking to a dead man to update him on the lives of his children once a month, but instead trying to co-ordinate the relentless demands of a family, desperate to reach out to a living father, son, friend, loved one.

It’s changed every facet of their lives.

“Hey, are you transmitting right now John? Hey Dad! We’re all out here saving the world! Except Johnny of course. He’s busy bossing us around. Imagine if he’d been born first instead of Scott, he’d be insufferable.”

“I’m not sending him that,” scowls John. He can see the way Gordon pouts on the holoscreen, can read the disappointment behind the levity. He sends the file.

Alan doesn’t want to make a recording, wants to speak to his father himself, but he settles for ‘leaving a voicemail’ from Thunderbird Five. He insists on flying up to John, collapsing in his brother’s arms and confiding his anxieties before making his call.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” he whispers, and John’s heart breaks.

“He loved you then, he loves you now, and he will love you again,” John murmured into his baby brother’s hair. “Go on sprout, tell him what’s been happening.”

Alan sends him his latest report card, a photo of him and Bran, and the leaderboards for his favourite video games. He tells his father about how they work and why he likes them and how much he loves working for International Rescue. His father won’t see the way Alan’s eyes light up when he speaks of his legacy but John does and he has to hold back tears as he watches his brother, so kind and enthusiastic and growing up fast. He has to hold back his tears a lot these days.

Gordon’s been smiling ever since they found out for sure, his face threatening to crack under the strain. He sends an updated list of dad jokes to “make sure you’re prepared for when you next see us” and also a photo of him standing on the Olympic podium. There’s a scan of a notebook that John’s never seen before, containing signatures of every kid Gordon’s ever rescued.

He only sends one audio file, a whispered apology for giving up that John knows his father has already forgiven.

Virgil sends music. He records every one of his Dad’s old favourites and tells John to blast them into space. He also sends hours of one sided conversations, not trusting his written words to reach across the billions of miles. John doesn’t listen to them, knowing how Virgil has needed this release, full of pent up emotions and years of biting his tongue and chasing after Scott.

Scott has made it his life mission to bring their father home and as soon as he understands the implications of being able to send a message back, he changes. He doesn’t want the responsibility of his siblings bearing down on him now that it doesn’t have to be that way forever and he makes the shift from commander to number one before they even have a viable way to get to him. It doesn’t matter. Scott won’t trust himself to emotion, not after eight long years of weary pain, and he sends only mission reports and status updates. John’s not sure if Scott’s struggling to keep his hope alive after all these years, or if his life has really become so consumed by his work without any of them noticing.

He sends his own apology to his father after that.

And then one day, Brains makes the call.

A matter of days, John repeats to himself again and again, as he struggles to keep his mind on the rescue at hand. His brothers are scrambling into their gear and he knows he only has a few precious minutes. “EOS, take over for a sec,” he said. “Call me as soon as they’re in the air.” “FAB John.” He hit the ground running as the gravity ring began to spin. “Dad,” he said, his voice breathless as he began the final recording that he would send into the far reaches of the solar system. “Dad, I don’t know if you can hear us. But if you get this, you need to know. We’re coming. We’re on our way to you right now. When you listen to this message, we’ll be there. We’ll be there. This is Thunderbird Five, signing off.”

[lonicompound]

95 35MM-Themed Dialogue Prompts

I love this musical hsshdfs Ryan Scott Oliver you’re a genius 

Note: these prompts could also be used for something other than dialogue.

“More life. More focus. Hold!”

“Who cares what happened after?”

“But it ain’t no Narnia.”

“In the pocket of my dress, I’ve got an eight-inch copper key.”

“But why live it again?”

“Is it to change the way things were?”

“You wouldn’t let me kiss you.”

“And that, this is why you were my kinda guy.”

“You wouldn’t let me see you.”

“’Cause to take my time is just not my style.”

“But we just held hands.”

“You are cute...but juvenile.”

“Don’t you know the greatest love takes the greatest while?”

“Come with me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“But I wanna kiss you now.”

“I think she might be Satan.” “I swear to God, she is Satan.”

“Here’s fifty dollars, I’ll be right back.”

“But please don’t throw her in the trash or try to send her in the mail.”

“And it’s been awfully nice to meet you, thanks, and so long for a while, ahahaha.”

“We don’t speak of names or faces, why should we?”

“On the nights I catch you standing, are you waiting for me?”

“Darling, do you suppose this party could be just us two, and I your wife?

“And I, her long-tethered knight, found no answer.”

“So if you hear my plea, won’t you answer?”

“Your deathless scent is all that keeps me from my torment.”

“Even after the body goes, the image survives.”

“And in this microsecond, it’s as close as we get.”

“You make me happy all the time, and you know I’m a fucking dick.”

(Alternatively...) “You make me happy all the time, and that is really fucking tough.”

“Oh baby, never go away.”

“And I know I don’t deserve you, but please have faith in me.”

“I’m working to be worthy and soon, you’re gonna see, you’ll see.”

“Baby, I’m in love with you.”

“I saw a devil before me, and he took me by the face.”

“I don’t believe in God. I think Jesus was just a man.”

“You’re a love as close to Heaven as I’ll get.”

“So, Angel lead me onward and hold watch as I sleep.”

“I don’t know why you think I’ve got a soul to keep.”

“Yeah I’ll call it ‘Jesus,’ and she’ll sell for a lot.”

“Once a whore, now much more-ah well...”

“Faith restored! And I’ll see you in Hell.”

“Why don’t you march out that door?”

“He ain’t no good to you.”

“Ya got heart where ya shoulda had brains.”

“Hell sent ya back here for more, ‘cause ain’t no one ever loved you!” “I come to settle a score.”

“Mama, let me in.”

“Why you hate me and call me sin?”

“Don’t shut me out, I am here.”

“But why, must we tell them why?”

“Look, all we’re saying is look.”

“Why must we justify? Let’s defy their forms and fixtures.”

“Make ‘em see where we’re coming from.”

“Think, and you’ll miss it.”

“It is what it is and it is what it’s got to be.”

“He’s sucking me dry.”

“We make love, and it’s gentle.”

“All of our friends say we look nearly like twins.”

“Love those twisted teeth, but I bet you’re gentle.”

“‘Cause I’d die for my Mister.”

“Fill me up with the love.”

“‘Cause I’m proud to be with you-well, I was.”

“‘Cause she’d like them, and they’d like her. They’d like each other.”

“You’re so not perfect”

“But oh, she could be perfect.”

“I’m gonna leave you... one of these days.”

“I told you this morning, when I left.”

“She’d care how I wanna share things with her.”

“You think you’re so perfect.”

“So I’m leaving...just a few more days.”

“Am I getting bored?”

“Is it you? Is it me? Is it us?”

“I used to plan us out, used to have no doubt.”

“I just want to be perfect.” “We should be perfect.”

“I’m tired of hemming and hawing, I want the plans we were drawing to come true.”

“Don’t wanna leave you, don’t wanna lose you.”

“Bring us back to our better days.”

“Seems everything’s falling apart.”

“Goddamn, I hate you, heart.”

“But yet, for something that’s died, there’s some connection implied.”

“And if a world lies beyond, does something try to respond?”

“So of course, they fell in love.”

“I cut you a piece of me, and where you go I will go too.”

“Yes, I am now a part of you.”

“I lost my life when I lost you.”

“And when they go, you can never have it back.”

“But warming your hand in mine fills me with terror that I will lose you, today, or tomorrow, in two years, or seventy.”

“I can give just one thing that stays.”

“From now on I’m half a soul. Without you, I can’t be whole.”

“Oh, you are the start of me.”

“Down on your knees before the Queen.”

“That girl had everything ‘till hiccup and hitch.”

“I know you won’t disappoint me and Mom...?”

“Why be so calm? There’s just no future for a Princess at Prom.”

“Something there makes you care there, or at least stare. 

“It’s not right. it’s not wrong. It’s what’s inside.

[sal2724]

DIL BECHARA❤

“Perhaps, the difference between what is miserable, and that, which is spectacular, lies in the leap of faith ~ SSR”

Dil bechara is a 2020 Indian hindi language coming of age romantic drama film which is inspired by John’s green novel “The fault in our stars”. The movie tell us about the reality which is far more worse than what all romantic movies show. It tells us about that there is never a happy ending. Ending is always sad. It tells us about that life is unconditional. We should live every moment of it as the last moment.

This movie is released after 40 days after the death of its lead actor Sushant Singh Rajput (SSR). His death is still a mystery. It was portrayed as a suicide but according to many people including me thinks that it was a planned murder.

Anyways in movie also SSR (character name- Manny) shoots a film for his friend JP with the lead actress Sanjana (character name- Kizzie Basu) and that movie is released after the death of Manny.

Plot of the movie:

Kizie Basu is fighting thyroid cancer when she meets Immanuel Rajkumar Junior or Manny, who has previously suffered from osteosarcoma and is in remission. Manny and his friend JP, who is suffering from glaucoma, are making a movie together, inspired by Rajinikanth's films. Manny invites Kizie to be the female lead. The two bond over his love for Rajnikanth's movies and her love for music, specifically an incomplete song by Abhimanyu Veer. Kizie and Manny gradually fall in love as they shoot scenes for JP's film. After an operation, JP loses sight in his second eye, making him go blind.

One day, Manny informs Kizie that he has managed to track down Abhimanyu Veer and get in touch with him. Kizie e-mails Veer, who replies that she can visit him in Paris to get her questions answered. Kizie and Manny convince Kizie's parents to allow them to take the trip, with the condition that Kizie's mother would join them. As they are making arrangements for the trip, Kizie's cancer gets worse and she is hospitalized.

After her recovery, she is weakened and initially distances herself from Manny but later relents. They go to Paris to visit Veer, who turns out to have no conclusive answers, disappointing Kizie. Soon after, Manny informs Kizie that his cancer had returned and is now terminal.

As Manny's health deteriorates, Kizie convinces him to finish the film. Manny then invites JP and Kizie to his mock funeral, where they deliver eulogies that they have both prepared. Manny dies soon after, leaving a letter for Kizie, explaining that he had finished Veer's song for her, but ultimately had to take Veer's help for it. JP's finished film is premiered in an open air theatre, where Kizie and the crowd experience the emotions that Manny went through on screen. In the final scene of the film, he breaks the fourth wall and speaks to Kizie, to which she replies "Seri".

 Lessons of love, life and death from the movie:

1)  Living with a fatal disease is scary. You wish to have a normal life, a life where you’re not breathing borrowed air. But that looks like a dream. You are always left worrying about the ones you love- how will they live without you? You feel like a time bomb and everyone you love become a hostage of your disease.

2) No one likes incomplete stories, especially not when the story, that song hits close to time. When we don’t get our closure from the stories, we try to make our own endings. And in life too, we want closure from people.

3) It sucks when your dreams are taken away from you. You watch things fall apart and wonder if things will be the same, ever again. But remember, you need not fulfil all your big dreams. Sometimes, all you can do is fulfil someone else’s small dream. And maybe, just maybe, you might feel complete.

4) You want truth, but not the pain that comes with it. Truth can be hard and terrifying.  Sometimes love doesn’t last- you can never be prepared for what’s coming next. The thing you know, you are back in the hospital, fighting for your life. No matter how hard you try, sometimes, you will get hurt.

5) Life can be unfair sometimes, and some things are rather inevitable. We push away the ones we love, thinking we are saving them from some pain, but other people suffering is not for us to decide. We just got to give it to people- if they want to be there with us in our suffering. That’s love- you accept the good and ugly.

6) We don’t know how or when our story will begin or reach it’s end. But what we know is for the times we exist, we’re the writers to our story. And we get to choose how we want to live this life.

7) Death, as we all know it, is scary. But what makes it easier are the lasting relationships we leave behind. You never truly know what you mean to someone until you’re gone, and that is scary. So have a pre-funeral with your girlfriend and your best friend. Hear them tell the most embarrassing and amazing stories about you. You might find your closure.

8) Dil bechara taught us that presence of a person doesn’t matter when you are in love with their soul.

 Best dialogues of the movie and it’s translation in english:

1) Janam kab lena h aur marna kab h, hum decide nhi kar skte. Par kaise jeena h, wo hum decide kar sakte h

Translation: We can’t decide when we will be born or when we will die but we can very well decide how to live our life.

 2) Kehte hai Pyaar neend ki tarah hota hai.Dheere dheere aata hai.Aur phir ekdum se aap, usmein kho jaate hai

 Translation: It is said that love is like sleep. It comes slowly but then suddenly you get lost in it.

 3)  Jab koi mar jaata h toh uske saath jeene ki umeed bhi mar jaati h par maut nhi aati

 Translation: When someone we are close to dies, with that our hope of living also dies.

 4) Hero banne ke liye popular nhi hona pdta wo app real life mein bhi ban skte h

 Translation: To become a hero, you don’t have to be popular. Hero exists in real life also.

 5) Ek tha raja, ek thi raani dono mar gye khatam kahani.

 Translation: There was a king, there was a queen and when both died, the story ends.

 6) Meri raani zinda h aur tab tak humari kahani bhi zinda h

 Translation: My queen is still alive and till that our story is also alive.

 7) Tum mere heart ke liye zarrori ho, it beats faster every time you come closer.

Translation: You are important for my heart as it beats faster every time you come closer.

 8) Man karta h itna tight hug du ki inki tooti hui zindagi jod du

Translation: I wish I can hug them so tight that their broken lives get repaired.

  Hahaha…. Thanks for reading this one. This blog has my heart. And if you have not watched this movie then do watch it!!!