#it is so jarring to see a headshot i worked with for like a month over the summer now all greyed out for obituary use. like. man.

[ectonurites]

oh holy shit

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 4.5 OR Chapter 5

➜ Words: 4.9k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

Your breath is held in your throat. The phone rings.   It continues, the ringback tone dragging on and on like a terrible song of suspense.   Then, it stops. Your breath catches in your throat. There’s a crisp voice on the other end. “Ya-llow?”   “Hi.” You swallow hard, trying to collect your wits, but it takes too long.   “Hello?”   “Yes, s-sorry. Hi. My name is Y/N L/N. I was wondering if you guys were having any auditions to take clients in—”   “Sorry, we’re not. Have a nice day!”   You’re hung up on, not like an unwanted telemarketer trying to make their living. But there’s nothing you can do, so with a sigh, you continue down the list of agents. Most of them don’t pick up. You leave voice messages that go unanswered, exactly like the emails you frequently send.   Though occasionally, it picks up and it’s not just an automated voice.    “Please stop calling us!” The woman hisses on the other line. “We only take referrals.”   You’ve brought it up to the director again. But his brows always scrunch and he wears that visibly annoyed expression, giving an exaggerated sigh of feigned exhaustion. “Y/N, I told you what I told you. If you keep insisting on this matter, then I’ll have no choice but to be upset. No one likes it when they’re not being heard.”   And that’s the kinder version.   You’re spared on the speech that you need to work harder, that you’re not ready to be on actual Broadway, that you have a long way to go, that you need to be good as an intern first — like Jimin.   Of course, he would mention Jimin. You don’t doubt that he has some kind of star quality that you don’t have. Everyone seems to love him. He could probably get a referral if he asked. Or get an agent who would want to sign him within a day. Your envy is boundless.   “Okay, can you tilt your head a thirty degrees to the left?”   “Ummm…” The brunette tries to follow the instructions. “Is this thirty degrees?”   “It’s fine,” Namjoon mutters and puts an eye to the viewfinder. He snaps the shot on his Canon. The picture appears on the big screen seconds later. You muse that Jimin looks great with professional lighting and under the touch of a talented photographer. “Okay, now smile.”   Instantly, Jimin gives a toothy grin. His plump lips spread into his rounded cheeks, eyes crinkling into half-moons. He’s overwhelmingly cute and you feel your heart stutter in your chest.   Even Namjoon hums in satisfaction, turning his camera and snapping more pictures.   After a moment, a break is called and Jimin comes hopping over while Namjoon fiddles with his device.   “What do you think?”   “Yeah, it’s good.”   He leans over to the screen, unknowingly close to you, almost hovering over your body. The strands of his hair brush on your forehead as he looks over at the monitor. “You think I should put powder on?”   “No, you’re fine. It’s fine,” you correct and clear your throat. “You’re supposed to be yourself. No glamour shots. The casting directors want headshots that look like you. If you come in drastically different, it’ll hurt you in the long run.”   He hums and tilts to stare at you. “Thanks for showing me such a great photographer, Y/N.”   You smile. “Just take it as a lesson on how to get onto Broadway. Plus, it’s not me who’s taking the photos.”   “That’s right,” Namjoon pipes up and approaches, interrupting the two-way conversation. “You need someone who can capture your personality in two hours. It’s not such an easy thing.”   “Thank you for blessing us with your talent, Namjoon,” you tease.   “You’re welcome.” The photographer chuckles. “I’m just kidding. I’m happy to help. It’s not often that Y/N calls me up for a favour, and she’s certainly never. ever. brought anyone to my studio before, so of course I had to see who it was.” He eyes Jimin up and down as if choosing produce in the grocery store. “I can see it now. I can see the appea—”   You bump into his shoulder roughly. “Alright, I think we get it.”   “A friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine,” he says.    Jimin dips his head in gratitude. “I’ll entrust all my headshots to you then.”   Namjoon laughs, delighted from the recognition. “I’ll be leaving town for a few months on business excursions, but when I’m back, you bet. Let’s get a few more done, Jimin. I think we should take outdoor shots too to get that natural lighting.”   “You got it, boss.”   You watch them walk off, practically kissing each other’s asses. Then you turn back to the monitor, looking at all the photographs again.   If you were a director looking at these headshots, Jimin would most certainly get the role.   //   It’s a streak of luck that your phone rings.   Usually, you’re the one dialing. Though this time, it’s not an agent who wants to connect with you — but it’s just as good.   “Hello, Ms. Y/N? You recently submitted an application for the role of a town girl in the production of Beauty and the Beast. We’re interested in speaking to you about it further. Would you like to come in for a formal audition?”   You could sob from unadulterated relief and happiness. But as overjoyed as you are, you don’t tell anyone just in case. You never know what could happen, and you don’t want to place others in an awkward situation if you end up with a disappointing outcome. So you brace yourself.   But Jimin can tell something great happened — your smile is infectious.    “Is everything alright?” He starts laughing when your giggles spill. Your face hurts from your grin. Even the director was taken back earlier at your newfound enthusiasm to take the morning coffee order.   “Oh, just you know, life. Sometimes things work out, huh?”   “Alright then, silly girl.” His eyes soften and his smile becomes gentle. Jimin steals another glance at you again. You’re humming, uncaring that the two of you are carrying over thirty coffee drinks on a brisk Monday morning, and that you’ll have to walk down three flights of stairs to hand them out. “You know, you look really...nice happy. I mean you usually look nice, but when you’re happy, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying….never mind.”   Your cheeks become warm and you take a glimpse of Jimin. At the same time, he takes another glance and you both divert your vision after your eyes accidentally connect. “Um...thanks.”   Jimin’s distracted. Clumsy. He nearly trips off the curb of the sidewalk. But when he catches himself, he quickly rushes over to open the door for you. You try your best to hold back your laughter.   For the next few days, you practice your part by yourself, singing it over and over again, watching your own expressions in the mirror. You practice for the audition enough to become confident in your role, excited even. If you make it, you wonder what Jimin would say. He’s the only person who would celebrate with you.   He’s also the only person you would want to tell.    Once the afternoon of the audition arrives, you excuse yourself, telling Jimin that it’s a dentist appointment. But instead, you sneak from the basement of the building to the second floor, down the west wing.   There, it’s a whole other world.   The room is full of strangers, pacing around, holding the paper with their lyrics, but shutting their eyes to belt. They’re all warming up, melodic notes that sound jarring when it’s overlapping one another. Still, there are beautiful folks dressed in extravagant clothing, having probably spent time at the spa to get facials and get salon blowouts. It’s clear that many have bold personalities. That they’re not scared of eye contact.   You tug on your shrunken sweater, palms clammy.    You take a seat in the corner of the room in the uncomfortable chair.    The girl next to you gulps down her lemon water and leans over. “Intimidating, huh?”   “P-Pardon?”   “I was just saying how intimidating this all is.” She scans the premise and meets your eyes. “But it’s all for show. To make up for their lack of talent. You don’t need to flaunt your skills in front of other people if you know you’re good.”   You relax, giving a polite smile. “I agree.”   “I’m Yeonjeon.” She stretches out her hand.    “Y/N.” You shake it. “Nice to meet you.”   “Likewise.” The young lady oozes with the confidence you wish you had. She’s stunning, bright eyed and pretty smile. “What role are you auditioning for?”   “Oh, just a townswoman.”   “Really?” Yeonjeon cocks a brow. “I thought you would try out for Belle. I’m trying out for Belle. My agent called me about this casting call and I thought I would give it a try. I’ve always liked Beauty and the Beast as a kid.”   “Good luck then.”   She thanks you and just then, another auditionee exits the room and the woman holding the clipboard calls her name. Yeonjeon nods and gathers her belongings, casting one glance at you before leaving. “Hopefully we’ll be able to work together, Y/N.”   You wish her luck once more before watching her go off. Afterwards, you shut your eyes to try to calm your nerves, hiding your trembling hands and humming to warm your throat.    How many times have you been called back for a casting call like this? Not often. And you’ve never been called again to actually get the role.   It was easier back in community theater. They’d find a place for everyone who wanted one. It didn’t matter that you weren’t bold, loud, glamorous, charismatic...   You’re shocked out of your thoughts when you’re jolted, someone beside you poking your arm. “Are you, Y/N?”   “L/N Y/N.” The lady calls and you stand straight up, so quickly that you pull a muscle in your calf and the bag that was in your lap was now on the ground. The lady sighs. “Come right this way.”   “S-sorry, sorry.” You shuffle past the crowd to enter the large room after grabbing your bag again.    It’s a bigger room than you expected and a lot more people. It’s spacious with just a long stretched table facing the empty floor and exhausted faces sitting behind it. They stare back at you, unfamiliar as they judge you from head to toe, from your demeanor to how your hair is. It’s the director, the music director, the casting director, two producers and a reader — six of them slumped in their chairs, bored.   You swallow hard, approaching the center of the room where the masking tape is on the floor.    “Do you have a headshot and resume?”   “Y-yes, sorry.” You dig inside your bag, finding the papers wrinkled. You cuss inside your head and as you try organizing them, you accidentally trip on the carpet. Luckily, you don’t fall, but the papers go flying, coating the floor in white. You mumble more apologies, picking them up to hand them out. Your head is dipped, cheeks warm.   It’s only been five seconds, but it was already going badly.   “Can you introduce yourself?” one of them asks in annoyance when the silence stretches for too long.   “Y-yes, sorry. My name is Y/N. I have experience in working in community theater, both on stage and behind. Currently, I’m working as an intern at the production of Phantom of the O-Opera.”   You’re sweating at your hairline and you flinch when you hear a sudden snap, finding someone on the sidelines taking your picture.   “Alright then, Y/N.” The stern lady straightens out her blazer and puts down her pen, having jotted down some notes. “And you’re auditioning for the supporting role of a townswoman, so part of the female ensemble?”   “Yes.”   “Pardon?”   “Yes!” you exclaim in a louder voice.   “Then what song will you be singing for us today?”   “The Life I Never Led by the Sister Act the Musical!” You’re already straining your voice by yelling, but you pay no mind, quickly flipping the page after they nod and make hums of acknowledgment.   The man’s deadpans in a monotone, “Start.”   You clear your throat, steadying your breath. “I've never talked back, I've never slept late, I've never sat down when told to stand straight—”   One of their hands raise. You pause. “Can you sound more…” He gestures with his hand. “Light? Right now it’s very serious, and we’re looking for something lively.”   “Yes, of course, sorry.” You brace yourself and start again. But it’s happening again.   Your hands have a sudden tremor. You feel your heart picking up its pace, fast enough that you’re scared of getting a heart attack. Your face twitches against its will. Your mouth goes dry.    You feel dizzy. Like you might throw up before passing out.   “I-I've never talked back, I've never slept late, I've never sat down when told to stand straight. I've never let go and gone with the flow, and don't even know, really, why.”   The strangers are scrutinizing you. A cold sweat wash down your body, palms clammy, knees shaking. It’s an out-of-body experience and you cringe when you hear yourself go off tune. Everything that you’ve prepared yourself for goes down the drain. The self-assurance washes away, leaving in its place your most desperate state — a girl who tries hard but whose effort never shows.   Your voice even warbles against your will.    “I've never rebelled, or stood up and yelled, or even just held my head high. And all of the feelings unspoken, all of the truths unsaid, they're all I have left of the life I never led—”   You inhale a breath as the note finishes off. But before you can continue singing, the woman in the center raises her hand to silence you. It goes quiet immediately. The sound of scratching pens on paper seem deafening. Then finally, the woman looks up and clasps her hands together. “Alright, thank you for coming. We’ll let you know the final results.”   “T-Thank you.”   You leave feeling sick to your stomach. Outside the silent room is noise, others still singing and warming up, sounding a thousand times better than you. They’re stable, excited, assured.   You know you did poorly, and you’re not imagining it either. You never end up getting a call back from them. No denials or confirmations.    The radio silence is loud and clear.

It’s early in the morning with you crouched over sorting clothes in a bin that two pairs of feet shuffle forward. Your head moves back to find the girls that frequently flock to Taeyeon looking down at you.   The corner of her lips curl. “You went for an audition for Beauty and the Beast?”   “What?”   “I saw you,” the other girl sasses with a shrill voice and her arms crossed. “I was wondering why you weren’t here, but Jimin said you had a dentist appointment. Looks like you were lying to even him.”   “I—”   One of them squats down, meeting your eye level. “Do you really think you could make it? Thought you could sneak away and get yourself a big role to show the rest of us and make us feel bad? I don’t think so. Let’s be frank, you could never make it, Y/N. Shouldn’t bother trying. Why would you set yourself up for disappointment? But I guess the effort is cute.”   She stands and her friend smirks. “The director knows you were lying and trying to jump ship and run away from your job. He’s pissed. So good luck trying to keep this position, intern.”   They walk away and your eyes sting painfully.   Your hand balls into a tight fist, the clothes in your hands wrinkling. Your nails sink past the thin fabric into the palm of your hand. Your knuckles turn white. It’s a privilege to work here. A privilege.    You remind yourself of these things — that you will not punch them in the face. As much as you want to and as strong as the urge is, you won’t scratch their faces until they bleed and scream.   “Fucking bitches…” you mutter out from your clenched teeth.   At the same time, Jimin enters the floor. The timing is poor.   He’s a moment too late, but it’s enough to catch them walking away and enough for him to read your angered expression that he mistakes as emotional distraught. “Hey, what’s going on?”   Your ears perk once you hear the smooth timbre. Turning to find Jimin, you sigh and relax, rage fading. “Nothing. Can you help me fold this bin? I need to grab the other.”   “Alright.” Jimin nods slowly, watching your backside.   The director is indeed passive aggressive to you, making comments that you shouldn't lose focus on this job and whatever else bullshit he usually gives. But you don't care.   The weight of your failures are heavier on your mind.   //   “Today, we’re going to brush up on some singing techniques and then talk about building your acting resume.”   “I practiced.” Jimin smiles. “I swear.”   “Good.”   It’s humiliating, not because of other people’s perceptions of you. But it’s humiliating to yourself. You’ve always complained that no one would give you a chance, that all you needed was an opportunity, but once it was given to you, you messed it up. There’s no one to blame. Not your shitty life or because of the director. Not because of your bad luck or the world’s prejudice towards you. It’s no one’s fault but your own.   You’ve lost a great chance. How many more will be given to you?   How can you ever dream of standing on a world stage if you can’t even go through an audition?   Maybe the director was right. When you stand in his shoes, it’s clear that you don’t know what you’re doing, that you’re not ready. Far from it. Your ambitions are bigger than your capabilities.   You’re a sapling who wants to be a grand cherry blossom.   Perhaps that’s why those girls laughed at you — why they were so condescending when they found out you were auditioning. You’re a foolish imposter. A sapling that wants to be a blossom tree.   You’d laugh at yourself too.   “Y/N?”   “Huh?”   “I asked you how I did.” Jimin searches your expression with his own brows scrunched in concern. “I just sang.”   “Oh, sorry. You did fine.”   You’re too distracted to teach. You’re mentally distraught, fatigued — and you honestly just want to crawl underneath your covers for a while and wish your entire life would be fixed. Or at least until everyone forgot about you and you could start over.   But Jimin would never allow himself to forget about you. “Are you sure you’re alright?”   “I’m just….at a bit of a low point,” you admit, mustering a smile. “I’ll be okay. Always am.”   “It’s okay if you want to talk about it. I’ll listen to you.” His gaze is sincere and his attention is fully devoted to you. It goes quiet as you mull over your own thoughts, and then Jimin’s eyes light up, He digs into his bag for a flyer. “Actually, there was something that I wanted to talk to you about.”   He hands it to you and you unfold the corners.   The flyer is a dark blue with a streak of red, a young girl on it facing the horizon. You recognize it immediately. It’s the musical, Les Misérables.   Jimin smiles. “They’re doing auditions.”   “You want to try out?” Your eyes flicker up to him.   “I think we should try out,” he suggests. “It’s a good opportunity.”   There’s a thick lump in your throat. The paper in your hand crinkles where you hold it tightly between your fingertips. You wondered how many chances you would get after you blew them all. But with Jimin, came another chance.   Yet you’re still humiliated. You still feel like an imposter.   “I don’t...think I’m ready.”   He’s befuddled. “What do you mean?”   “You should try out for it, Jimin. I think I’ll sit this one out.”   Jimin grabs your wrist before you can get up. His hands curl around your flesh, but his fingers are gentle, his touch tender. His softened eyes search your expression again, and you feel your face get warm under his attention. “I don’t get it. Why would you want to miss this opportunity? Didn’t you tell me that you should always take whatever chance you get? I really have a good feeling about this one. I thought we could try it out together.”   “I just…..I don’t think I can do it.”   “Why not?”   “Because I’m not good enough!” you scream.   “You are!” Jimin stands on his feet and when he realizes he’s yelling, he lowers his volume. “I know that you know that you are, so that’s why I don’t understand. Are you giving up?”   “No.” It’s an outrageous question, but somehow your harsh whisper sounds like a lie. “I’m not giving up.”   “Then do this with me,” he coaxes. “We can try out together.”   For a second, you envision being on stage with Jimin, looking over during the grand finale and exchanging silent smiles with one another — but it seems like such a far-fetched dream.   “Are you really satisfied being a ghost singer and performing behind the curtain?” he asks.   “I’m not.” You divert your vision elsewhere. There’s a sudden pressure on your shoulders, and you can feel yourself break out into a sweat.   “There’s nothing wrong with trying,” Jimin tells you and makes it sound so simple. “If we fail, we fail together. If we succeed, we succeed together.”   You meet his vision, wondering why he’s trying too hard to convince you. You don’t want to be pushed — but maybe it’s what you need. “Okay. Let’s try.”   He smiles and you shove away your hesitance.   //   The pair of you get your applications completed together in the coming days, sending in headshots, filling out your sheets, preparing the reel. You practice small sections of the available script, singing while watching your expressions. It’s exactly what you did not long ago — but this time it’s with Jimin.   And his enthusiasm crumbles away your despair.   You might be a sapling trying to be a cherry blossom, but Jimin is a grand flower bed blooming beside you. He makes you just a bit more confident of budding your own flowers and reaching great heights.   The both of you submit your applications together, and anticipation bubbles at the pit of your stomach. As much as you try to keep it at bay, your hope creeps back in. Maybe this could be it...   And then your phone rings days later.   “Hello?”   “Hello?”    The voice on the other line is unmistakable. “Hi, is this Ms. Y/N?”   “Yes, it is. How may I help you?”   “I’m the casting director for the Les Misérables production here in New York. You recently sent in an application for an audition. We were wondering if you were still interested and willing to set up a convenient date to meet.”   “I-I….” You inhale a deep breath to fill your lungs. Your vision is blurred, eyes stinging with tears that threaten to shed, but you keep yourself composed and professional. “Yes, I’m still interested. I’d be happy to set up a date and time for an audition.”   There’s a flutter in your stomach. You feel like you might throw up — but it’s the first time that it’s for a good thing. Though instead of opting for spilling your food out from your guts in excitement, you find yourself throwing the front door open.   There’s one person that you want to tell. This time, you’ll follow your urges. You won’t hold back.   But before you can even knock on the door next to yours, you catch the brunette boy walking down the hall, having turned the corner of where the stairwell is. Jimin sees you too and his eyes light up. They shimmer in the corridor lights and he approaches with his hands dug in the pockets of his trench coat.   It takes too long. You run and meet him halfway.    “I...got a call.”   His smile expands into a grin. He hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “I did too. Just now, right?”   “Just now.” You confirm with vigorous nods, almost crying.   If it weren’t for him….   You hop up to Jimin on the tips of your toes, your whimper is muffled into his shoulder with your face dug into his coat. And your arms wrap around his torso. The boy’s surprised, stumbling back from the impact, but blissfully giggles when he realizes you’re hugging him. Jimin’s arms quickly encircle your waist. His cheeks deepen into a rosy hue and his smile softens even more.    He smells of lavender body wash and fresh linen.   “I told you that you could do it,” he teases gently in an intimate whisper.   Your gratitude is immense. You’re rendered speechless. You don’t know what to say, what to tell him. So you try to show him, squeezing him tighter.    You were going to give up — you could only take so many failures — you could only last so long in a state of limbo. But with Jimin by your side, you feel like you could achieve anything.   You finally let go of him, heart racing, making wild gestures. “We-we need to get started, Park. We have to go look for a song and start practicing. You told me we’re in this together, so why are we wasting time out here? Come on!”   You grab onto him, pulling him towards his apartment as his laughter rings in the air.   In the meanwhile, Jimin muses in his mind that he meant it when he said you were beautiful when you were happy. You’re practically glowing.   //   There’s more practice to be done, helping one another choose songs for the audition, giving opinions to improve certain parts, to use certain techniques. You’re more motivated than before, fueling your own morale instead of relying on his. You’re eager, especially knowing that you won’t be alone during the audition, that you won’t be entering a room of complete strangers.   Singing in front of Jimin wasn’t as hard as it used to be either. Your palms don’t get clammy, sweat doesn’t start dripping, your knees don’t shake. It helps a lot to sing directly in front of someone. And you’ve gotten comfortable with him. Jimin’s attention is still a lot sometimes, but you know it’s coming from a good place. He’s not so much scrutinizing as he is listening and savouring.   “What if they ask you to dance?”   He pipes up out of the blue while you’re making dinner at the same time as practicing.   “What?”   He repeats the question and smiles mischievously. “What would you do then?”   “I don’t think they would. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any dancing in Les Mis, Jimin. If there is, then not a lot.”   “Hey, you never know. They can tell you to do anything and you have to be ready for it.”   You scoff lightly. He’s still trying to convince you to teach him after all these months.   And you give in this time. You allow Jimin to pull you away from the stove. You’re timid, uncertain, but he places your hands where they need to be — both on his firm shoulders, while his own are light on your waist.    “Like this.”   “What if I step on your feet?”   “I’ll survive.” His eyes twinkle, playful. “Okay, step back once, then I’ll step forward. Now step forward and I’ll step back. One, two, three, one two three. Just follow my lead.”   You look down to your shuffling feet, making sure not to step on his toes. You feel silly, but it’s also easier than you realized. Maybe that’s just because he’s a good lead.    “Relax, I’m not that fragile.”   “I don’t want to be responsible if you get hurt.”   You raise your head, eyes connecting to his. Jimin smiles, and then twirls you suddenly, making you laugh. He holds your right hand, letting you sway back and forth. It begins to feel more like a swing dance than a slow one.    But the giggles are infectious and he pulls you close to him, enough for you to feel his body heat and for it to warm your face to your toes. You feel light, butterflies swooping from your chest to the pits of your stomach. And Jimin’s the very cause of it.   “Jimin!” You laugh, trying to pull away. “The water’s gonna overboil!”   He stares deeply into you, corners of his mouth pulling. “Just let it.”   “And burn down this apartment?”   Jimin shrugs, but lets go anyhow. “I wouldn’t mind.” You feel colder when he’s gone, though your fingertips still tingle with his touch. His hands were soft. “When the time comes, I’ll happily teach you how to dance properly.”   You know that time will come someday as long as you stay by Jimin’s side.

[believingispowerfulmagic]

“Reunited at Last” (Part III)

For @regalhoodie17. I hope you enjoy this next part. 

Regina went about her normal routine for the next couple days, working at the cannery during the day and baking at night. Even if her bakery dreams were dead, she still loved to fill her home with things that smelled like anything other than fish. And the sweets were often the only thing that could lift her spirits these days.

She hadn’t opened the book since that first night, not wanting to know how much worse her supposed alter ego got. The Evil Queen certainly was a far cry from her, Regina thought as she placed extra frosting on her cinnamon bun, but there was something she admired about the evil woman. When she had been wronged, she had taken matters into her own hand. While Regina didn’t approve of all the murder and mayhem she had caused, she had respected how the Queen went after what she wanted and didn’t stop until she got it. Regina wished she had half of her persistance.Maybe then she would have her bakery.

The thought dominated her mind as she stepped into Granny’s one evening. Her day at the cannery had been especially draining and she found she had no energy to make herself dinner. So she stopped at the diner, hoping to pick up something to take home.

However, there was a line and she was forced to stand on her aching feet as she waited to order. A woman at the front was taking up Granny’s time, gesturing wildly and clearly upset. Regina leaned forward, trying to catch the conversation to figure out how long this was going to take.

“But the party is tomorrow night,” the woman whined. “What am I supposed to do?”

Granny looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, but I lost an oven and had to make sacrifices. All bakery orders have been put on hold. You’ll get your money back, I promise.”

“That still doesn’t solve my problem. I need a cake!” the woman nearly shouted.

Regina didn’t know what posssessed her in that moment--maybe it was all the stories of the Evil Queen she had read, maybe it was her subconscious that still regarded her as queen of action--but she stepped out of line and approached the irate customer. She tapped the woman’s shoulder, ducking when the woman’s arm nearly collided with her head as the customer turned to face her.

“What?” the woman snapped at Regina, almost sapping her nerve from her.

Almost.

Squaring her shoulderse, Regina smiled at the woman. “I heard you need a cake. I happen to do some baking in my free time. Perhaps I can help?”

The woman looked ready to cry with joy. She grabbed Regina’s hands. “You would be willing to do that? For me?”

“Sure,” Regina said, guiding her toward an empty table. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“I want a sheet cake with lemon cake and vanilla icing. And can it say ‘Happy Birthday, Jeffrey’?” the relieved woman asked.

Nodding, Regina wrote everything down on a spare piece of paper she had in her bag. “How big do you want it?”

“Eighteen inches, if you can,” she replied.

“I believe I can.” Regina wrote down her address at the bottom of the paper before tearing it off carefully. She held it out to the woman. “You can pick it up here tomorrow afternoon. I’ll take a long lunch and meet you at 12:45. How does that sound?”

“Perfect. You are a lifesaver. How much will I owe you?” she asked, pulling out her wallet.

Biting her lip, Regina realized she hadn’t considered that. She decided to stick with honesty. “I’ve never baked for someone before. Maybe we can work that out tomorrow after I get everything and make it?”

“Sounds reasonable.” The woman shouldered her purse before squeezing Regina’s arm. “Thank you again.”

Regina nodded, putting her list in her own purse. She caught sight of Granny’s scowl and decided she should probably get dinner elsewhere. With renewed energy and needing to make a trip to the grocery store anyway, she hurried out of the diner as she decided to make herself dinner before getting a start on that cake.

The next day, Regina chose an option for lunch she never took before--she chose to skip both her breaks to take an hour long lunch instead of her usual half hour. She drove back home, meeting her customer at her door. “The cake is inside. I hope you like it,” Regina told her.

“As long as it’s edible and says happy birthday, I’m going to love it,” the woman assured her, following Regina into her house.

Regina pulled the cake from her refrigerator and placed it on the table, holding her breath as she waited for the verdict. She was proud of it, made from scratch with whipped vanilla icing she made herself as well. She had even bought piping to help add embellishments along the border and did her best to keep her handwriting neat as she written the message on it.

The woman gasped. “Oh, this is better than I thought! You’re a miracle worker.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Regina said, flushing. “I just hope it tastes as good as it looks.”

“I’m sure it will.” The woman handed her two twenty-dollar bills. “Here, take that.”

Regina stared at the money, surprised. “Oh. I didn’t think it would…”

“No, you deserve it. Thank you,” the woman told her, picking up the cake. She smiled at Regina. “I’ll let you know how it is. Promise.”

“I would appreciate it. Thank you so much,” Regina said, ushering the woman back out to her car.

Closing her door behind her, Regina leaned against it and stared at the forty dollars in her hand. Fory dollars! It was almost a full day’s salary at the cannery and she earned it by just baking a cake, something she enjoyed doing anyway. Excitement and joy filled her, mkaing her feel like she might float away. Perhaps her dream was completely dead. Maybe it just needed to be reworked.

Regina placed one of the twenties back in her wallet to make up for the money she spent on ingredients and supplies. The other twenty was stored in a ceramic jar she had been given during a Secret Santa exchange. It had different types of cookies on it and she figured it was appropriate. She hoped the cake was hit and word of mouth sent a few more orders her way.

Apparently there was more than one way to have a business.

When Regina arrived at the cannery the next morning, one of her coworkers greeted her. “The cake you made Jeffrey was amazing! Could you make some cupcakes for my son’s birthday this weekend? The party is superhero themed,” she said.

“Okay,” Regina replied, pulling out the little notebook she bought in hopes of future orders. She opened it and clicked her pen. “How many and what flavors?”

From there, her little baking business grew. She had to limit the amount of orders she took, which only made people try to be the first to get to her. Regina happily baked cakes, cupcakes, cookies, pies--whatever delicious treats her customers wanted. The money in her cookie jar grew with each new order and she had to buy a ledger to keep track of her expenses and profits.

She used the money to lavish Diana, who came to visit her every weekend and who helped her with some of the orders. Regina bought her clothes to wear when she came over and started to decorate a bedroom for her, complete with toys and books. That also included comic books after Regina had discovered Wonder Woman was also named Diana. Her Diana loved them and cherished them.

Diana picked out a lovely shade of purple--orchid--to paint her room. She and Regina painted it themselves, a fun mother-daughter bonding experience, and debated what Regina should call her new business. It was growing strong almost two months after her first order so a name certainly was needed.

“How about we keep it simple? Regina’s Treats?” she suggested as they painted a wall together.

Scrunching her nose, Diana shook her head. “Try something with more imagination, Mama.”

“More imagination?” Regina glanced the room, spotting Diana’s storybook. It gave her an idea. “How about Regina’s Gingerbread House? Like from Hansel and Gretel?”

“You hate the Blind Witch. She stole a rare apple from you, the one you needed to cast the sleeping curse on Snow White,” Diana explained. She frowned as she gave Regina the side eye. “Didn’t you read that?”

“I’ve been a little busy,” Regina protested. While she didn’t have much free time as she used to, she knew she could’ve made time to read if she wanted to. It was just easier to blame her new baking business rather than admit to her daughter that she was scared to see how evil she had really gotten in the Enchanted Forest.

Diana sighed. “Fine. But can you try to read more when you can? At this rate, we’ll never be able to find my father!”

“We?” Regina asked, confused. She paused in her painting to study her daughter. “You walked up to me in a park and announced you were my daughter. What’s keeping you from doing that with your father?”

“I haven’t found him yet, especially since I can’t drive. I think he might be living on the outskirts of town in the woods. He loves the forest,” Diana said.

Regina paused, absorbing her daugther’s words. “How do you know that? Do you remember him...from before the curse?”

Diana shook her head. “I have no memories of life before the curse. All I remember is day after day in the convent. I think the curse froze us in time. We never age, never realize how time is passing.”

“Then how do you know the curse is real?” It seemed crazy that she was putting so much faith in a young girl’s belief that fairy tales were real and that they were cursed. Yet she had proof she had been pregnant and given birth without remembering it. And said little girl looked too much like her to be a coincidence. A fairy tale curse seemed quite possible since there were no other plausible, reasonable explantions for it.

“When Sister Trina gave me that book the stories felt more real than anything the sisters told me,” Diana explained before looking Regina right in the eyes. “Don’t you feel it too?”

Regina did. She had pulled down her own yearbook shortly after meeting Diana and looked at the pictures, including her own sernior headshot as well as Daniel’s. Netiher felt as real as the illustration of the two of them in the storybook. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember anything about high school except her failed romance. No friends, no teachers, no special events...nothing. It was like she had been plopped into a life wehre she worked at the cannery for minimum wage, lived in a small cottage, drove a crappy car, had no friends or family and was always thisclose to her dream of a better life.

A curse didn’t just seem possible, it made perfect sense.

“I do,” Regina said, putting down her paint roller. “Now, why don’t we clean up and I’ll make you dinner before I take you back to the convent?”

Diana put down her brush, nodding. “Can I have one of those leftover red velvet cupcakes too? Please?”

“Only if you eat all your vegetables,” Regina replied, giving her a pointed look. She certianly felt like a mother in that moment.

Sighing, Diana nodded before starting to head to the door to clean up. Before she got there, she paused and looked back at Regina. “Mama? About your business...I think you should call it Once Upon a Treat.”

Once Upon a Treat. Regina rolled it around her head a few times, liking it more and more. She smiled before nodding. “I love it. Once Upon a Treat it is.”

Despite her fears, Regina picked the storybook back up and read on for Diana’s sake. Her other self continued to pursue Snow White with a fervant persistence, eager to punish her stepdaughter. She didn’t care who stood in her way, killing many and destroying the lives of many more. Like Hansel and Gretel, who refused to live in the palace with her in favor of reuniting with their father. She transported them to one side of the forest and him to the other, ensuring their reunion would not be swift--if it ever came at all.

Queen Regina’s offer to the children highlighted another recurring theme--how lonely she had been. She had had no childhood friends to speak of and was then forced to marry a man still in love with his deceased wife. He neglected her in favor of his daughter and no one at court seemed to befriend her. No wonder she had turned to evil, looking to fill the holes in her heart in all the wrong ways.

However there were a few people who tried to help her--her father, Henry, and a fairy named Tinkerbell. Regina often went back to the story where Tinkerbell saved her when a balcony crumbled from under her feet. She saw how lonely the Queen was and wanted to help, even stealing pixie dust to help Regina find her soulmate. Regina wondered how their friendship would been if the story had ended differently. If the Queen hadn’t run away from the tavern but gone in and met the Man with the Lion Tattoo. If she had rejected Rumple and dark magic, if she hadn’t ridiculed Tink, if she had just allowed herself to love.

Besides her promise to Diana, a desire to see if the Man with the Lion Tattoo ever showed up again propeled Regina to continue reading. After a few nights where she dedicated several hours to the book, she reached the point where the Queen got Snow White to bite the poisoned apple. There was no trickery in this version--the Queen didn’t disguise herself nor hide what the apple would do. She captured Snow’s beloved Prince Charming and agreed to release him if Snow ate the apple, knowing she would fall into a cursed sleep. For her true love, Snow bit into the apple and fell at the Queen’s feet, making the Queen victorious at last.

Regina used her magic to place Snow’s body deep in the Enchanted Forest, just in case someone tried to wake her or something stupidly heroic like that. She returned to her beloved horse, Rocinante, and mounted him to head home.

Charming, though, had escaped and he confronted her. She told him that Snow was good as dead and that he would never be able to find her. He declared that he would always find Snow before trying to attack Regina. It spooked Rocinante, who bolted with her. Regina held on tight but eventually lost her grip, falling to the forest floor and getting knocked unconscious as night fell around them.

That was where Diana said she should end for now so Regina closed the book, despite her desire to find out more. She wanted to know about the man she apparently gave up evil and her quest to punish Snow White for, the man who she fell in love with and had a child with. Was he the Man with the Lion Tattoo? And who was he? She laid in bed one night, trying to puzzle it out. The book had provided little clues to the man’s identity but she figured there had to be something.

It then hit her. Diana had introduced herself with the last name of “Locksley” yet Mother Superior had insisted she had only started using that name recently. When she had pulled out Diana’s file, Regina had read the last name of “Smith”--the common last name often given to orphans without any identification. Since Diana had read the entire story, Regina had to assume she took on the surname she assumed her father would have.

Pushing back her covers, Regina crossed to her little bookshelf. She didn’t have many books and so easily found the well-read book she had taken from the convent when she moved out. Pulling it out, she read the title printed on the red cover: The Adventures of Robin Hood.

Also known as Robin of Locksley.

It had always been her favorite book growing up, reading about the man who formed a family who stole from the rich to give to the poor. She had wished he was real and that he would come rescue her, to make her life more exciting. Had she been drawn to him because he had rescued her once before? Did some part of her remember loving him?

She opened the book and bit her lip as she stared at the design on the inside cover page: a roaring lion in black on a shield. Was this the lion in the tattoo?

Hugging the book to her chest, Regina laid back down and dreamed of a forest. She ran through it as she held the hand of a man whose face she couldn’t see. The only thing she could make out was his tattoo--a roaring lion against a black shield.

We’ll start to see more Outlaw Queen in the next part as Regina moves into the next part of her story in the book. 

[thefantasysuite]

Arie’s Bachelor Preview

Finally. Maybe it just seems longer because I didn’t post much during ette or paradise, but it’s about time we got some new info on the OG of dating shows. The cast has finally been released. I’m going to assume that like me, your heart skipped a beat when you got that google alert stating as much. I glanced at a few pictures, but have held off reading anything about any of the ladies to make sure I captured first impression. You wouldn’t stand out there greeting each as she comes out of the limo and then get black out drunk and not remember what you first thought the next morning. Unless of course you are a contestant on this show and have already stalked the bachelor for months on end. In that case, pass the alcohol.

If you’ve followed this blog at all you know I like to stay away from off season drama. You had your 15 mins of fame. As Mr. Wonderful eloquently puts it:

But since it’s the season of giving I’ll give you a quick update on last year’s bachelor, Nick. Him and Vanessa broke up. The end. But seriously, this is what they looked like right after they were able to make their ‘arrangement’ public:

Yeah. Good job convincing everyone that was going to last.

Alright Moving right along. The bachelor this year is Arie Luyendyk:

I don’t remember feeling strongly about Arie one way or another when he was on. I do remember feeling strongly about the bachelorette that he was chasing after however:

Back to Arie. He comes from a family that likes to race cars. The F1 circuit to be precise. For all intents and purposes I’m going to group that in with NASCAR because the jokes are easier. Matt and Trey got 22 minutes out of making fun of NASCAR:

I can do a season of the bachelor.

Arie’s bachelor announcement doesn’t come without some controversy. He may have broken up with girlfriend right before he became the bachelor:

http://www.etonline.com/exclusive-arie-luyendyk-jrs-ex-girlfriend-says-she-was-blindsided-bachelor-casting-their-breakup

It also appears Arie has a type when you look at his ex compared to the former bachelorette:

Enough about Arie. Let’s see the skanks that will be racing after his heart (get used to a bunch corny puns relating to his former profession)

Ali

Ali is a personal stylist. Got a quick tip for Ali. Next time ABC offers to have their professional stylist help you out before your headshot, don’t say “I got this”. The most embarrassing thing she listens to is Nickelback. While unrelated, please check out this clip of another Chad Kroeger fighting his local government to keep house parties a god given right:

The Beastie Boys would be proud

Amber

3 people dead or alive you���d like to have lunch with. You can tell a lot about a person in how they answer. Starting your list off with Kim Kardashian says more than enough. What can you possibly ask her in which the honest answer isn’t “sex tape”? How did you get so famous? Sex tape. How did you break into the industry? Sex tape. What drove your step dad to become a woman? Sex tape

Annaliese

I feel like Annaliese misunderstood the question 5 things you can’t live without. She listed 3 different types of food and 2 emotions. I think the producers are looking for you to say something like wi-fi and your favorite hoody. She also listed Miley Cyrus and Chrissy Tiegan as people she would want to be. Guessing there isn’t much going on upstairs with this one

Ashley

Ashley looks super boring. Doubt she makes it past night 1. She hates doing laundry because it takes her a week to go from washing her clothes, to folding, to putting them away. Pft. I leave that shit in the dryer and go grab a pair of socks and underwear as needed. Amateur

Becca K

Becca has quite the jawline on her. Hopefully she has a smokin hot body. Becca is a publicist. You know who was also a publicist? Fucking Shauna:

Something tell me Becca is publicizing people more like Johnny Drama and less like Vincent Chase

Bekah M

Bekah is very intriguing. This might be a first, but her age isn’t listed in her bio. And I really want to know what it is. Her profession is nanny so I would assume she’s pretty young. But past contestant Corrine also had a nanny and she was pretty old. I know it’s because of the hair, but I’m getting a Morena Baccarin vibe:

I’ve got my eye on this one

Bibiana

I’m guessing Bibiana has quite a bit of personality. This has to be the girl other girls hate, right? She’s an executive assistant and former NFL cheerleader. I vote Bibi as most likely to tell everyone that she isn’t there to make friends and to start calling Arie her man

Bri

Bri is a sports reporter. I needed to look it up to be sure:

Now I’m not saying someone that’s already been on TV can’t fall in love with someone else on TV. But if she gets to the final 3 this season, fans like her, and a sideline job happens to open up with ABC she may have her eyes on a prize other than Arie

Brittane J

At the risk of making an off(on)-color joke, I’m going to guess that is a new way to spell Brittany. And is she winking? Lunch with 3 people dead or alive she went with Whitney Houston, Bernie Sanders, Beyonce. When the bill came Bernie made sure that Whitney Houston’s estate paid for her meal before the new tax bill gets rid of the death tax. (Hey. She got political, not me)

Brittany T

Seeing her listed as Brittany T confirms that the previous girl does pronounce it as Brittany. This Brittany would like to have lunch with Chris Evans, Hillary Clinton (shudder), and Beyonce. When Chris Evans goes on a coke binge he better hope he stays away from the bathtub to relax afterwards (See Whitney Houston above). Also, do you think Hillary ordered a side of beef at lunch? I remember when she got chucked into a van like a side of beef at a 9/11 memorial ceremony:

#neverforget

Caroline

I’m out on Caroline. She doesn’t have a dog yet, but can’t wait to find someone to “co-parent” a dog with. You would be a dog owner, not a parent. I bet she also can’t wait to “play house” with Arie. She’s going to be that girl that Arie tries to have a serious conversation with and can’t stop giggling while talking about how much fun they have together

Chelsea

Chelsea is boring and generic. Sticks out in no way. Not pretty. Not ugly. Thinks France is the most romantic city. Listed grade school sports as something she did competitively (read: unathletic). Likes warm weather, but not too warm. I don’t see anything here. I suspect an early pass (racing jokes) from Arie

Jacqueline

I’m trying to figure out who Jackie looks like. Right now I’m stuck on a poor (very poor) man’s Winnie Cooper:

I don’t think that’s the right answer, so I am open to suggestions. I also kind of wanted to look up Danica McKellar so I’m not mad. This will never work out though. She keeps talking about her career and how important it is to her. Career first women don’t win. They usually become the bachelorette. Not that I’m suggesting that will happen. Just that she has no chance

Jenna

Jenna is a social media manager from Indiana. Speaking of, I need to fire mine. When she eventually reads this post I expect https://twitter.com/thebachtweets to be updated with the new season flair. Jenna’s favorite show is Friends. I’m going to diagnose her as Monica. Looks like she is bubbly, can provide some comic relief when necessary, and probably has a nerdy brother named Ross that keeps finding ways to screw up everything with his much hotter girlfriend. How you doin’??

Jenny

Jenny’s most afraid of picking the wrong person to marry. I guess you can’t make that mistake if the bachelor picks you. She probably has nightmares about being the bachelorette. Many of her answers indicate that she’s outdoorsy and loves adventure. She looks just the opposite. Maybe her idea of camping is hanging out in a motor home watching netflix while a fire burns outside

Jessica

Jessica’s occupation is television host and I immediately couldn’t wait to look up which show. Then I saw she was from Canada, which isn’t real tv. Is Degrasi still on? But then I looked her up and it’s worse than Canadian tv host. She has a youtube channel called Jessica Carroll TV.......(So what if I watched the video ‘Get Pool Party Ready). So we have smoking hot girl living in LA that’s used to the camera. Guess who might get called out first for not being there for the right reasons

Kendall

I feel like Kendall has a drink in one or both hands of this picture. This chick is weird. If she could be any animal she went with bat. Most romantic gift was an alligator hand holding an iron heart in a jar because she collects taxidermy. As long as it wasn’t an alligator holding a human hand. Carl Weathers would have been pissed:

Krystal

Krystal is one of those fitness nuts. I feel like that’s a profession/hobby that never does well on this show either. She says she is most afraid of unused potential. Lol. She must moonlight as a life coach. Trying to remember back to when Arie was on the bachelorette he didn’t strike me as a real go getter. I feel like Krystal is going to push him to be better and Arie will end up channeling his brother in name and hit her with:

Lauren B

I think Lauren B goes far. Pretty girl. No weird answers. What is my first rule about going on this show? Don’t be weird. She has a second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. By the way, whatever happened to Billy Blanks?

Lauren G

Lauren has the real descriptive occupation of executive recruiter. Her favorite tv show is ‘This is Us’. I’ve never seen an episode, but based on the people that watch it and from what I’ve heard it sounds like one long ass chick flick. It’s like tv networks needed to try and scoop up the ‘Parenthood’ audience that loves mushy feel good/make you cry stories and we ended up here. Those shows are the worst (And no, the bachelor is not the scripted reality version of those shows).

Lauren J

Lauren is honest. Asked if she’s neat or messy, she concedes to being messy. Doesn’t like playing games with guys, just tells them how she feels. Eats full meals in bed. Can’t live without mascara. She’s also 33 so no time to beat around the bush. I think she’ll end up getting super jelly when she sees Arie making out with other girls. I’m gonna say she ends up in the top 5. Arie wants a young girl to parade around for a little while. Lauren is probably trying to have kids tomorrow

Lauren S

The run on Lauren’s continues. We’ve got another social media manager on our hands. It’s funny thinking back to the first season of the bachelor and knowing how that job wouldn’t have even existed. When asked if she could be anyone in the world she went with ‘anyone in Taylor Swift’s girl squad’. You wouldn’t want to be....I don’t know....Taylor Swift instead? Not very lofty girls for this one. She’s an early out

Maquel

Maquel? Whatever. Guess we are just making names up at this point. Her favorite holiday is Halloween. She loves dressing up and creepy/scary stuff. I’m guessing she is more Cady and less Regina:

Marikh

Maybe the weirdest answer to a question that I’ve seen:

What? So you don’t want to accidentally confirm an incorrect assumption? Keep in mind that she was asked this question, had time to think it over, decided to go with that. I think Marikh might break down if asked where she wants to go to eat. “I love Olive Garden but I hate their breadsticks and salad and pasta so let’s go there”

Nysha

Nysha looks like she’s embarrassed to take this photo and have an official Bachelor headshot that will live forever. I don’t see Nysha doing real well this season. Her answer on favorite tv show and fictional character comes off as a bit “I don’t need no man”. Try not to make a scene when you don’t get a rose

Olivia

Olivia is 23. She looks even younger than that. Favorite book is 50 shades of grey. Not sure she was old enough to read that when it first came out. Do you think she secretly hopes Arie has a sex dungeon? Probably would have been a good intern for Matt Lauer. 

Seinne

I’m going to guess that Seinne is this year’s Rachel (you know what I’m getting at). Favorite tv show is Game of Thrones. I don’t care for the show. Watched the first season and couldn’t believe I wasted that much time. Don’t get the appeal at all. If I hear Dilly Dilly one more time I’m going to fucking lose it

Tia

Tia could win this year, be the girl that everyone hates, or be the next bachelorette. I’ll know by the end of the first episode, but right now I have no clue. I’m looking for key things in her answers and she says ‘sassy’ as well as having gone to a swingers resort. I’m going to go with the one everyone loves to hate. But I reserve the right to change my mind

Valerie

Valerie is a server in Nashville (failed country music artist). She’s 25 and has over 50 Halloween costumes. Maybe she celebrates it multiple times a year. I just hope she doesn’t have that thick twang when she talks. That’s so annoying

There they are. The desperate fame whores looking to make their mark January 1st. I do wonder about airing the premiere on the 1st. I know there isn’t a ton of crossover between individuals when it comes to the bachelor and college football, but I can imagine a fight or two between couples when it’s the football semi-finals vs bach premiere. The game airs on ESPN which is of course owned by ABC’s parent company of Disney. I would suggest holding off a week but the national championship game is played that next Monday. 

See ya after the premiere

- Nick

[gleeredorp]

Welcome, KATIE, you’ve been accepted to play the role of HARMONY PEARCE. Please check the new member’s checklist, and send in your account within the next 24 hours, or your role will be reopened!

⇒ OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION:

NAME/ALIAS: Katie

AGE: 20

TIME ZONE: EST

ACTIVITY: 8/10. Usually home during the days as I’m currently not in school.

ANYTHING ELSE?: If possible, I would like to use Meghann Fahy as FC, if possible, as there’s a lack of Lindsay Pearce content for icons/gifs. + REMOVED.

⇒ IN CHARACTER INFORMATION:

DESIRED CHARACTER: Harmony Pearce

AGE & BIRTHDAY: Seventeen, April 9th. 

SEXUALITY: Straight 

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single.

OCCUPATION: When she’s not on a stage or signing the lids of Gerber baby food, Harmony spends her days as a student at William McKinley High School. 

LOCATION: Lima, Ohio

SHIPS: Harmony/Happiness, Harmony/Jesse, Harmony/Finn.

ANTI-SHIPS: Harmony/Quinn, Harmony/Kurt

EXTRA CURRICULAR ACTIVITIES: Each student must at least have a minimum of one extra curricular activity, and a maximum of four.

Glee Club

Drama Club

Dance Club

Photography 

CHARACTER TRAITS: What’s your character’s personality like? Include at least two positive & two negative traits to describe your character.

+POSITIVE: Ambitious, Supportive. 

-NEGATIVE: Overly self-assured, Melodramatic.

⇒ CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY:

Harmony Pearce has been acting since she was in utero. Her mother submitted her ultrasound to be featured in an episode of Murder, She Wrote, earning the fetus her first acting role! In fact, CBS had inquired about using the ultrasound in a few more of their television series- they claimed her tiny body was the perfect shape and no other fetus could compare. 

When April 9th finally rolled around and welcomed a beautiful baby girl, she already had a resume full of screen work to use for future auditions. By the age of 14 months, Harmony landed the most prestigious role amongst toddlers all over the globe; the new Gerber baby. Her chubby, rosy cheeks and big blue eyes were showcased on commercials and glass jars all over America, even being banned in some small towns for being ’too adorable to be featured on television’ - or so she claims. 

Around the tender age of three years old, her father introduced her to his vinyl collection, which included every musical cast recording ever made. She quickly latched onto side A of “The Wizard of Oz” recording, so much so, that Harmony would beg her father to play ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ every evening after dinner on their white baby grand. The pair quickly came to the realization that she was born with a natural talent, and immediately signed her up for a talent show hosted by the local summer camp; which she won, and proudly displayed the big, engraved trophy in her bedroom. 

Many ballet, jazz, and vocal classes later, Harmony is enrolled as a student at William McKinley High School. After being home schooled with the help of a tutor, Harmony felt it was time for a big change - a real high school experience. Her parents insisted she attend a private school, but she decided public would look good for her ‘down-to-earth’ image when she’s presented a Tony Award and gives a speech reaching out to the theatre nerds across America who aren’t as fortunate as she. 

Harmony is looking forward to making a splash as a transfer student. With word of Rachel Berry being the Glee club star, she is looking forward to changing things up with a little friendly competition - after all, friendly is all you can be to your opponent when you know you’re the best. 

⇒ IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE:

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME AND CHANGE ANYTHING IN YOUR PAST, WOULD YOU? WHY? WHY NOT? +WHAT WOULD IT BE?

I mean, I’d probably throw in a dramatic kick in the ultrasound used for Murder, She Wrote. Besides that, I wouldn’t want to change a thing - especially regarding my accomplishments.

  IF THERE WERE TO BE A MOVIE MADE ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WHO WOULD YOU CAST TO PLAY YOU?

Me, of course. My parents didn’t pay all that money in acting classes for me to not star as myself in film entitled: “In Harmony: The Harmony Pearce Story" 

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN 10 YEARS

Opening a Playbill in my dressing room at the Palace Theatre and seeing my headshot flashing back a subtle, yet dramatic look. 

[chaiteakusuri]

Running with a Ghost: Chapter 1

Read it on my AO3     Chapter 2 is up!

Running with a Ghost: Chapter 1: Rising up

           Alfred F. Jones had recently taken up running. And he definitely didn’t take up these evening jogs just because of a few particularly jarring comments from a certain British co-worker, he’ll have you know.

           “Of course I’m fit!” Alfred huffed to himself softly the evening that he had gone to the fitness store to get his workout outfit-- which he certainly hadn’t gone to the same day of those unscrupulous comments, certainly not. “I am nooot fat.” the American muttered to himself as he scanned over himself in the mirror of the changing room stall that he was using. And he wasn’t, not really. Did Alfred workout as often as he probably should? No. Did Alfred eat a healthy, balanced diet like he should? Definitely not. But, despite all of this, the American wasn’t overbearingly overweight. Give the credit to luck or a highly functional metabolism, but Alfred wasn’t fat by most people’s standards. Arthur Kirkland just happened to land outside of the range of most people’s standards. And giving what Alfred remembered about statistics, if something was outside of the populations normal standards- you reject it!

           Using that logic, Alfred had ignored Arthur’s mean, offhand comments for about half a year. He kept ignoring them until, one day, Alfred noticed that his suitcoat was fitting a little more snug than usual. At first, Alfred blamed the dryer for, reportedly, shrinking his suit coat on him, but, when Alfred noticed that he wasn’t tightening his belt as far as he normally would, Alfred decided to take exercise into consideration. But, Alfred only decided to take up running to maintain his overall health for in the long run, obviously.

           “I’m only taking up running because I want to have something that I can do in the evenings as a hobby” Alfred thought to himself, still in a huff, as he purchased his new clothing on his way out. He, as he would tell everyone who asked, had gotten bored of playing video games during his free time and, without a doubt, wouldn’t miss playing his fantasy video games; he especially wouldn’t miss playing the one that he had only purchased less than a week ago.

           Alfred, of course, chose to run in the evening because it would be less crowded on the streets and trails that he would run on; he unquestionably chose to run in the evenings to avoid crowds and not because he wanted to dodge the really fit people that he would see jogging in the morning on his way to work.

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          “Hmph, I look good in this” Alfred said to himself on the evening that he removed all the price tags from his workout outfit and put it on. He wore a 3/4 length sleeved running shirt and some running tights underneath a pair of athletic shorts. The outfit fit him well and, to the untrained eye, Alfred looked at home in the outfit. He wore the outfit naturally as if he’d been running for months rather than just starting. This helped Alfred’s confidence considerably as he turned from the mirror and left his home, slipping his running shoes on as he went.

           As Alfred briskly walked from his home to the running trail, taking a moment to thank his past self for buying a warmer running outfit; the October weather was easily providing crisp, cool evenings that would prove to be too cold in other workout outfits. And although it would be warmer to jog in the morning or late afternoon, Alfred preferred to go in the evenings; he would simply have to put one or two of his pay checks towards a treadmill or gym membership for the freezing winter months soon to come.

           Alfred let out a breath and tapped the pads of his shoes against the blacktop as he came to the well-established “friendship trail”. It was a nice trail from what the American had seen years ago, when he had walked here with his brother, Matthew. The trail was long, well-lit in most areas, conveniently came around in a big loop back to the starting point, and gave a nice break from the constant city landscape with lush trees and even a few flower gardens.

           “This is a nice place...” Alfred thought to himself after a long moment of appreciating the scenery around him and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping open his music app. “...Whelp, ready as I’ll ever be.” Alfred said to himself as he started the playlist of motivational music he put together the day before and entered a light jog along the trail.

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           Everything was hot, everything was horrible. Sure, he had just spent the last half an hour jogging, but did he feel light and happy? Nooo. It felt like someone stabbed him in the side with a letter opener and he felt like he had legs made of lead. Being happy after exercising was about as grand of a facade as people laughing while enjoying a salad by themselves.

           “Running sure seemed like a good idea before I actually started running.” Alfred panted between gasps for air. “Aah screw it, I already made it this far.” Alfred thought as he noticed the beginning of the trail once again, “Might as well finish this strong.”            But, the finish wasn’t as close as the American had perceived it to be and, because of a mixture of Alfred’s determination and downright stubbornness, he reached the finish without slowing or stopping. Alfred was at least a little proud of himself because of this accomplishment even though his heaving pants were ringing clearly around and across the nearby flower patch.

           “Sure, I’ll meet new people because of running.” He breathed while removing his headphones, “I’ll meet some nice paramedics on my way to the hospital.” Alfred huffed, though it lacked bite.

           “Ah, man.” Alfred breathed as a chill seemed to run through him and he shivered.

           As Alfred turned to start the walk back to his home he stopped, turned back, and looked for a long moment as if trying to find something that was out of place. As he looked, nothing seemed to change though, the only difference of note being the flicker of a nearby lamppost, which Alfred easily shrugged off although he did find it a little creepy. Upon announcing to himself that it was time to go home and have something warm to drink, Alfred turned on his heel, leaving the trail to make his way home. As Alfred left the trail, the nearby lamppost seemed to flicker faster a moment before regained its normal, calm shine as the American turned his back on it. This was certainly a good start Alfred thought to himself as he made his way home.

           After that day, Alfred became a regular at “Sunlit trail”. Alfred often still had a hard time motivating himself to go run, but, despite what he would say, Alfred felt good most of the time while he was running (excluding the times when he develops a stitch halfway through a run).

           Alfred, even more so, always felt proud of himself when he finished a run, coming back full circle to the starting point. The American could get used to this, he supposed.

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           About three weeks had passed since Alfred began his evening runs at the trail, and it was safe to say that the evening runs were beginning to wriggle and fight their way into his everyday routine. On days he didn’t go running, he felt as if they were missing something from his day. Alfred would even go out on his runs on days that most would consider staying inside (possibly because Alfred hadn’t save up nearly enough to afford a treadmill yet). His runs along the trail energized him and made him feel like he accomplished something each day, no matter what else had happened before or after for the rest of the day. Alfred hadn’t stopped playing his games though, goodness no. To get the American to stop would be to kill him; Alfred would be easily convinced that, even in death, his ghost would be playing video games somehow.

           Instead of giving up games, Alfred instead used his runs as little breaks from his video games. If anything, Alfred would ponder possible strategizes while on his runs.            “I see the city still hasn’t fixed this lamp here.” Alfred muttered to himself as he approached the lamp in question, which seemed to flicker in response to his presence.

           Alfred had noticed about three or five days into his routine runs that this lamp, and seemingly only this lamp needed to have its light switched out. The fact that the light was flickering akin to horror film lamps was enough to creep the American out. His paranoia and “creeped out factor” only increased when it came to his attention that the light would only flicker when he looked at it or so it seemed. But, not wanting to live out a horror film midway through the spookiest month of the year, Alfred quickly shooed those thoughts away and gave his undivided attention to the closest thing he could find as he finished his dynamic warm up.

           The first thing the creeped-out jogger’s eyes found was what could only be a memorial plaque. And, despite this being so eerily close to the “demon lamp post”, Alfred’s curiosity got the better of him and he read over the plaque. The plaque read, in artistic script: “In memory of Ivan Braginsky, whose smile could light up a room and whose hands could beautify any landscape.”

           “Huh...” Alfred said as he let out a breath, not having noticed that he had squatted down to better read the epitaph as well as get a better look at the headshot of the young man centered well beside the complementing cursive carving on the memorial plaque. “That’s too bad...” Alfred murmured, looking over the features of the man that Alfred thought was either Russian or Polish based on his last name. It really was too bad the American thought as he stared at the light haired, light skinned young man on the plaque.

           “He was a cute one though.” He said to himself. The smile he wore on his face in this picture looked calm, but still happy as well as caring. The man, Ivan, did look like he would have been a good gardener, too (if only because the memorial itself brought to attention). Alfred’s eyes trailed down to the man’s neck, which was wrapped about with a soft looking scarf. Although it didn’t seem too out of place, the scarf still seemed to look a little too warm to the American. It did look nice to touch though, the American pondered for a moment before his thoughts were torn from the bust of the man as the lamp post above him began flickering with an intensity greater than he had ever seen before.

           Thoroughly alarmed, Alfred jumped to his feet and bolted down the path, deliberately choosing to run a different route that evening at a wary and accelerated rate. Despite the adrenaline rush and improved workout from the “encounter”, Alfred still decided that he would be sure to notify the city that that lamp post definitely needed a fresh light bulb.