#canary’s symphonies

[miserycanary]

PERSISTS IN DELUSION ᡣ𐭩 previous ⤶

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & reader 

synopsis: you've left and what was left of Ghost (pt.2)

tags: I really don't know whether to tag this as fluff or angst 

The clock hanging by the wall ticks persistently like a bomb waiting to break Ghost’s delusion that you’ll come back. Ever since that night, he has spent his time like a literal ghost. Barely eating, barely moving, barely living without you. 

With each heavy step that he takes toward your shared bedroom—now bare—the pain in his chest drags him. “I’m home, baby..” he gruffs at the presence he tricked himself to think was still there. Dropping his things by the door, he moves so slowly and plops himself at the mattress that is now cold.. Like how it always was before you came into his life and warmed his whole body and soul. 

Ghost isn’t a crier. Never was. He took all the beatings from his father without letting a single tear fall. He didn’t shed shit when he had to force himself out of the grave he was put in alive. Not even when he left with no family and had to witness that moment with his own eyes. Ever since then, he has swore to heaven and earth that they will never take anything from him again. Depriving himself of anything that could tie him down emotionally.

Then suddenly there was you in all your glory.

Face painted similarly to his as you hand the kids celebrating Día de Muertos candies. Ghost never thought he’d take a step back in this country but as if tugged by fate, he found himself surrounded with the similar decorations that started his nightmare. Yet all he could zero out on was you. And that moment, Ghost knew that heaven and earth were snickering at him, mocking him for what he swore long before was now forgotten. 

As the crown dissipates, he takes all the scuffed pieces of his heart. “That’s a pretty flower,” he grumbles. He sees the way you flinch at the sudden person, turning around to see his towering self. Simon wasn’t stupid and he knew how intimidating he looked and expected you to be scared. His apology is already at the tip of his tongue. 

“Thank you! Do you want it?” He stills, blinking at the unexpected reaction. “O-oh, yeah, thank you.” You, on the other hand, expected the giant of a man to take the delicate flower with roughness, even expecting some petals to fall yet he took it so gently. Simon plucked the stem from your hand, placing it on the wide expanse of his palm and leaning lower to expect it. “Pretty..” he mutters, and you almost agreed if not for the way he said it with his eyes on you. 

Time passed and you guys were intertwined, lives and love exchanged throughout the two years he was with you. 

Ghost fully expected you to run when he first told you about himself, but you stayed. You tore down his walls with patience and care, showing empathy for what he has gone through but never pity and that made him fall deeper. Now Ghost would be lying if he said he has relationship experiences but he knew that if he doesn’t take this opportunity, then he’d lose you before he even had you (he lost you either way). 

But what could he do now? What’s done has been done. He could learn about a relationship all he wants but who matters the most to him is gone. With a new profound energy, he pulled himself up, opening the drawer beside him. He shuffles through the pile of things before pulling out what he was looking for. Sighing, he opens the box and stares at the engagement ring. 

Taking you for granted was not his intention. When you started to cook him meals, take care of the dishes, and everything else, he thought this was the norm. His duty was just to spoil his pretty girl. He never found anything wrong with the dread and exhaust that paints your face everyday because he was used to the heavy weight and assumed everyone was like that. You never complained, so he thought everything was fine. 

And he never wanted to snap back at you. He knew all about the sacrifice you did and gave for him, and how much you went through just to stay with him. He watches your eyes dim each time he tells you that you guys have to move once again or how broken you were when he found you at the hands of someone who wanted him dead. Loving him and being loved wasn’t easy but you did it with no complaints. 

Now he had to go out and be stupid, letting you slip from his fingers just because he couldn’t carry his weight for some measly housework. The very next day that you left the house, staying somewhere who knows where, he bought a dishwasher and hired a cleaner. Try as he might to do the housework just to please you, he knows that his time won’t allow it. So, he tried his best to work around it with the hopes that you’ll come back, but where were you? 

He has called your number multiple times after giving you enough space but no calls were returned. You were coming back to him, right? You won’t leave him, right?

You’ll still love him, right? You will. Ghost smiles softly to himself, kissing the ring while a shy tear slips. “You’ll look so pretty with this ring, darling…” he whispers to the presence that he tricked himself was still there.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: this is so long overdue. Sorry for the person who requested this because it took me this long!! 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open! 

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

#canary’s melodies #canary’s symphonies #simon riley x y/n #simon riley cod #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #ghost #cod fanfic #task force 141 #tf 141 #cod angst #cod #call of duty #modern warefare 2 x reader

[goldenfigtree]

Let Me Prove My Love to You

Summary: Leon is forced to attend an event at the white house when the evening suddenly gets more interesting after seeing a familiar face on stage, you.

Pairing: Older! Leon Kennedy x Reader

Warnings: fluff

A/N: I personally pictured Infinite Darkness Leon when I wrote this but it can honestly whichever one you desire. Not proofread but hope you enjoy it nevertheless

Standing with a glass of scotch in his hand, Leon avoids eye contact with everyone around him. If it were up to him, he would be home catching up on all the sleep he missed from not one but two missions back to back. But, being the president’s golden boy, he couldn’t say no. He insisted Leon to at least make an appearance at his formal dinner parties. Leaning against the bar counter by his elbows, he takes in the sight of all the white-clothed tables, each seat surrounding it having a porcelain plate in front of it. A stage sat in front of all these tables, an orchestra playing smooth jazz as many women wearing their most elegant cocktail dresses and expensive jewelry conversed with the many men wearing tailored suits. All holding their heads pridefully knowing they were special, for they were invited by the president of the United States.  

1 hour 

He thought to himself,

Just one more hour and I can go home

Taking another sip, he takes notice of Mr. President gesturing him over to his table and grimaces as he makes his way over to sit next to him. Others surrounding the table, trying to have a word with the President glared at Leon with envy as he sat at the President’s right hand. All looks he was used to and didn’t care for. With his hands intertwined together in his lap, he patiently waited for the food to arrive. That is, until a very familiar voice startled him, 

“Leon! You made it!” Looking up he sees a much older Ashley in a shimmering rustic orange gown, her blond hair a tad longer. Yet, her smile gave away that she didn’t change one bit, to Leon’s relief after all the hell they went through. 

“Ashley” he says nodding his head in greeting a bit awkwardly as she sat next to him, “Good to see you” 

“Your hair is brown” she acknowledges with a giggle, he chuckled quietly as he rested his glass on the table, 

“Thought I needed a bit of a change” he says, a smile resting on his lips. Finally, someone he knew in this stuffy place. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be as painful as he expected,

“Don’t worry, you still look dashing” Ashley reassures with her usual innocent yet beaming smile. He can’t help but chuckle bashfully, not used to being complimented, even if it was just Ashley. He clears his throat to regain his composure, his fingers tapping on his glass, 

“Thanks” 

Thankfully, the lights begin to dim and a man begins welcoming the guests. His attention, however, is on a silhouette he swore looked familiar, standing on the side of the stage, awaiting to be introduced. Leaning his head forward slightly, he squints his eyes in an effort to see who this person is. He didn’t have to wait long to find out because the man said her name and he immediately knew. His eyes widened as he watched the woman approach the standing microphone in an elegant emerald green gown, a glimmering smile complimenting the pearl earrings and necklace under the spotlight. 

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, was his mind playing tricks on him? Ashley lets out an awe of interest at the sight of her and leans over towards Leon,

“She’s really good, we’ve had her sing a couple of times. Dad likes to call her Canary. She’s an agent too ya know” not taking notice of Leon’s baffled expression, his lips parted slightly in shock, she turns her attention towards the stage as the orchestra begins to swell a musical tune, the woman who once was a distant memory now standing before him with her hands curled around the microphone stand. Her rosy lips opening slightly in anticipation to begin. 

And there it was, the angelic voice that Leon knew all too well,

“Every time we say goodbye… I die a little” her velvety tone followed after her voice rippling angelically with every line had gotten everyone’s attention. Forks dropped to the side of their plates, heads leaning forward in interest, conversations ending abruptly to lend an ear to her performance. 

The memories they made together a year ago flashed through his mind. Their midnight drives to clear their minds after either one of them came shaken from a mission. Their silly arguments on subjects; whether a hot dog was a sandwich or if cereal is considered soup. Their lazy mornings in bed. He remembered the times where they sat at her grand piano and she tried to teach him the basics. He remembered when he made her smile, when she made him laugh harder than he had in a long time. Then he remembered when it all ended, at his fault. And there she stood, beautiful as ever, finally showing the world her talent. Something he often tried talking her into. 

“You have such a beautiful and unique voice, why not show it to the world?” He’d often say to her. And always, she would blush and look away and say something along the lines,

“I’m not that good” or “what if I fail?” 

A smile curled on his lips as he listened to her. Feeling a sense of pride for her as she captured everyone’s attention with her voice and beauty like a siren. He could feel his heart thump against his chest like a drum, ringing in his ears. His eyes took in every crease of her brows, every time she lifted her eyes toward the crowd, every movement her lips made as she projected her voice. 

“What was I thinking?” He whispers to himself without realizing. How could he have let her slip between his fingers? He could have fought for her. He could have done so much more. 

The song ends, a polite smile appears after she sings the very last line once a round of applause and a few whistles mixed in along with it erupts the room. The lights come back on as the orchestra plays a more upbeat song, as she begins to sing another song, 

“I wish you blue birds in the spring….” 

 The audience resumes their meal, some couples moving to the front to dance along to the song as Leon remained there watching her. 

“Amazing isn’t she” the president says watching along with him, 

Feeling his blood rush to his cheeks, he clears his throat once again and distracts himself by cutting his steak, agreeing with the president “Yeah, amazing” 

An hour passes and Leon is yet again, nearest to the bar, he would have left by now but circumstances had changed. Now that she was off the stage, he had to talk to her again. As he scanned the area, he mouthed subtly to himself, practicing what exactly he wanted to say. Which somehow made his nerves even worse. Everything he wanted to say to her sounded so cheesy and screamed “I miss you, please take me back”. 

“Well if it isn’t the Leon Kennedy” a voice greets, the sound of it makes the hair at the back of his neck stand up. Turning to his left, there she stood a bouquet of flowers in her arm, a warm smile that he most definitely did not deserve after how he left things between them. 

“You” is all that’s able to escape, his throat suddenly felt dry. She merely giggles in response and shrugs, 

“Yes, me” she retorts back, “it’s good to see you” she adds more fondly, 

Leaning more against the marble pillar neighboring the bar, he regains his composure and asks almost too casually, “How’ve you been?” 

“I’m good, and you?” 

“Good” with an awkward smile, she nods her head, looking about ready to give up on the conversation. Leon immediately adds to it in hopes to make her stay, “You were great up there” 

With a bashful grin, she tucks some hair behind her ear, “Thanks, it was a bit of a last minute arrangement” 

“Well, you were amazing. I knew you had it in you” 

“Yeah, you did” she agrees shyly, blush appearing on her cheeks as she rests the bouquet on the bar, “I’m surprised you’re here. You’re not one for these type of things, unless that’s changed” 

“No, it hasn’t changed” Leon sheepishly chuckles and watches her take a sip of the drink she ordered, 

“Red wine, as usual” he comments teasingly, “that hasn’t changed either” 

“The fact that it tastes better hasn’t changed either” she retorts back with a smirk, 

“Subjective” he retorts back. The two of them share a laugh, man he missed this. He missed her. 

“Did you come with anyone tonight?” She asks, her eyes glued to her finger tracing the rim of her wine glass, 

“No, I came back from a mission” more like mission(s) but he didn’t want to sound boastful, “did you?” He later asks, the hope of her saying no soaring in his chest, 

“No, I came alone. Last minute arrangement” she murmurs with a shrug, “Leon.. there’s been something I wanted to say—“ 

Her sentence is suddenly interrupted by the sound of their song being played by the orchestra, 

“Let Me Prove My Love to You” she gasps slightly, her eyes darting towards him. The both of them were unable to tear their eyes away from each other. Without thinking, he lends out his hand, 

“Wanna dance?” He asks, holding his breath shortly after for her response. She flashed him that smile that always made his knees a bit wobbly and took his hand. Hooking her arm through his, they walk to the dance floor. With her hand in his, and his other hand on her waist they begin to slow dance to the tune. Looking down at her, he couldn’t help but notice how her eyes sparkled and how at home he felt with her in his grasp. 

“You’re quiet. You’re never this quiet” Leon says in her ear, making her look down and chuckle bashfully, 

“I just can’t believe this is real” she whispers back before leaning forward. Close enough for their lips to be inches apart, Leon noticed. She squints her eyes and tilts her head to the side, “You’re real right? I’m not dreaming?” she asks jokingly 

He lets out a quiet chuckle and shakes his head, “no, no you’re not dreaming. But this all sort of feels like a dream” 

“Doesn’t it?” She agrees, before glancing at the pianist and giving him a knowing look. The pianist simply winked at her back, “it’s my friend over there's doing I bet. He’s got a bad habit of not minding his own business” 

“So he knows about…” Leon trails off and averts his eyes. But she doesn’t, she could see the guilt written all over his face, 

“Yes, he does” she begins to say, “listen, I actually wanted to talk about that…” 

“Me too” 

“Really?” Tinge of hope twinkles in her eyes as they keep swaying, “You first” she insists. Leon shakes his head,

“No, I think it’s only fair that you get to say your piece” he assures, even though the thought of hearing how much he hurt her tore his heart to pieces. He couldn’t take this from her too. 

“Well, I mean, mine is a lot” she giggles nervously but continues nevertheless, “When you ended things. I was really angry with you. Like throwing darts at a picture of you angry. Because things were so good between us. Everything was so easy, and you gave it all up and I didn’t understand why. But now I do” 

“You do?” Leon asks curiously, raising an eyebrow,

“You were afraid. Afraid that something bad was going to happen because of how good it was between us. Right?” Leon squeezes her hand slightly and merely hangs his head in shame, she continues, “Leon, I’m not mad at you anymore, I hope you know that. I know now that it’s okay to be afraid but… I just wish you fought it” her voice for the first time was small, the sound of it alone made his heart feel as if it was being wrung dry, 

“Me too” his immediate agreement makes her eyes widen in shock as she quickly looks up at him, “I regret it” 

“You do?” 

“The biggest regret of my life” the ends of her lips upturned slightly, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as he continues, “You don’t know how many times I’ve almost called you” 

“You don’t know how many times I’ve almost called you” 

“Why didn’t you?” He asks,

“Why didn’t you?” She asks bluntly back, poking his chest. Both of them chuckle before she answers her own question, “I was afraid, is that your reason as well?” 

Leon nods his head, a sheepish grin on his lips, 

“That always gets in the way of us doesn’t it?” She adds in a pleasant tone as if making small talk. 

“Maybe, it’s time it didn’t” Leon’s eyebrows creased and he looked at her solemnly, “what do you think?” He adds shyly, his eyes averting for a second before blinking back at her. That beautiful smile forms on her lips again, her cheeks flushed a light pink,

“I think, that’s a great idea” 

The two of them stare at each other for a moment, their song still concluding in the background. Leaning forward, his eyes trail slowly to her lips, so soft, so inviting. She tilts her head up slightly and the gap between them shrinks smaller and smaller until their lips meet. The contact immediately makes the rest of the world disappear, even more so when they begin to move synchronously. Kissing her felt so familiar, like muscle memory. His grip on her waist tightens as he pulls her closer. Her hand that once was on his shoulder slides to the back of his neck, her nails sinking into the back of his soft brown hair. Pulling away, Leon gets one more look at her, to make sure he isn’t dreaming before placing a kiss on her forehead. Laying her head against just chest, she smiles serenely as the music behind them plays, her thumb caressing the skin of his neck while his spare hand holds her forearm as they keep swaying to the music. God, he missed her. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this second chance but one thing was for certain, it was surely going to be his last.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy drabble #resident evil drabble #resident evil imagines #leon kennedy infinite darkness #leon kennedy x reader #Spotify

[icarus-on-air]

The Tragedy Of John Doe: a Da Capo Aria

(ao3, also under cut)

" A Da Capo Aria is a musical structure composed of three sections: the first could be a standalone piece with full accompaniment. The second contrasts with the first in style, musical key, and mood, often with only piano accompaniment. The third is a repeat of the first section, hence "da capo" or begin from the start. This section often has embellishments from the singer."

The first section is John's process of moving from the entity to John Doe, gaining humanity. (eps 1-20)

The second section is after 20, when he's in the dark world. It's an aria, a solo. The piano accompaniment is the memory/idea of Arthur persisting with John throughout.

The third section is a repeat of the first, with embellishments. Or, him learning how to function with humanity, but it's different because once upon a time he HAD that sense of humanity. So it's more remembering who he wants to be than learning anew. (eps 24-intermezzo)

start

Rise from the ashes, oh phoenix of gold

Remember your virtue from stories untold

Hold close your dear friend here for he's all you've got

But keep in your sins, friend, else all is for naught

You've stolen his eyes now his heart mirrors yours

Longing for sweetness yet gilded and cold

Trust comes in a poem, a promise, a song

He has deadly hope now but oh not for long

You're hastur's heart, yes? won't let you forget

Bring him, my king, up to the pulpit

Puppeted pleasantries shall end in strife

"I'll never forget you" he breathes as the knife

Cuts at his heartstrings with few simple words

"Goodbye" you whisper, the trigger now pulled.

aria

Awoken in darkness

Cold, cruel, constricting

My lungs that now expand with

Each beat of my heart as it remembers

Your (our) pulse under my (our) fingertips

A steady tempo to my new-old symphony turned refrain

Am i hastur's heart or yours? I yearn for the latter

But under threat of infinity, i'm once again the first.

da capo

Rise from the ashes, canary of gold

Remember your virtue from stories untold

Hold close your dear friend here for he's all you've got

But keep in your sins, friend, else all is for naught

You've stolen his eyes back, his heart mirrors yours

Longing for sweetness yet guilted and cold

Trust comes in a poem, a promise, a song

He has deadly faith now but oh not for long

You're hastur's heart, yes? it lets you forget

Bring him, "my king", up to the pulpit

Puppeted pleasantries shall end in strife

"I can't forget you" he breathes as the knife

Cuts at his heartstrings with few simple words

"Do it." you whisper, the trigger now pulled.

[basically kayne refers to his Offer in intermezzo as a Da Capo al Coda, and because i'm a sucker for musical symbolism in this podcast i started looking through the musical terms wikipedia page. in a cathedral. as one does. then the brainworm hit yadda yadda and here we are today. (yeah this is a musical thing but im not a composer just a shitty notes app poet)]

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #john doe malevolent #malevolent intermezzo #malevolent fic #poetry?

[ohmenai]

Encounter with the Caribbean Poseidon

I escaped to the most secluded nudist beach in El Hierro, seeking the solitude of paradise. There, among the breeze and the sound of the waves, he appeared, a Dominican stallion defying gravity with his manhood. With cropped hair and a goatee, his figure was imposing: a stallion that broke the silence with the rhythmic swing of his belly, which hung hairy, imposing, like his enormous attributes.

What was most impressive hung between his legs: his cock and balls, like two ripe coconuts swinging to his knees, built a bridge between the Americas and the Canary Islands. And there I was, camera in hand, thirsty to immortalize his living statue. He looked at me intently, with a smile that foretold the deal. He posed on the shore while the sun set its glow at his feet, as if Poseidon himself blessed the scene.

But as in the ancient myths, an offering had to be given. After the photo, his proposal echoed in the air, one that I could only answer by kneeling in front of him. He looked at me with those eyes full of vigor and anticipation, his hand resting on my nape inviting me to 'finish the job'.

Whispers and waves intertwined as I embarked on the task. That dominant dick took ownership of my mouth, cutting off my breathing and filling every corner of my being.  And with every movement and groan, the world blurred; only he and I existed, with the ocean's sway as the only symphony, and the salty taste of his masculinity filling the air.

Available now at Fanvue and Patreon

#gay hot #gay male #gay #gayhot #gay black #gay men #gay latin men #ai men #ai gay #ai guys #aigay #gay hairy #gay bear

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

🐓

🐓 fuck quotes, give me a summary or some ao3 tags

When you meet your soulmate and they give you your name, a symphony plays.

For Ted: a roomful of reporters, lights, fizzy water, jet lag. He calls on the handsome fella in the second row, with the cool glasses and the flash of silver in his hair, and the gentleman introduces himself:

A symphony plays. As he speaks, a low, building hum of strings grows with the dread in Ted’s stomach, swooping and cold and—

Is this a fucking joke? asks Ted’s soulmate, self-satisfied like the cat that got the canary, and the room bursts into a cacophony of noise.

The symphony crashes, high violins and violas singing up and down, the boom of the bass; it’s all a roar, a scream, a song. The reporters scream, too, he thinks, there’s laughter and questions and shouting and calls of his name, and Ted’s head is spinning, the orchestra thunders, the cameras flash like lightning—

Ted weathers the storm well enough.

He leaves bereft, uncertain, ever-present smile still clinging on, but perhaps a little thin.

He’d known his soulmate wasn’t Michelle, but this… this was a surprise.

(A man, a journalist, a male journalist who very obviously didn’t like him, a handsome male journalist who didn’t like him and didn’t seem to know or care that he was Ted’s soulmate, who might not be Ted’s at all—)

Meanwhile Trent Crimm has no idea he’s just met his soulmate. Secretly, he’d always secretly liked the idea of a soulmate, had always wanted one—but had always suspected that such things were not for him.

Trent Crimm didn’t have a soulmate, of course. Who on earth would want him?

(Ted Lasso needs no introduction.)

#i saw the 'soulmate au wherein when your soulmate introduces themself music/a symphony plays' au somewhere and. this just. happened. #but it's only got a few paragraphs of spitballing after this no actual snippets #wip #anyway trent has no idea yet but he still develops feelings almost immediately #askbox

[cascaded-shells]

Music (miscellaneously) themed Names; Mix of Gender

Capella

Chord

Ballad

Brio

Key

Reverb

Glam

Trance

Reed

Soprano

Vivace

Crescendo

Symphony

Viola

Celeste

Wren

Hymn

Lyric

Piper

Record

Groove

Pitch

Caprice

Major

Rani

Cadoe

Grace

Euphony

Fantasia

Cadence

Reprise

Verse

Duet

Jazz

Harper

Canary

Diva

Harmony

Staccato

Waltz

Tonic

Pop

Via

Noel

Triste

Cello

Yearn

Rita

Rhythm

Serenade

Breve

Zydeco

Cymbal

Arco

Ariah

Carmen

Swing

Demi

Sequence

Alto

Cantata

Aria

Mavis

Reena / Reyna

Trill / Thrill

Dorian

Chorus

Melody

Hook

Coda

Lark

Solo

Aubade

Cantrelle

#nonbinary names #noun names #feminine names #masculine names #name ideas #musical names #music names #-Tragedy

[princesssarisa]

A Christmas Carol Holiday Season: "Mickey's Christmas Carol" (1983 animated short)

This 25-minute Christmas Carol was a landmark for the Walt Disney Company in several ways. First of all, it was the first theatrical Mickey Mouse cartoon released since the 1950s. Secondly it marks the voice acting debut of Wayne Allwine as Mickey Mouse and Alan Young as Scrooge McDuck – characters they would voice until their respective deaths in 2009 and 2016 – as well as the last time Donald Duck was voiced by his original actor, Clarence "Ducky" Nash.

The cartoon's premise is simple: A Christmas Carol starring Disney's iconic animal characters. Scrooge McDuck stars as his own namesake, Ebenezer Scrooge, with Mickey Mouse as Bob Cratchit, and Scrooge's "real-life" nephew Donald Duck as Fred. Goofy is cast as a uniquely clumsy, comical version of Marley's Ghost, while the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future are portrayed by Jiminy Cricket, Willie the Giant from Mickey and the Beanstalk, and (spoiler alert) Peg-Leg Pete. Daisy Duck appears as young Scrooge's fiancée Isabelle (as she's named here), Minnie Mouse makes a silent cameo appearance as Mrs. Cratchit, and the supporting and background roles consist of many familiar figures from Disney's classic Silly Symphonies and animated features.

Predictably, the story is retold in a concise, abbreviated way. Christmas Past omits Scrooge's childhood, Christmas Present consists only of visiting the Cratchits, and Christmas Future just shows Scrooge two graves, Tiny Tim's and his own. And for both comic and dramatic effect, the whole story is slightly exaggerated. Scrooge's villainy is cranked up: he only gives Bob half of Christmas Day off, without pay, and praises Jacob Marley for having "robbed from the widows and swindled the poor." The Cratchits' Christmas dinner consists of a bird literally as small as a canary. And at the climax (recalling Scrooge of 1970), Scrooge falls into his own grave toward a coffin from which hellish fire spews. But of course the ending is happy, as the redeemed Scrooge indulges the Cratchit children with toys and makes Bob his new partner.

Not all Dickens lovers will enjoy such a cartoonish retelling, but to me at least, it has enough charm to justify its lasting popularity. Even intertwined with slapstick and exaggeration, the story's emotions can still be felt: the brief, silent scene involving Tiny Tim's death, with a tearful Mickey/Bob placing Tim's crutch against his tombstone, is especially poignant. The cast of both new and veteran voice actors makes the most of their roles, the warm and colorful animation is of the quality we expect from Disney, and the main musical theme, "Oh What A Merry Christmas Day," is a sweet, memorable melody.

This cartoon can't replace a faithful adaptation of the book, but as a warm, funny, engaging Christmas Carol for children, it's a classic.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @thealmightyemprex, @faintingheroine, @reds-revenge, @thatscarletflycatcher

#a christmas carol holiday season #mickey's christmas carol #1983 #disney #animation #animated short #scrooge mcduck #alan young

[hptx7777]

Definitely wasn’t inspired by card games aesthetic

I was

Reckless Canary

HP: 100

ATK: 110

DEF: 90

Insanity: 10

Insanity expo: Basically increase in damage +10 but HP goes down every attack (-5 HP) if Insanity reaches above 60, if above 90 will increase damage by 15 but HP goes down by 15 for every attack

Normal attack (1 heart): The chirping cage

Will attack an enemy of your choice dealing 10 damage

Skill(3 hearts) : The unsung symphony

Will heal all allies by +30 HP

Technique: Canary stuck in a coalmine

When one of your allies’ HP reaches 0 will immediately regenerate to their maximum HP as Jimmy takes their place and dies, when Jimmy dies all allies gain +60 Insanity

#life series #Life series card game #solidaritygaming #JIMMY TIMMYY

[miserycanary]

TAKE IT OR LEAVE HIM ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & reader

synopsis: Ghost forgets your birthday

tag: slight slight angst

Hectic doesn’t begin to describe Ghost’s schedule, yet you accepted him with open arms. He needs to cut your dinner short because he’s needed back at the base? You nod with a smile full of understanding. He forgets a few chores and groceries because he’s piled up with tasks? You kiss his forehead and tell him it’s fine, and you just work around it and rush during your office breaks to do those tasks on your own. You’re exhausted from being held back at the office because the client changed their mind during the finalization, but you come home to a pile of dirty dishes and no dinner? You say you understand, washing up and going to bed while feeling your stomach grumble and waking up to wash the previous night’s dishes just to lessen Ghost’s worries.

You had no problem bending backwards just to accommodate him. You entered the relationship knowing about his schedule, so… were you really in any position to complain? 

A few insignificant tasks and miniscule adjustments to your schedule were nothing; never once uttered a complaint because you understood. Why? Because Ghost always finds a way to make it up to you. Sending bouquets when you close a big deal, treating you to a fancy restaurant during your birthday (though he’s mostly never there to celebrate until the end), and gifting you branded things during your anniversaries… so, it was all okay….. ?

Yes, it’s fine if he never shows up for your dinner date because of work. 

Yes, it’s fine that you spend most nights alone. 

Yes, you can clean the house, shop for groceries, do the laundry, and cook for the both of you. 

It was all okay. You were okay with it. You accepted it. You understood. You can do it. You’re fine. It’s all worth it. It’s not worth any trouble. It’s fine—

You snap back and all thoughts stop rushing into your head. Your phone blares an alarm with the words, ‘DATE NIGHT’, flashing on the screen. Right, it’s your birthday and Ghost promised he’d finally make it this time. So, you wore the prettiest dress, applied the most gorgeous (and time-consuming) makeup, and put on the cutest heels (your feet are getting blisters) because you wanted to spend this night with the man you love most on your Earth… who wasn’t by your side right now, but it’s fine. 

The waiter approaches the table, asking you for what seems to be the 6th time that night if your company is coming because they’re about to close. Giving up, you offer an apologetic smile and gather your things. The walk out the restaurant was embarrassing to say the least. Harsh winter air greets your face, your legs and arms trembling as you try to seek warmth from the take-out bag. You didn’t bring a jacket because, well, you thought Ghost would be there with you, but it’s fine.

The apartment door clicks open and a dark hallway awaits you. ‘Ah, he’s not here yet,’ you think to yourself, a pang of disappointment piercing your heart that raised its hope for one night. With a wince and a pained gasp, your heels come undone. Muted footsteps along the wooden floorboards as you strip out your clothes and wash up. You resign the night with your lover nowhere to be found— once again, but it’s fine. 

Morning dawn cracks through your curtains with a familiar arm around your waist and familiar dip on the mattress. You blink your sleepiness away, taking in every detail of your Simon’s face in the morning. Like he has a third sense, he wakes and stares back at you. First smiles of the day are shared between you two but you expected more. Nothing too grand. Maybe an apology and a greeting? Yet the day goes by with receiving neither, but it’s fine. Maybe the next day’s the charm? 

Nothing.

Irritation towards your lover is a rare occurrence with your endless patience and never-ending understanding of his situation. You still held hopes that maybe he’d finally realize his slip-up, but what did you come home to? Dirty dishes. A pile of them. 

“Ah, sweetheart. You’re home,” he kisses your cheek and presses your waist close to him like usual. The scent of whiskey and cigar lingers on his clothes— a scent you usually adore but now only fuels your anger. “Si, what’s this?” you ask, trying to keep your frustration at bay as you point to the sink. “What? Oh, noticed ‘ya didn’t make dinner so I ate what’s ever left,” he answers cooly like there’s nothing wrong.

“... do you mean you ate my lunch for tomorrow?” 

“That yours? Sorry, baby. ‘Ya can jus’ make another one, and one for me.”

You pull away, slapping his face with tears rushing down your face. Ghost looks at you with shock and confusion which angers you further. How can he not realize why you’re mad?

“Woah, woah. What’s wrong, doll?”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT. Oh, my fucking God, Simon. You’re really asking me that?” you run your fingers through your hair, screaming at his face and throwing your purse at him. “What’s wrong?? You tell me! I slave away at this goddamn house. I go to bed with my bones feeling like weights because I keep cleaning after your mess, but it’s fine! Because you were busy, I understood.”

Tension builds in the air as everything you’ve held back poured out of you. “I never complained because I told you I was fine with your schedule when we first started dating. I fucking bend my body backwards and did everything for you LIKE A MAID. And you have the audacity to ask me what’s wrong? You don’t even ask me how my day went. Asking me to cook for you like I’m just a housekeeper? YOU DON’T EVEN DO ANYTHING FOR ME.” You stomp over to his face, glaring with hatred as you spat out your next words. “Just a fucking reminder that I am your girlfriend. I am not here to clean up after you.”

“Did I ask you to?” he snaps back, returning the same vile stare. “You’re whining about working around the house like I asked you to. Let’s be clear that I never forced you to do these shits around the house.”

“You didn’t have to! You just kept piling up dishes and clothes, leaving a messy trail behind you because you know you expect me to do it for you!”

“And did those come for free? I buy you everything you want on anniversaries and birthdays. You act as if you come for cheap,” he scoffs.

"WELL, GUESS WHAT? YOU FUCKING FORGOT IT THIS YEAR,” you finally confess through sobs. Realization dawns upon your lover, evident on the way his face drops. He tries to approach you but you step back.

“I waited for you like a fool because you promised. I-.. I.. had to tell the waiter 5 times that you were coming because they were on the verge of throwing me out. Did you know how embarrassing it was for me? I… I know I shouldn’t have kept my hopes up but I wanted to believe in you, but.. I’m tired.”

Silence blankets you both as every emotion rushes through your heart. Your throat felt raw and your head was getting heavy from all the crying.

“I’m done, Ghost. I’m tired," you whisper. Those words were simple but Ghost knew what lies underneath. You weren't tired of what you did for him. You were tired of him.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: woah, angst again? Anyone surprised? This request has been sitting on my inbox for a while but I have enough free time to answer them, so here we are. I will make a König version if this gets attention. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

#canary’s melodies #canary’s symphonies #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon riley cod #ghost angst #ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #cod mwii #modern warefare 2 x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod angst

[thewarmestplacetohide]

Dread by the Decade: Best of the 1920s

👻 My Kofi ❤️

Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari/The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920; Germany): a carnival somnambulist predicts people’s deaths. - ★★★★½ Review | Screenshots | Facts

See below the cut for the rest of the list!

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920; USA): a doctor creates a potion that transforms him into his dark side. - ★★★½ Review | Screenshots | Facts

Körkarlen/The Phantom Carriage (1921; Sweden): Death forces a man to revisit his past. - ★★★½ Review | Screenshots | Facts

Häxan/Witchcraft Through the Ages (1922; Sweden): a documentary about witchcraft and religious persecution. - ★★★½ Review | Screenshots | Facts

Nosferatu – Eine Symphonie des Grauens/Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror (1922; Germany): a solicitor helps a count move to Germany. - ★★★★★ Review | Screenshots | Facts

Orlacs Hände/The Hands of Orlac (1924; Germany): a pianist's hands are replaced with a murderer's. - ★★★★½ Review | Screenshots | Facts

The Phantom of the Opera (1925; USA): a mysterious figure stalks an opera house singer. - ★★★★½ Review | Screenshots | Facts

Faust – Eine deutsche Volkssage/Faust: A German Folktale (1926; Germany): Mephisto tries to corrupt a good man’s soul. - ★★★★ Review | Screenshots | Facts

The Cat And The Canary (1927; USA): a millionaire's family gathers for the reading of his will. - ★★★★ Review | Screenshots | Facts

La chute de la maison Usher/The Fall of the House of Usher (1928; France): a man is obsessed with painting his ailing wife. - ★★★★ Review | Screenshots | Facts

The Man Who Laughs (1928; USA): a disfigured man learns he is of noble birth. - ★★★★ Review | Screenshots | Facts

#Dread by the Decade #Best of #1920s

[branmuffins22]

THE MONOLITHIC NAME LIST

I DON'T REALLY STAND BY A LOT OF THESE NAMES ANYMORE, BUT HERE THEY ARE ANYWAYS

(It's also worth noting that many of these were catalogued with the intention of being "street names" for characters in a punky, vaguely-Jet Set Radio-inspired thing. You've been warned for the weirder ones.)

Kayla Bran Bay Basil Bayla Wren Brine Red Base Lavender Bailey/Baylee(/others) Baylor Bee/Bea/B Mint Moss Holly Apple Bev(-erly) Babble Bramble Barley Brook(-lyn)(-n) Bren(-na) Hazel Heather Layer Ponder Eurybia Maroon Glen Grove Glade Mod Naomi Strat(-osphere/-egy) Maybe/Maybii/Meibi Bread Fen Ivy Autumn Pennym Burn Nova Dots Lemon(-ade) Acorn Dew(-drop) Peony Pine Maple Pepper(-mint) Parsley Penny/Penelope Phoebe Purple Pink Periwinkle Pomme/Pom(-egranite) Persephone Puddle(-s) Pandora Pancake Paj(-ama) Pan(-ts) Ennui Eerie Emmy Amp(-s/-erage/-litude) Aurora Ceres Patience Viridian Bow Lin/Lyn(-n) Ophelia Glaive Jav(-elin) Leaf/Lief(/others) Pith Telly Nemi/Nemmy Resin Amber Luna Jazz Jet Jasmine Jade Juniper Destiny Jive Juice Jolt June(-bug) Ellie/Elise/Elysia/Elysium Chameleon/Cammy Fern Reina [i think this one came to me in a dream?] Petal(s) Flora Fauna Vinyl [hey, there's a character in Bomb Rush Cyberfunk named that!] Notion Layn/Lain(/others) Peony Sicily Fuchsia [i still like "Fuschia" better tho] Alexis Star(-ling) Swift Sparrow Canary Nia/Neah(/others) Winter Summer Atty/Atrium Effie Breeze(-y) Sapphire Sap River Fooly Symphony Photinia Lyre Carpathia Epilet/Epilette [99% sure this one came to me in a dream] Freyja/Freya Num(-ber) Laylola [i think this one was me misreading someone's username?] Vim Pomp Kidd

#names #name list

[heaven-s-black-box]

World's Symphony

Pretty Little Things- Dainsleif x GN!Reader- angst

Canary in a Coal Mine- Takemichi centric- angst w/hopeful ending

Constellations- High Cloud Quintet- angst

Like the Dawn- Miyuki & Sawamura- N/a

Stole the Show- Furina(Focalors)- angst

Villains Aren't born (They're Made)- SL! Scar- N/a

Lost in Space- Yorkalina- angst

Things we Lost in the Fire- InuKoko- angst(?)

Losing your Memory- Takehina- N/a

Ballad of Serenity- Hinata Shoyo- N/a

#HBB directory #HBB radio

[neptuneholub]

red (an endeavour into the meaning of love) (26/03/2023)

by neptune p. holub

.

things that are red

hair (past loves with parasitic red hair dye that stains the sink drains and they claim the need to drain you of energy. neighbours with red highlights that know the ins and outs of your home and steal horns so you can't sound the alarm when they break in. the one who sleeps in your bed who basks in the flame who cherishes the burn and their hair - your hair is on fire and their home - your home is on fire and their life - your life is on fire and your immunity doesn't travel between the two of you)

home (angry faces drawn on rocks, evil princesses in tall towers that torture ice princes with snow, anti-sunk ships that hold horrors beyond human comprehension, forts you fall off and die. you grew up in the red house of hell and you felt it warm and welcoming. you grew up in the red house of deities and you felt eyes and ears that stain blue shirts with red blood to match the god's egos. purple: never a good colour for you)

food (steak, perfectly cooked, just the way you like it, perfectly cooked by the person you love most. jam on toast for mornings where you don't feel like cooking so he lets you stay in bed longer and the preserves of raspberries you worked so hard to grow in the tough terrain of these cliffs and valleys can finally be put to good use. cakes, dyed red, that stain the kitchen drain with your blood when you fall. you watch the person you love most fall and there is nothing you can do because you fall with him)

things that should be red

fire (you'd damn yourself to hell for the canary and he'd damn himself. you'd damn yourself to hell for the coalmine and you'll ruin each other. when the flame burns hair and clothes, you can crowd it like a campfire. when the flames burn beds and cows, you will scream at the wounds who caused it. there is no sweeter symphony than that of the canary's ghost and the canary feels the coalmine gentle and loving, because it is gentle and loving. the canary doesn't burn, it drowns. fire burns and you are always within arms reach of the water, but you don't dare extinguish the flames because you love them)

blood (you burn and the blood fades into the heat of the magma. you explode and the blood fades into the blurred mess of everyone else who died (who exploded in the enchantment of the loyalty - the loyalty you had never truly felt before you felt him). you are stabbed in the stomach and the blood is forgettable because it covers your killer and not your corpse. three deaths, three loves, three chances, each lost each time. the two of you have something akin to a blood pact, sans the bleeding)

the phoenix that emerges in the aftermath of the tragedy (these gods have a sick sense of humour but you think the two of you can make a better joke so you set things on fire and use the ashes to help the crops grow. these gods cry and scream and kick things around - they want deserts and deaths and deities. you are nothing but canaries and curses and coal mines. gentle and loving and in love. these gods have dictated enough of the tragedy in your lives. now you will live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, eat the same food, and feel the same love)

things that shouldn't be red

faces (you’ve been married before and you still look at the relationship with rose tinted glasses. you tell your brother about how your heart races and he laughs: no one else has reacted this clearly. you see him with red cheeks and wide eyes. you lean in to kiss him. you are a coalmine and the canary is in love with you and you lean in to kiss him as if there is no way for you to burn him even though you already have. the flames red hot, just like your faces)

wings (yellow like your eyes is safe and simple and comfortable. friends with paper thin blue that’s calming like the sky. family with white and grey and cold and loving. the inhuman part of being a part of humanity that defines parts of your relationship; mainly the part that says you will not last. there is no way for you to live on past this, because you are the canary, doomed and cursed and haunted. canary wings, so soft, so gruesome. you are a canary but every act of red love is your swansong)

lives (you love him and he loves you, a simple truth that neither could dispute. the canary loves the coalmine, the coalmine loves the canary. they never had a chance to love each other when they were safe, when their lives were never in disarray but being alive means you are in danger at all times. yellow and in love. red and in love. they are red and in love. don't you see? they are red and they are doomed and there is no way for them to come out of this alive, but they are in love and happy, so they are the only winners in this game)

#my poetry #nph poetry #um. im also gonna tag #double life #rancher duo #i'll rb this to main as well because. they mean so much to me

[thetomorrowshow]

i can't comment on animatics bc i use a personal youtube account atm and it makes me so sad. will kippYourSecrets ever know that i watched their moon waltz animatic on loop once and haven't stopped thinking about it since? will cracticusly ever know that their untitled animatic altered my brain chemistry? will hex! ever know that i literally cried watching their canary in a coalmine animatic yesterday? will ratzy ever know that i can't hear bitter water or i hear a symphony without playing the animatics in real time inside my brain?? animators i am kissing you on the mouth but you don't know it :(

#oughough #and there's so many #i have a playlist of ~300 animatics that i love sm #mcyt #idek what to tag this as. this is just me bein sappy #one of these days i'll log onto an alt account and leave comments on those animatics #another very very important one is sara SP's as the world caves in #use this post to talk to me about your favorite animatics #i want to watch them all. spread the love #mas speaks

[illumins]

════ஓ๑ ᴄʜᴘ.7 ๑ஓ════

Lena was escorted through a labyrinthine maze of opulent corridors and grand hallways, her steps echoing against marble floors as she was guided deeper into the heart of the Marquess's sprawling estate. The walls were adorned with priceless tapestries depicting scenes from ancient battles, their vibrant colors and intricate details a testament to the wealth and prestige of the Li'Pold family.

The guards led her to a set of towering double doors, ornately carved from dark mahogany. These imposing doors swung open with a soft, almost imperceptible creak, revealing the inner sanctum of the Marquess's chambers. Lena's breath caught as she stepped into the room.

The chamber was a symphony of luxury and extravagance. Gilded accents adorned every surface, from the elaborate crown molding on the high ceilings to the intricate patterns on the velvet draperies that framed tall, arched windows. Sunlight streamed through those windows, casting a warm, golden glow on the room's sumptuous furnishings.

A massive, intricately carved desk dominated the center of the room, its surface cluttered with parchment, quills, and various documents. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes and ancient scrolls, a testament to the Marquess's erudition.

The room's focal point was a massive portrait that hung above an ornate fireplace. It depicted the Marquess in his younger days, resplendent in noble attire, his steely gaze exuding an air of authority and self-assuredness.

Near the fireplace, a chaise lounge upholstered in rich crimson velvet beckoned, while a small table with an intricately carved chess board stood at its side. Lena noticed a scattering of chess pieces, evidence of a strategic mind at work.

As Lena took in her surroundings, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the opulence and grandeur of the Marquess's private quarters. It was a world of privilege and power, a stark contrast to the life she had gotten used to with the pirates. Yet not so far from her life a month or so ago. 

The Marquess, resplendent in his formal attire, stood before Lena, his stern countenance revealing a mixture of anger and humiliation. His eyes bore into hers as he began to speak, his voice laced with a cold intensity.

“Lena,” he began, his tone measured but forceful, “I cannot fathom why you would willingly choose a life of piracy over the honor and privilege of being my bride. You were promised to me, and our union was to solidify the bonds between our families.”

Lena, although feeling the weight of his words, tried to muster her courage. “Marquess, it's not what you think. Captain Canary—”

He cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand, his anger flaring. “Captain Canary, as you call him, is a criminal and a thief. He kidnapped you, and I had to send my guards to rescue you. You have brought disgrace upon our families, Lena.”

She stammered, desperately trying to make him understand. “No, Marquess, it wasn't like that. I went with him by choice. I was not kidnapped. I needed to escape, to find my own path.”

The Marquess's face contorted with fury, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping to an icy whisper. “You chose a pirate over me? You dare to defy our families and our betrothal?”

Lena could see that her attempts to reason with him were futile, and she decided to change tactics. “Please, Marquess, you have Captain Canary in custody. I beg you to release him. He saved my life more than once. He is not a common criminal. I owe him a debt I cannot repay.”

The Marquess's expression remained unyielding. “You expect me to release a pirate? To show leniency to a man who has taken you from me? I will not allow it, Lena.”

Desperation welled up inside her as she realized the gravity of the situation. The Marquess was not only furious but also unwilling to listen to reason. She knew she needed to find a way to convince him, but in this lavish and imposing chamber, surrounded by the symbols of his power and wealth, the odds were stacked against her.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her composure in the face of the Marquess's anger. “Marquess, I understand your anger and disappointment. But please, listen to me. Captain Canary is not what he seems. He has a code of honor, and he saved my life on more than one occasion. If you just hear his side of the story—”

The Marquess's expression remained implacable. “I have no interest in hearing the tales of a pirate, Lena. My decision is final.”

With a heavy heart, Lena realized that her pleas were falling on deaf ears. The Marquess was determined to proceed with their arranged marriage and to punish Captain Canary for what he saw as a betrayal.

As the Marquess signaled for his guards to take her away, Lena cast one final, pleading glance in his direction. “Marquess, I implore you to reconsider. Captain Canary deserves a fair trial. I beg you to show mercy.”

The guards escorted Lena through a series of luxurious corridors, adorned with intricate tapestries and grandiose paintings, until they arrived at a set of double doors. As they pushed them open, Lena stepped into what she could only assume was her new chamber.

The room was nothing short of opulent. Plush carpets covered the marble floor, and the walls were adorned with gilded frames holding portraits of past Marquesses and their brides. A large four-poster bed with rich, embroidered drapes stood at the center of the room, and a vanity table laden with cosmetics and jewelry gleamed in the soft, golden light streaming in from the tall windows.

The guards left Lena alone in the chamber, and as the doors closed behind her, she heard the distinct click of a lock. Panic welled up within her, but before she could react, the double doors on the opposite side of the room swung open, revealing a group of maids.

They greeted Lena with a combination of courtesy and restraint, their expressions marked by a cold understanding of her predicament. In their hands, they carried a variety of clothes, towels, and sanitary supplies. Lena hesitated for a moment before surrendering to their ministrations, realizing she had little choice in the matter.

One by one, they carefully undressed her, their movements efficient and practiced. Lena's heart raced as they attempted to remove the blue pendant from her neck, and she instinctively clutched it, refusing to let it go. She explained that it was a gift from her mother, a keepsake of great sentimental value. Reluctantly, the head maid decided to let her keep it for now, though her eyes held a trace of suspicion.

With the pendant secured around her neck, Lena was led into a lavish bathing chamber. The room was awash in warm, soft light, and the large, ornate bathtub was filled with steaming water. Lena watched in mild astonishment as the maids meticulously prepared the bath, adding fragrant oils and flower petals that created a fragrant and inviting aroma.

As she was guided into the bath, Lena couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. The water was warm and soothing, and the maids were gentle but efficient in their task. Lena watched as they worked, scrubbing her skin and hair with luxurious soaps and shampoos. It was an odd sensation, being pampered in such a manner, and yet it felt strangely familiar—like a distant memory from a past life she had almost forgotten.

After the bath, they dried her meticulously and led her back into the bedroom. There, the maids went to work, selecting a gown of opulent silk and lace, carefully styling her hair, and adorning her with jewelry fit for a Marquessa. The transformation was remarkable, and as Lena looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but marvel at how they had turned her into the picture of nobility.

As the maids worked, a thought suddenly struck Lena, and she couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "How did the Marquess and everyone here know who I am?" she asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

The head maid, while continuing to adjust Lena's hair, responded with a detached calmness. “The first gift the Marquess received from your father was a portrait of you, per your father's request. He has long been aware of your existence, my lady.”

Lena listened to the head maid's explanation, her mind racing with the implications of her father's actions. The portrait, a gift from her father, had introduced her existence to the Marquess long before she had even set foot in Canoga. She couldn't help but feel like a pawn in a grand, calculated game.

As the maids worked meticulously to transform her into the Marquessa she was meant to be, Lena's thoughts drifted back to the month she had spent at sea as a cabin boy. It had been a stark contrast to the opulence and luxury surrounding her now.

She remembered the salty sea air, the creaking of the ship's timbers, and the endless expanse of the ocean stretching out in all directions. Life on the pirate ship had been rough and demanding, but it had also been liberating in its own way. She had been free from the constraints of her noble upbringing, free to be herself and prove her worth through her actions rather than her title.

Now, in this lavishly adorned chamber, surrounded by opulent furnishings and adorned like a prized jewel, Lena couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. It was a return to the life she had known before, a life of privilege and expectation.

She glanced at her reflection in the ornate mirror, her eyes lingering on the blue pendant that hung from her neck. Her thoughts drifted to him, to the pool and waterfall, and to when they plummeted below its surface. To how close he was to her, a breath away.

As the maids continued their work, arranging her hair and adjusting her gown, Lena couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped once more. The gilded cage she had escaped from in her manor now seemed to have reappeared in a different form, one where she was expected to play a role she had never truly wanted.

~

Three days had passed since Lena's arrival at the Marquess's grand estate, and her attempts to inquire about Captain Canary had been met with cold indifference. Whenever she had a moment alone with the Marquess during his busy schedule, she would cautiously bring up the topic of the Captain, her voice trembling with anxiety and desperation. But the Marquess treated her with an icy detachment that sent chills down her spine.

Their conversations had become increasingly strained, with Lena's questions about the Captain falling on deaf ears. The Marquess would simply divert the topic or dismiss her inquiries with a wave of his hand. It was as though he had chosen to forget the pirate's existence entirely, and it filled Lena with a growing sense of dread.

Most of her days were spent locked in her chamber, a beautifully gilded prison that felt more suffocating with each passing hour. She was allowed limited access to the rest of the estate, but always under the watchful eye of guards who followed her every move. Even when she ventured out for dinner with the Marquess, she was never truly alone. The guards remained vigilant, their presence a constant reminder of her captivity.

Locked away for most of the day, Lena found solace only in the blue pendant that rested against her skin. It was a tangible connection to her past, a reminder of who she used to be before this twisted fate had woven her into a new role. She would clasp it in her hands and lose herself in memories of the sea, the camaraderie with the crew, and the sense of freedom that seemed so distant now.

The days were marked by a turbulent torrent of emotions, swinging from fear and anger to desperation and sadness. The confines of her room began to feel suffocating, the gilded luxury a mocking reminder of her predicament. She would often sit by the window, watching the world outside, yearning for the salty breeze and the vastness of the ocean.

As Lena sat by the grand window, the soft, diffused light of the sun gently streaming in, she gazed out at the world beyond the palace walls, her mind drifting in a sea of uncertainty. It was in this contemplative moment that the door to her chamber creaked open, and the head maid, followed by three other attendants, entered with a sense of purpose.

“Lady Lena,” the head maid began with a polite curtsy, “we bring news from His Grace, the Marquess.”

Lena turned her gaze away from the window to acknowledge their presence. The head maid continued, “You are to be formally introduced to the nobility of Canoga at a grand soirée tonight. It is a significant event, and you will need to be prepared accordingly.”

Lena's heart sank at the prospect of an elaborate gathering designed to showcase her as the Marquess's betrothed. She had grown weary at the thought of these formalities, the elaborate charades that masked her true desires. Her thoughts returned to Captain Canary and her crew, imprisoned or worse, and the weight of her helplessness pressed upon her.

The head maid cleared her throat, bringing Lena back to the present. “We shall begin your preparations immediately.”

With mechanical compliance, Lena stood from her seat by the window, her movements sluggish and devoid of enthusiasm. The attendants began their task, carefully undressing her and assisting her into the bath. The warm water was a brief comfort, a fleeting reminder of simpler times when such rituals were soothing rather than daunting.

Then, they began to disrobe her, her previous attire of elegance and restraint discarded in favor of the attire befitting the Marquessa of Canoga. The dress they selected was a masterpiece of splendor. It was a rich sapphire blue, adorned with intricate lace and delicate embroidery that seemed to shimmer in the light. The bodice was elegantly cinched, accentuating Lena's slender figure, while the skirt cascaded in a gentle A-line silhouette, pooling around her feet. As they fastened it with meticulous care, the gown's luxurious fabric whispered against her skin.

Next came her hair, a complex task undertaken by skilled hands. They coaxed her chestnut tresses into intricate braids and curls, weaving in delicate pearls and sapphires that matched the gown's hue. The result was a breathtaking arrangement that framed her face with effortless grace.

The transformation was almost complete when they began to apply makeup, enhancing her features with a delicate touch. Her eyes were lined with kohl to make them appear larger, and her lips were painted a deep shade of crimson. The mirror reflected a woman she scarcely recognized—a porcelain doll, adorned with jewels and finery, but devoid of the spirit that had once defined her.

Lena tolerated their ministrations until she could bear it no longer. With a firm tone, she dismissed them. “Thank you, but I can manage on my own from here.”

The head maid hesitated, a hint of concern in her eyes. “Miss, we are here to assist you. It is our duty.”

Lena's gaze turned icy, a reflection of her inner turmoil. “I said, I can manage.”

The head maid hesitated for a moment, clearly unused to such defiance, but Lena's unyielding gaze silenced any further protest. With a reluctant nod, they withdrew, leaving Lena alone in the ornate bathroom.

In the ensuing silence, loneliness enveloped her, and the emotional numbness that had been slowly seeping into her heart became more pronounced. She fought to hold back a distressed cry, the tears threatening to spill over. Her world had become a prison, and hope seemed like a distant, fading memory.

Then, her gaze fell upon the blue pendant that hung around her neck. It glittered in the soft light, a beacon of memories and promises. Her heart ached as she thought of Captain Canary locked away in the darkness of his captivity. Fear gnawed at her as she considered the possibility that the Captain could be dead, and she would be none the wiser.

She thought of his words to her, ‘You seek freedom, and I can give it.’ The distress that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted into a torrent of anguish. She clutched the pendant tightly, her knuckles turning white, and a sob escaped her lips, echoing in the ornate chamber. She felt utterly helpless, trapped in a world that bore no resemblance to the life she had once known.

As Lena grappled with her distress, the soft knock on the bathroom door pulled her back to the present. It was the head maid, her voice gentle but insistent as she informed Lena that it was time for her to make her grand entrance at the soirée. “The Marquess awaits you,” she reminded.

Lena's grip on the pendant tightened briefly as she took a steadying breath. She couldn't afford to break down now, not in the midst of this carefully orchestrated charade. With deliberate movements, she wiped away the traces of tears that had threatened to mar her makeup, her fingers recalling the lessons she had learned from the maids back in her family's manor.

She nodded to herself, mustering a semblance of courage. Standing up, she left behind the vulnerability of the bathroom and entered the bedroom. The guards who had been standing by the door stepped forward, forming a silent escort for her.

As she moved through the lavish corridors of the palace, the anticipation in the air was palpable. The party was already in full swing, the soft hum of conversations and the strains of a chamber orchestra floating through the air. Lena could hear the tinkling of crystal glasses and the clinking of silverware from the grand hall ahead.

The doors to the grand hall swung open before her, revealing a breathtaking scene of lavishness. The chamber was adorned with gilded accents, crystal chandeliers that cast shimmering light, and sprawling tapestries depicting grandiose scenes of history. Guests in elaborate gowns and tailored suits mingled, their laughter and chatter filling the space.

Lena stepped into the room, her entrance drawing the collective gaze of the assembled nobility. Her heart hammered in her chest as she scanned the sea of faces, searching for the Marquess.

And then, she saw him. Marquess Li'Pold, clad in resplendent attire, stood near the center of the room. His eyes met hers, and he offered an amused smile, as if relishing the spectacle that her arrival had become. With a quick nod of acknowledgment, he began to make his way toward her.

Meeting him halfway, Lena extended her arm, looping it through his as was customary. She summoned a smile, but it was a mask—a veneer of politeness that concealed the turmoil beneath. Her gaze remained cold, her eyes betraying no hint of warmth or affection. The Marquess, seemingly unperturbed by her demeanor, returned the smile with a degree of amusement. With her at his side, they continued to move through the grand hall, a couple in appearance only, navigating the intricacies of an aristocratic soirée where appearances were everything.

Lena, her smile painted on like a mask, navigated the maze of aristocrats who approached with congratulations and inquisitive glances. Each noble's words washed over her like a tide of politeness and flattery, their remarks well-rehearsed and dripping with insincerity.

One noblewoman, adorned in an intricate lace gown, leaned in with an air of curiosity. “My dear, you and the Marquess have taken quite some time to make your union official. Pray, what has caused this delay?”

Before Lena could even muster a response, the Marquess interjected with an affable tone. “Ah, Lady Lydia, you are quite perceptive. Our union was indeed delayed due to unfortunate circumstances. Lena here fell quite ill, and it was during her convalescence that she was abducted by pirates, who sought to hold her for ransom.”

Lena felt a wave of disgust rise within her at the concocted story, but she kept her composure, nodding as if the tale were gospel truth. Lady Lydia gasped in disbelief, her eyes filled with sympathy. “How dreadful! You poor dear, to have endured such a harrowing experience.”

Another nobleman, resplendent in a velvet jacket, chimed in, his eyes appraising Lena with a calculating look. “Marquess Li'Pold, you have chosen a rare beauty as your bride. It's a testament to your discerning taste.”

Lena forced herself to play the part, acknowledging the compliment with a gracious nod. But with each word, she felt like a prized possession rather than a human being.

The Marquess, sensing the need to maintain appearances, turned to Lena with a practiced charm. “My dear, would you do me the honor of a dance?”

She agreed with a distaste she couldn't hide, and he led her onto the polished dance floor. The opulent chandeliers above cast a warm, golden glow, and the chamber orchestra's melodies enveloped them.

With a gentle touch, he adjusted her position, their bodies aligning to the rhythm and pace of the waltz. The Marquess guided her with practiced grace, their movements seamless and choreographed to perfection. His eyes bore into hers, and for a fleeting moment, Lena felt as though she were a pawn in an intricate game, a player in a charade she never wished to join.

As they glided across the dance floor, the Marquess maintained a facade of charm and poise, his grip on Lena both delicate and firm. His voice, a silky whisper, brushed against her ear as he spoke in hushed tones.

“You're doing splendidly, my dear Lena,” he murmured, his breath sending shivers down her spine. “Remember, this is all for appearances. We must play our roles convincingly.”

Lena nodded subtly, her forced smile never wavering. She felt like a marionette, manipulated by the strings of society's expectations, dancing to a tune she had no control over. The room, filled with lavish decorations and adorned guests, seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with its grandeur and artifice.

Their steps became a blur, the music swirling around them like a whirlwind of pretense and deception. Lena's gaze swept across the faces of the nobility, each one wearing a mask of congeniality. She couldn't help but feel like a prisoner, her every move scrutinized by those who attended the lavish event.

The Marquess, with his polished facade, guided Lena through the intricate patterns of the dance. With each step, she yearned for freedom, for a return to the life she had known before her abduction. But she also knew that escape wouldn't be easy, not with the Marquess's watchful eye and the guards ever-present.

The Marquess's voice, laced with a hint of satisfaction, caressed Lena's ear as he leaned down, his lips barely grazing her skin. “My dear Lena,” he murmured, his tone soft yet commanding, “prepare to be happily surprised.”

He continued in his hushed tone, “Captain Canary is still alive, my sweet Lena. After our dance, the guards will escort you to him.”

Lena's heart leaped in her chest as she tried to conceal her emotions. Her lips curved into a feigned, surprised smile, her eyes glistening with tears that she refused to let fall. Inside, a mix of hope and fear churned within her, a tumultuous storm of conflicting emotions.

“Why now?” she couldn't help but ask, her voice quivering with emotion. “Why allow me to see him?”

The Marquess's gloved hand gently traced her cheekbone, his thumb wiping away an errant tear that threatened to escape. “I thought it was time you had a glimpse of your former life before you embark on your new journey as my wife.”

His explanation held a certain cruel kindness, a twisted form of generosity that was as unsettling as it was unexpected. But Lena's astonishment deepened as he pressed his lips to her cheek, the sensation sending shivers down her spine.

“This,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the music and the chatter of the guests, “is my gift to you, my dear Lena, for our impending marriage.”

His kiss lingered for a moment, and Lena could feel the world closing in around her. She realized, with chilling clarity, just how thoroughly trapped she was. The Marquess's power and control over her life had never been more evident, and any illusion of agency she had held onto shattered like glass.

As they continued to dance, Lena felt a profound sense of despair settle over her like a heavy cloak. The promise of seeing Captain Canary again was both a ray of hope and a reminder of the gilded cage she now inhabited, where even her most personal emotions were scrutinized and manipulated.

She forced herself to smile and pretend, to dance gracefully in the arms of a man she had no love for, all the while yearning for a way out of the elaborate web of deception that had become her life.

As the music came to a gentle halt, the Marquess released Lena, pressing a last, lingering kiss to her delicate hand. He bowed with an air of practiced gallantry, his eyes holding a dark knowing, leaving Lena with a chilling sensation of being exposed and utterly vulnerable. She forced a gracious smile, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

“Thank you for the dance,” he murmured, the words seemingly benign but laden with a sinister undercurrent.

Lena managed a polite curtsy, her gaze downcast, her mind racing with a tumult of thoughts and emotions. She needed to stay composed, to gather herself before the guards escorted her to where Captain Canary was being held.

The guards flanked her on either side, their imposing presence haunting as ever. Together, they descended through a dimly lit corridor, the flickering torches casting eerie, dancing shadows on the stone walls. The air grew cooler and damper as they descended further, and the distant sound of music and laughter from the ballroom above faded into oblivion.

Finally, they reached a lower level of the estate, where the opulence of the ballroom had given way to a stark, unforgiving reality. They stood before a heavy iron door, and Lena's heart sank as the guards gestured for her to proceed.

As the door creaked open, Lena stepped into a small, dimly lit jail. The cold stone walls closed in around her, and she couldn't help but shiver. At the far end of the corridor, they stopped before a sturdy iron-barred cell. The guards gestured for her to approach, their expressions inscrutable. Lena took a deep breath, her heart hammering in her chest, and stepped closer. 

The sight that greeted Lena as she approached was heart-wrenching. Inside the cell, the flickering light revealed a battered and bloodied figure. Captain Canary was hunched against the cold stone wall, his crimson hair matted with sweat and blood, his breaths ragged and pained. The bloodstains almost seemed to merge with the fiery hue of his hair, an unsettling sight that sent shivers down Lena's spine.

She approached the bars, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch the cold metal. “Haechan…” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.

His weary eyes met hers, a flicker of recognition and relief in them despite the pain. “Lena,” he rasped, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. He attempted a weak smile, but it faltered as pain shot through him.

Tears welled up in Lena's eyes as she took in the sight of the man who had shown her kindness and understanding in the midst of a cruel world. “We'll get you out of here,” she whispered, her voice trembling with resolve. “I'll find a way.”

Captain Canary tried to maintain a sense of optimism, despite his battered state. He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “Lena, it's not as bad as it looks. I...I already got myself out.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. She couldn't fathom how he had managed to escape this grim cell, especially in his wounded state. “You... you got out?” she stammered, her voice filled with a mix of shock and hope.

He nodded, though the motion clearly pained him. “Yes, but it came at a price,” he admitted with hesitation.

Lena's heart raced as she awaited his explanation, her mind racing with all the possibilities. She couldn't help but fear the worst, for what could he have possibly agreed to in exchange for his freedom? “What did you do?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of horror.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes avoiding hers. Finally, he admitted with reluctance, “I agreed to become a privateer.”

“You...you had no choice,” Lena stammered, grappling with the reality of the situation. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

Captain Canary met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and resignation. “Right.”

Lena's heart ached for him, for the impossible choice he had been forced to make. She realized why the Marquess had allowed her to see him – or else he’d met a grimmer fate. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words, their implications hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Lena's heart ached with guilt as she extended her trembling hand through the iron bars, tears streaming down her face. “I'm so sorry, Haechan,” she whispered, her voice laced with an overwhelming sense of culpability. Her hand shook as she reached out to touch his, to offer some small comfort in this dismal place.

The Captain glanced at her hand, his own battered and bruised. With what little strength he had left, he began to crawl toward her, wincing with each agonizing movement. Lena watched in horror and disbelief as he pushed himself forward, every inch a testament to his resilience and determination. Each inch closer seemed like an eternity, and Lena's heart shattered with every wince and pained breath that escaped him.

Her free hand cupped her mouth, stifling her cries as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn't stop apologizing, her voice filled with torment and self-blame. “It's my fault, all my fault,” she repeated.

When he finally rested against the bars, his breaths shallow and labored, Lena's breath caught in her throat as she saw the full extent of his injuries. His face was battered and bruised, with one eye swollen shut and blood crusted along his hairline. Bruises marred his skin, and a cut across his forehead oozed blood. His clothing was torn and stained with dried blood, and his limbs bore the signs of harsh mistreatment. It was a heartbreaking sight, and she struggled to keep herself composed.

His trembling hand reaching out to hold Lena's with a tight, reassuring grip. Despite the pain that etched across his face, he mustered a weak smile. “Hey now,” he managed to joke weakly, his voice strained but filled with his usual charm. “Do I look that bad?”

Lena's tearful laughter mixed with her sobs as she leaned closer to him, their hands joined through the bars. “You look...terrible,” she replied, her voice trembling. “But you're still...you.” His jokes, no matter how feeble, were a lifeline in this sea of despair, a reminder of the resilient spirit that had drawn her to him in the first place. His fingers squeezed hers gently, providing a small source of comfort in their dire circumstances.

Lena's world was a blur of emotions as the guards approached, their cold and unfeeling demeanor in stark contrast to the turmoil inside her. She shook her head vehemently, tears streaming down her face as she clung desperately to the bars of Captain Canary's cell. Lena's heart plummeted, the hollow thud echoing in her ears as her grip on Haechan tightened, her knuckles nearly white against the cruel iron bars that separated them. Her voice, hoarse from crying and shouting, was filled with defiance as she repeated the word ‘no’ like a mantra.

Haechan, despite his battered state, did his best to calm her. He whispered reassurances, urging her to let go and promising that he would be fine. His words were a lifeline in the storm of her despair, but she couldn't bring herself to release her grip on him.

Her eyes, wide with pleading, locked onto his, and she cried out a resounding ‘no’ that seemed to echo through the cold, dimly lit corridor. It was as if she were trying to anchor herself to him, refusing to be torn away from the one person who had shown her kindness and understanding in a world filled with cruelty.

As the guards approached her with increasing aggression, she fought back, like a cornered animal with nothing left to lose. Her cries were a symphony of despair, echoing through the dim corridors as they dragged her away from Haechan. She pulled against them, her cries turning into screams of protest, but their grip on her remained unyielding. With a cruel force, they hoisted her away from the cell, leaving behind the only source of solace she had known in this bleak place.

As they dragged her out of the small, nightmarish jail, Lena's desperate cries continued to pierce the air. She screamed for Haechan, her voice raw with anguish and despair. The torment of being forcibly separated from him was a pain unlike any other, a feeling of being ripped apart from a part of herself.

When they emerged from the oppressive underground chamber into the dimly lit corridor above, Lena's head maid stood there with a numb expression, her presence a chilling reminder of her captivity. With an air of cold authority, the head maid commanded the guards to take Lena to her room, ignoring her pleas and pleas for leniency.

~

Two weeks had passed since that agonizing moment when Lena was torn away from Haechan's cell, and in that time, her life had become a relentless whirlwind of transformation. She was no longer the same person who had stepped off that pirate ship, with her unkempt hair and torn clothing. The Marquess and his staff had taken it upon themselves to mold her into the image of a noblewoman, the future Marquessa Li'Pold.

Each day brought a new regimen of training and lessons. The head maid, who had initially treated her with cold detachment, had taken on the role of tutor, drilling her in the intricate protocols of noble society. Lena was taught how to walk with poise, how to curtsy gracefully, and how to engage in polite conversation. She met with other noblewomen, their conversations a dizzying whirl of compliments, gossip, and veiled insults. Lena had to learn to navigate this web of intrigue, all while maintaining a façade of composure and grace.

These encounters with the aristocracy were suffocating, their empty compliments and superficial pleasantries leaving Lena feeling hollow. She could sense the judgmental gazes that lingered upon her, as if they could see through her carefully constructed mask. Yet, she persevered, numb to the emptiness of it all, keeping up the act for the sake of survival.

The Marquess, in his twisted desire to make her his, played the role of the doting suitor. He showered her with gifts – elegant gowns adorned with intricate lace, exquisite jewels that sparkled with a cruel splendor, and fine silks that whispered against her skin. Each gift was a shackle, a reminder of the life she had been thrust into.

He would often accompany her on these shopping excursions, their interactions fraught with tension. He would hold her arm as they strolled through the boutiques and small shops, his touch possessive. He would whisper sweet words in her ear, attempting to charm her with flattery and empty promises. But Lena remained resolute, her emotions locked away, her spirit unbroken.

It was two weeks of relentless manipulation, but Lena played her part. She allowed herself to be adorned like a prized possession, let herself be molded into the Marquessa she was meant to be. But behind her mask of compliance, she remained fiercely determined to find a way back to him and repay the life he’d lost due to her.

The bustling square of Canoga enveloped Lena as she walked alongside the Marquess, her demeanor still and quiet, a contrast to the vibrant surroundings that enveloped her. The square teemed with activity, a sensory overload that sent waves of sights, sounds, and scents washing over her.

Visually, the square was a tapestry of colors and textures. Stalls and market booths lined the cobblestone streets, their wooden structures painted in various shades of reds and blues. Vibrant fabrics hung like banners, forming a kaleidoscope of hues overhead. Market-goers moved in a kaleidoscope of their own, each person a splash of color against the backdrop of the city. Vendors, in their elaborately decorated stalls, showcased their wares with pride, their fingers deftly folding fabrics, arranging jewels, and stacking spices.

The air was thick with the mingling of fragrances. Spices from the open-air food stalls wafted on the breeze, intermingling with the earthy scent of freshly harvested vegetables. Lena could detect the warm aroma of freshly baked bread, which beckoned from a nearby bakery, and the sharp tang of spices from a vendor grilling meat over an open flame. The symphony of scents was at once comforting and overwhelming, a reminder of the world she had known before. Her heart reminding her of Gus and Vincent.

Intricate textures surrounded her—the rough, weathered fabric of market stalls, the smooth feel of polished gemstones on display, and the cool touch of the breeze on her skin. The crowd pressed around her, a living, breathing entity of its own. It seemed as if the square itself pulsed with life, each step unveiling a new scene—children playing tag, artisans crafting intricate wares, and couples lost in whispered conversations.

As Lena walked, her senses heightened by the stimulation around her, her olfactory senses were suddenly caught by a scent that sent a jolt of recognition through her. It was the aroma of a dish she had shared with Haechan moments before their capture—a dish from his favorite eatery. Memories of their time together at that small, hidden gem on the streets of Canoga flooded her mind—the laughter, the conversation, the stolen moments of normalcy before the chaos.

The scent of grilled meat grew stronger, and it led her to a small vendor tucked away in a bustling alley. The air was infused with the mouthwatering aroma of spices and charred meats. The vendor was working a sizzling grill, the flames leaping and dancing, painting the evening with an orange glow. Skewers of marinated meat sizzled tantalizingly, sending up plumes of savory smoke that teased her senses.

It was a simple setup, a culinary oasis in the midst of the bustling market. The vendor greeted them with a warm smile, inviting Lena to taste their offerings. Her heart flickered with a pang of nostalgia, the memory of sharing a simple meal with Haechan washing over her like a gentle wave. The Marquess noticed her brief spark of interest and, perhaps out of a momentary kindness, urged her to indulge.

Lena hesitated, glancing at the guards who stood a few steps behind. Their stern expressions were a haunting reminder as always. Yet, a glimmer of rebellion surged within her. Here, amidst the lively market, she felt a tinge of freedom, a fleeting connection to the past. Swallowing her fear, she ventured closer to the vendor, her eyes fixed on the skewers that sizzled and crackled on the grill.

She couldn't help but remark on the mouthwatering scent that filled the air. “Your cooking smells absolutely divine,” she complimented the vendor, her words laced with genuine appreciation.

The vendor beamed at her praise, a twinkle in his eye revealing the pride he took in his craft. “Thank you, my lady. It's the secret blend of spices that gives it that unique flavor.”

She inquired about the cost, turning her eyes briefly to the Marquess. However, before the vendor could reply, he took a look behind her towards the Marquess and stated that it was on the house. She looked at him, and the Marquess gave her a small practice smile. Lena's brows furrowed slightly, her gratitude tempered with suspicion. She stole another glance at him, catching that veneer of kindness that didn't quite reach his eyes. Still, she nodded, then thanked the vendor before taking a bite, her taste buds instantly greeted by the explosion of flavors.

The Marquess, ever the puppeteer, redirected their path toward a clothing shop, suggesting they explore her options. Lena nodded in acquiescence, the taste of meat still lingering on her tongue. As they weaved through the vibrant crowd, she sensed eyes upon her—curious gazes, awestruck glances, and inquisitive stares from both children and adults. She felt like an exhibit, an enigma amidst the familiar yet foreign world of Canoga.

It was as they passed a modest, open tavern nestled between two shops that Lena's attention was captured by a familiar face. Seated at a rickety table with a drink in hand, Jeno's presence in that moment was an unexpected jolt to her senses. His eyes, previously half-lidded and disinterested, widened with recognition when they landed on her. Yet, as quickly as the surprise registered, a flash of something else crossed his gaze—an emotion that she could only interpret as anger.

Caught off guard, Lena hesitated, her heart picking up its pace as a flicker of recognition sparked between them. She averted her gaze quickly, her pulse echoing in her ears. The unexpected encounter with Jeno sent a tremor of unease through her, his reaction raising questions that she had no immediate answers to. Fear gnawed at her, yet she masked it behind a facade of indifference, carrying on as the Marquess guided her towards the clothing shop.

The doorbell chimed as Lena and the Marquess stepped into the shop, a quaint and quiet refuge from the lively square outside. The air was infused with the scent of fresh fabrics and perfumes, and the ambiance exuded an air of sophistication. The interior was a delight to the senses—soft lighting cast a warm glow, revealing racks adorned with dresses of various styles, colors, and textures. Elaborate accessories—glittering earrings, delicate lace gloves, and strands of pearls—beckoned from glass displays, enticing anyone seeking a touch of opulence.

Lena's eyes darted around, taking in the intricate details of each dress—silk cascading like waterfalls, lace delicate as morning dew, and colors that resembled an artist's palette.

The shop owner, a middle-aged woman with a welcoming smile, approached them. She was dressed in somewhat of an elegant attire, her demeanor reflecting years of expertise in fashion. Her voice was soft and refined as she greeted them. “Welcome, Marquessa. How may I assist you today?”

The title made Lena bristle inwardly, a reminder of the identity she was forced to wear like a cloak. She had become accustomed to the deferential treatment she received as the Marquess's betrothed, but it still unsettled her. To her surprise, she noticed a flicker of approval in the Marquess's eyes at the shop owner's address.

The Marquess, his tone affable but laced with an unspoken warning, addressed Lena. “My dear, I have some matters to attend to momentarily. The guards will remain outside the shop, ensuring your safety, of course.” His words sounded like a reassuring gesture, but Lena understood the implicit threat they carried—that any attempt to escape would be met with swift and dire consequences. It was a gesture meant to give an illusion of freedom, yet its undertone was one of confinement and control.

The delicate chimes of the doorbell heralded the arrival of another couple into the shop. Lena continued to feign interest in the gowns, her eyes locked on a particular dress that beckoned her with a sense of familiarity. It reminded her of the dresses she had once worn back in her manor in Lillon, a life that felt like a distant memory. She couldn't help but think of Mr. Freed, the kind head butler who had raised her alongside the servants. How she missed the simplicity of those days, when the confines of her upbringing were the only cages she knew.

As she traced her fingers over the fabric, an unsettling realization washed over her. Despite the comfort and luxury she had known in her early years, she had felt like a captive within those walls. The expectations and constraints of noble society had suffocated her spirit, much like the current situation she found herself in. It was a cycle of being trapped in one cage after another.

Her mind then wandered to her time on the ship with Captain Canary and his crew. She recalled the days of toil and hardship as a cabin boy. Although her chores were demanding and the consequences for any misstep were severe, there was a sense of freedom in those moments. She could speak her mind, even if it angered the crew, and she had a taste of camaraderie that was genuine, unshackled by titles and expectations.

Lost in these reflections, she didn't immediately register the jolt that came when she was abruptly pulled to the back of the shop. Fear surged through her as she found herself pinned against the wall. It was Jeno, his grip tightening around her throat and arm, his eyes burning with anger and betrayal.

Lena's heart raced as she instinctively reached for the hand that was tightly wrapped around her throat. It was Jeno, and despite the anger she could see in his eyes, an overwhelming sense of relief and joy washed over her. Tears welled up in her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips, and she whispered his name in a hushed voice, almost unable to believe that he was standing before her.

“Jeno…”

Jeno's expression momentarily softened at the sight of her tears and her trembling smile, though he quickly regained his composure. He tightened his grip on her arm and his voice took on a stern edge as he demanded to know what had happened to the Captain. Lena's head shook slightly in response, her lips pursed as emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

Lena's lips pursed as the magnitude of the situation weighed heavily on her. Words caught in her throat as the reality of her predicament overwhelmed her. Jeno's sternness and anger seemed too much, too soon, and she struggled to find the right words to convey what had transpired.

He warned her, his voice laced with a hint of frustration and desperation. “I don't care about your status, Lena. If I have to, I'll beat it out of you.” Lena couldn't help but chuckle softly, her laughter tinged with a mixture of emotions.

Tears  began streaming down her face as she continued to speak with trembling lips, recounting the events at the tavern and how the Marquess had taken them both. She explained who she really was, how she had tried to evade the marriage, and how it had all gone horribly wrong. “I'm sorry, Jeno,” she kept whispering in between her explanation, her lips trembling with the weight of her guilt and the fear of his judgment.

As she spoke, Jeno's grip on her throat gradually loosened, though he maintained a firm hold on her arm. He looked at her with an intensity that spoke of his worry and frustration. When she finished, he shook his head, dismissing her excuses about her identity and the arranged marriage.

“That's not what I care about, Lena,” he said firmly, his eyes narrowing with concern. “I need to know where Captain Canary is. The crew waited for him for three days, and when he didn't arrive, they started searching.”

Lena was on the brink of revealing more about Haechan's predicament when their conversation was abruptly cut short. The shop owner's voice called out for her, causing Jeno to release his grip and swiftly disappear into the labyrinth of dresses and aisles. Lena instinctively reached out for him, but he had vanished before she could even touch him.

Alone again, she felt a profound sense of loss and longing. The shop owner, noticing the sadness that clouded her expression, approached Lena with concern in her eyes. She inquired, “Is everything alright, my lady?”

Lena fought to regain her composure, forcing a strained smile. She nodded, her voice sounding more composed than she felt. “Yes, I'm quite alright. Just lost in thought for a moment, that's all.”

Lena, still concealing her inner turmoil, turned to the shop owner and said, “Thank you for your assistance. I'll be leaving for now, but I might return later for one of those gowns.”

The shop owner, ever polite and accommodating, offered a gracious smile. “Of course, my lady. You're welcome here anytime.”

As Lena stepped out of the boutique, she was met by the imposing figures of the guards, who blocked her path with stern expressions. Without missing a beat, she met their gaze with a feigned look of discomfort, one hand delicately touching her forehead. Her voice was convincing as she spoke, “I don't feel well. I'd like to return home and rest, if you don't mind.”

The guards nodded in understanding and, without a word, fell into position on either side of her as they escorted her back through the bustling Canoga streets. Lena couldn't help herself from stealing a quick glance back towards the direction of the shop, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of Jeno amidst the crowd.

~

Lena sat by the expansive window, her gaze fixed on the lively city below. She absentmindedly stroked the blue amulet in her hand, her thoughts drifting to Captain Canary. In her mind's eye, she saw the moments they had shared—fragments of stolen kisses in his tent, the embrace of the ocean as he selflessly leaped into its depths to save her.She remembered how her initial desperation had melted away in his embrace, replaced by a yearning to feel those moments once more. Her fingertips unconsciously brushed her lips, reliving the sensation of his touch.

With the amulet cradled in her hand, she recalled the soft melody it had sung to her before, a song that resonated with the depths of her soul. She hummed, her voice barely a whisper, seeking solace in the memory of that sweet tune. But the amulet remained silent, refusing to echo the song back to her.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she couldn't hold back the sobs that escaped her. Her voice quivered as she begged the amulet to sing to her like it had before, to provide her with the comfort she so desperately needed. But there was no response, and the silence only deepened her despair.

Unable to contain herself, tears streamed down her face. She clasped the amulet tighter, her grip almost desperate. She placed it against her lips, feeling its cool surface against her skin. In an act of pure yearning, she kissed it, whispering the haunting melody through her sobs. Her tears fell on the cold, lifeless surface of the pendant as she poured her heart and soul into the tune.

As if touched by her tears and longing, the amulet finally responded, the melody weaving its way through the air, a gentle caress to her grieving soul. A bittersweet symphony, reminiscent of those times, wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. The tears kept falling, mingling with the tune, a fusion of sorrow and hope that embraced her like a delicate lullaby.

Lena's discovery had filled her with a newfound sense of urgency. If her tears had the power to awaken the amulet's song, then she needed to confirm her theory and unlock its hidden potential. With a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, she dashed to the restroom, where she remembered seeing an open jar filled with water sitting beside the basin. The amulet dangled from her trembling fingers as she prepared to test her hypothesis.

Gently, she submerged the amulet into the water, her heart pounding in her chest. As it touched the surface, the amulet's song swelled, resonating like a choir in a grand cathedral. The ethereal notes grew louder, resonating within the small room, and she couldn't help but wonder if anyone outside could hear this enchanting melody.

However, her recollection of previous moments brought her reassurance. No one aboard the ship had ever shown signs of hearing the amulet's enchanting tune, and when she had pursued its sound on Lavista, she had been the sole follower of its song.

Curiosity piqued, Lena hummed the tune back to the amulet. The reaction was immediate—the amulet glowed with a newfound intensity, its light shimmering and pulsating in harmony with her melody. As the jar vibrated, the vibrations grew stronger and the glass gave way, shards scattering across the countertop and floor. The amulet now lay amidst the remnants of shattered glass, a bed of broken fragments.

Surprise and awe mingled within Lena as she observed the aftermath of the amulet's response. Yet, in the midst of the wreckage, there lay the amulet, still pulsing with a soft glow.

With a sense of awe and reverence, Lena gingerly picked up the amulet from the bed of broken glass, making sure not to touch a single shard. She stared at it with wide, marveling eyes, once again overwhelmed by the power it held. Carefully, she fastened the amulet around her neck, letting the familiar sensation of its cool surface against her skin anchor her.

As the enchanting melody of the amulet swirled around her, Lena didn't notice the entrance of her head maid and the other maids. They watched in shock as they saw Lena near the shattered glass, their concern etched on their faces. They moved forward cautiously, intent on helping her step away from the perilous shards, asking her with urgency what had happened.

Lena, however, was still in a daze, the amulet's song resonating deeply within her. She couldn't find the words to explain the miraculous event that had just transpired. Her head spun with the implications, the threads of hope that were being woven through her life once more.

The head maid recognized Lena's dazed state and urged the other maids to hasten their efforts, for there was much to be done to prepare her. Lena slowly blinked back to reality, looking at the head maid with a sense of confusion, not immediately comprehending the situation. She inquired about the day's plans, attempting to regain her bearings.

The head maid, still with a look of concern, explained that the Marquess had requested her presence. Despite her turmoil, Lena knew she had no choice but to comply. They began to dress her in a stunning gown, its intricate lace and silk draping her form, making her appear every bit the Marquessa she’s supposed to be. The maids styled her hair into an elegant updo, and her face was meticulously made up to enhance her beauty.

However, as the head maid attempted to remove the amulet from Lena's neck to replace it with a more suitable accessory, Lena's grip tightened. She held the head maid's wrist firmly, her eyes fixed on their reflection in the mirror. This gesture of resistance didn't go unnoticed. 

Slowly she leaned down, stopping beside Lena’s face. In a hushed whisper, she said, “Miss Lena, remember that while you may lack certain freedoms, you possess the safety, wealth, and status that many can only dream of. There are many reasons to live.”

Lena met her gaze with a mixture of confusion and understanding. She had no intentions of ending her life, but the head maid had apparently misinterpreted her hesitance.

“I wasn't…” she began, but the head maid had already clapped her hands, signaling the other maids to leave the room. She swiftly called for the guards, announcing that Lena was ready to be taken to the Marquess.

Lena was led through a labyrinthine corridor, her footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. Guards in finely embroidered uniforms flanked her on either side, their armor gleaming under the grand chandeliers that hung low from the high, ornate ceiling. As they approached the Marquess's office, she couldn't help but be impressed by the room's grandeur.

The door creaked open, revealing a lavishly furnished space adorned with heavy drapes and oil paintings of landscapes from across the empire. An impressive mahogany desk stood at the center, adorned with quills, inkwells, and intricately designed stationery. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes of knowledge and history, while a large, ornate mirror reflected the room's opulence back at her.

The Marquess, sitting behind his desk, stood up as she entered. His eyes lingered on her, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight. “Lena, my dear,”  he began, “you look positively radiant today.”

Lena managed a half-hearted ‘Thank you’ in response as she glanced around the room, her mind still lingering on the events of the day.

The Marquess leaned back in his large, upholstered chair and set down his quill, his piercing gaze fixed on Lena. He raised a finger, pointing directly at her. “You love him, don't you?” he said, referring to Captain Canary.

Lena's jaw tensed as her heart raced. The question lingered in the air, and she struggled to form a response. She'd often questioned her own feelings toward Haechan. Was it love, or was it the guilt of the consequences he faced because of her? Silence hung in the room as she grappled with her emotions and memories of their time together on the pirate ship.

The Marquess let out a sigh, a charismatic smile playing at his lips. “You know, Lena, I've learned that a woman only suffers in silence if it's either out of love or because of injustice,” he mused. The intrigue in his eyes grew as he continued to study her, waiting for her response.

As Lena was about to speak, there came a series of knocks at the door. The Marquess's eyes lit up with excitement, and he gestured for Lena to come and stand next to him. “Ah, right on time,” he said as he rose from his seat, anticipation in his voice.

The door slowly swung open, revealing a figure standing in the hallway beyond. The Marquess's voice oozed with charm as he spoke, “Lena, allow me to introduce you to someone special.”

In the doorway stood Captain Canary, transformed from the carefree pirate she knew into a disciplined privateer. His new uniform, tailored to fit his form, seemed like a cage constraining his natural grace. The dark navy coat and trousers were adorned with golden trimmings, a stark departure from his former attire that was a canvas of freedom, adorned with the colorful remnants of his adventures. The coat hung stiffly on his shoulders, devoid of the fluidity it once had, and his red hair, though still vibrant, was now swept back, revealing his furrowed brow and the remnants of bruises on his face.

The sight of him in this unfamiliar role tugged at her heart. She longed for the charismatic and charming pirate who had shown her a world beyond her gilded cage. But now, he stood before her, and she searched for some glimmer of his former charm. Haechan's gaze briefly met hers, but it didn't linger. Instead, he looked past her, his eyes distant. The Captain who had once laughed and lived his life without a care in the world was replaced by a cold, distant figure. For a moment, she wished to reach out, to hold him as she had once, to feel that connection they had forged during their days at sea.

The Marquess's voice broke through her thoughts as he gestured for Haechan to step forward. “Allow me to introduce you to my new Privateer, a man who will fight in my honor,” he announced. Haechan complied, taking a step closer and bowing his head. His movement was measured, deliberate, but Lena couldn't help but notice the subtle signs of pain. He kneeled with a noticeable twitch, and she winced, realizing that she had yet to see the full extent of his injuries. The ache in her heart deepened, and she wished she could shield him from the cruelty of his new reality.

As her eyes welled with tears, the Marquess, ever observant, noticed. He instructed her to wipe away her tears, reminding her that she should be proud to witness a lowly man rise to such a prestigious position. However, the pride he expected from her was eclipsed by her worry and sadness for the man who stood before her, irrevocably changed.

As the Marquess nonchalantly revealed Haechan's impending departure to fight in distant lands, Lena felt her heart plummet. It was as if her world had been upended, and for the first time since he'd entered the room, she moved—stepping away from the Marquess in disbelief. Her eyes darted from the callous nobleman to Haechan, who remained on one knee, head still bowed in obedience. The Marquess, however, demanded he rise, and Haechan complied, holding onto his posture with unwavering determination.

The Marquess stood up from his grand chair, pushing it back, and turned to Lena, granting her the opportunity to say her goodbyes. In that moment, Lena could barely contain the flood of emotions threatening to consume her. It was as if the weight of the world was bearing down on her, and she struggled to comprehend the reality of what was transpiring.

She didn't hesitate, rushing to Haechan's side and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. She clung to Haechan, feeling the contours of his form, the familiar warmth, the beating of his heart. In that embrace, she poured her heart out, all her worries, fears, and love, holding on as if she could defy the cruel fate that had befallen them.

From behind her, she heard the Marquess's mocking words, “Go ahead, play lovers for a minute or two.” The bitterness of his tone only fueled her determination to make this brief moment count. Haechan, after a moment's hesitation, enveloped her in a warm embrace. She could feel him drawing in her scent, his breath falling in sync with hers. It was a bittersweet, stolen moment amidst the miserable circumstances.

Then, Haechan's voice whispered in her ear, a soft and intimate murmur that almost seemed to drown out the world. He told her that he had left her a letter in his cell, his breath warm against her skin. His lips pressed gently to her cheek in a fleeting kiss, a tender farewell. As he pushed her away to stand with the poise of a soldier, Lena felt a chasm open in her chest, the weight of their parting becoming inescapable.

Lena staggered back from the parting embrace, the sensation of Haechan's touch still lingering on her skin, a bittersweet memory etched into her heart. She turned away from the newly transformed Captain Canary, who stood with a rigid formality that felt alien to her. The Marquess watched the scene with a self-satisfied smirk, enjoying the display of their emotions.

The room seemed to close in around Lena as she grappled with the reality of the situation. She had longed to escape her arranged marriage, but the cost of her newfound freedom was the captivity of the man she had grown to care for.

Haechan's hushed words were etched into her mind, a promise of a letter that would serve as his last thoughts to her if this were to be their last time. She bit her lip, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood, a reminder of the bitter truth she faced. The guards beckoned, reminding her that the sands of time were slipping away, and she had no choice but to follow its unyielding current.

𔘓⁩ ᵗⁱᵖʲᵃʳ

#kpop fanfic #kpop ff #kpop pirate au #haechan au #haechan fanfic #haechan #nct haechan #illumins #kpop au #myriadofourseas #nct dream fanfic #nct dream au #nct dream pirates

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

Sum up your WIPs. Poorly.

Hiii Inara :D

We Shall Be Fools:

Man attempts saving the world, instead gets adopted by an ex-god and his nephew, becomes a Creature, and fucks up saving the world so bad he kind of almost destroys it. And he's trans. It is far more relevant to the plot than it should be.

CLH:

Remember those old-timey fics where nothing happens but a group of cool queer characters live in a house together? It's that but an almanac of short stories. Also there's a character named ? and the four horsemen are in a polyamorous QPR. That's all you need to know.

Starcrumbs:

What if? Steampunk? But in space? And with religious themes? And what if I make a very sweet, very trusting creature unable to communicate clearly, terrifying, poisonous, and constantly going through an existential crisis?

Tuned Teeth and Sour Symphonies (tagging @euphoniouspandemonium for this one 'cause we're co-writing it):

Young superhero joins superhero team coming-of-age story, only the focus is entirely on tired traumatized middle-aged people, including the superhero team's leader and said girl's father, the Big Bad Villain guy (yes of course they have a thing going on with the superhero). There's a canary named Cacophony. Even she has a tragic backstory, which should tell you enough about this whole mess.

Aand just one more, Marble Knight:

Epic fantasy with court intrigue, wars and fighting for a better world, only all of that is backstory and the focus is on the characters healing from all that shit and finding kindness in the world.

#oleg's writing #wip: wsbf #wip: clh #wip: starcrumbs #wip: ttass #the marble knight #oleg's friends and (found) family #inara <3