〰️ @mikazume - Tumblr Blog

MIKAH hashizume mika / musician, producer, composer twitter, tumblr and discord friendly

tba.

#study guide

kiwisuu

𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒔 mika ♥.

#in orbit

txgxxn

mika hashizume for burberry via instagram

soulprompts

𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

literally letter threads are elite. that’s. that’s all the context we have here. also bc the language is obviously being changed slightly here. so, for clarification: the person receiving the meme, is the writer of the letter! the person SENDING the meme, is RECEIVING the letter! now. go write letters, u magnificent cupcakes, and DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST!!! i will know, and i will hunt u down and curse ur potatoes to be soapy and bland and messy for all eternity.

[ LOVE ]: the writer begins the first of a series of love letters to the recipient.

[ SORRY ]: the writer delivers a letter of apology to the recipient.

[ LAST ]: a letter sent in the aftermath of the writer’s death.

[ TWIST ]: a letter sent in the aftermath of the writer’s alleged death, only to reveal that they are, in fact, still alive.

[ FINAL ]: a letter written in the aftermath of the recipient’s death, where the writer knows they’ll never get the chance to read it.

[ INITIATE ]: a letter written to the recipient in order to maintain communication between the two while the writer is far away from them.

[ FAREWELL ]: a letter written to say goodbye to the recipient, where the writer knows there’s an extremely high chance that they’ll never see each other again.

[ REVELATION ]: a letter written that reveals the truth about an event(s) that the writer believes the recipient may be misinformed about.

[ EXPLAIN ]: a letter that explains the reasoning behind choices that the writer has made in the past, which they would like to explain to the recipient.

[ BAD ]: a letter that delivers bad news to the recipient.

[ UPDATE ]: a letter that updates the recipient on the writer’s life, or certain on-going events that are happening in their life.

[ AFAR ]: a letter delivered by the writer from another country/city/planet/etc in order to reassure the recipient and let them know they’re okay. (not intended to be a back-and-forth, like [ INITIATE ] does).

[ HIDDEN ]: a letter written and delivered to the recipient in secret, for the recipient’s eyes only, as a result of information it contains, or because of the person who wrote it.

[ UNSENT ]: a letter written for the recipient, but which the writer ultimately never sends for reasons that the writer conceals, or may reveal within the letter itself.

[ MISTAKE ]: a letter which is sent to the recipient by mistake, and which may contain sensitive information about the recipient.

[ UNVEIL ]: a letter which reveals the truth about a plan that the writer previously and deliberately concealed from the recipient for their safety/well-being.

[ NEEDED ]: a letter that the writer wrote for the recipient after learning of their recent struggles in their personal life, and which contains uplifting words of encouragement, support and other things they feel they should hear to help them through.

[ PILLOW ]: a letter left neatly atop a pillow on the bed that the writer and recipient share, that is discovered by the recipient the following morning after the writer leaves the room/home.

[ FRIDGE ]: a letter attached to the fridge with magnets for the recipient to read in the kitchen.

[ KNOWN ]: a letter which the writer left in a place that only the writer and recipient know of, knowing that only the recipient would be able to find it first.

[ HELP ]: a letter written by the writer to the recipient, asking the recipient for help.

[ STOP ]: a letter written for the recipient which the writer intends to be their final letter to them, and which ultimately concludes all communications between the writer and recipient from that moment forth.

[ PAST ]: a letter which the writer wrote in the past, that reveals a piece of their backstory, that the reader finds and reads out of curiosity. (this could also be a letter written TO the receiver of the meme, or about them, or anything at all!)

#prompts

how early is too early? how late is too late? timing has never been my forte.

#inner monologue

louisegluckpdf

every time i sit down 2 watch a horror movie i think of that one tweet :/

louisegluckpdf

rb if you too sit down in ur room and watch horror movies alone

#study guide

whenlovetriestoleave

hashizume mika in robert wun ss 2023 haute couture for gq 2023 moty awards

ao3-crack

(x)

#study guide

it's been a minute hello, goodbye › mika and ryuna

"hello."

hello. such a boring word to say back to someone who used to mean so much. mika finds himself frozen in time as ryuna slips next to him, wearing what seems to be a contemplative smile on her face. he understands why - he figures there isn't a lot of people she knows in this wedding. he appreciates the gesture and he's sure william appreciates it too.

"crazy reception," is all he says as a greeting, masking his thoughts in a smile that he hopes reaches his eyes. it doesn't seem like she picks up because she goes off into a tangent of how pretty the reception layout is, the tension in her stance broken. months ago, she probably would have recognized it in a beat, refusing not to discuss it. but alas, things are different now aren't they? the conversation continues and he's half present, half transcending elsewhere.

months ago, he deleted himself entirely. no one to blame but himself. but there's a point where the wound he carries wont be enough to keep him from the tendre he craves. he knows he'll reach a point in healing where the guiding light at the end of the tunnel will reach him and he'll finally be able to move forward as he's been hoping to do. he knows, that a painful part of getting closer to the light is feeling like he's been stuck in one place for forever while everyone else moved past. she's certainly done so.

in a paradox, change exists for him. this was supposed to be the year of meeting new people, of opening up. instead, this is the year of being alone. he wants everything to change and yet want nothing to change at all. he feels so foreign and different from himself and yet feel exactly the same. it's the way it goes oftentimes though, isn't it? continuity and metamorphosis always travel together. some people you meet for a reason, some people for a season. in some unfortunate circumstances, both.

he says something he doesn't really understand himself but it makes her laugh. she probably thinks he's spewing something stupid. not that he isn't.

but he hears kazuma's voice from the back, pulling his focus back into perception. he tells him he'll join him soon. tilting his head, he meets ryuna's eyes and a palpable silence passes through them. for the first time since he's known her, he doesn't know what to say. and he's okay with it. in a different universe, he'd wrap his arms around her and say, "best man's speech, be right back, babe." he'd press a kiss to her temple, whisper how beautiful she looks this evening and that he can't wait to have her all to himself.

but in this universe, he extends an open hand, a quirky smile tugging at his lips. her eyebrows meet in the middle in confusion and she's bursting into laughter once more at his antics. she gives him a handshake though, playing along, and he walks away for one last time.

hello, i'm sorry, goodbye.

#so what if it isnt exactly what the prompt was #unbeta'd will fix typos later #memory box

the different stages of song writing from one falling chair to the other › mika and dani

the page is bare except for the title on the top left corner, ‘there are monsters in my closet and it's 3am.’ slender digits fidget with the pen, cap dislodged as he carefully swirls it between the back of his thumb and index. the piece of paper is so blank and depressing that it’s screaming back at him in despair but he thinks to himself, this isn't too bad. the deadline is, what, in a day? totally doable.

so he proceeds to wait until the last possible minute before starting and the next thing he knows he’s couped in a hotel room somewhere in tokyo, a show to catch in eight hours, sleep to bank on for at least three and an album draft that he’s got absolutely nothing on.

he doesn’t sit himself down, even though he really should. instead he makes a run for the lawson’s a block away because he needs all the sustenance he can get as he sources his folders on his phone that somehow contains 243 unread articles.

53:41 length youtube documentary from 2008.

safari? maybe so, inspiration could be sitting somewhere in the 103 tabs open.

the elevator door dings, opens wide and he slips inside, eyes constricting at the brightness of his screen.

click, scroll, click, tap, tap, boom. brightness fixed. there are monsters in my closet and it's 3am. cool, cool, cool, he’s got this.

nine words, thirty five letters. he thinks to the speed writing song seminar he just attended, thinks on the 80/20 rule and lets his thoughts wander as he aimlessly makes his way out of the elevator. the doorman greets him and mika salutes because why not?

then he thinks of coffee. it's technically my first coffee of the day because it's past midnight, he thinks as he ponders over hot or iced, decaf or caffeinated. he thinks hard over something that should be an easy decision but alas there’s a preschool that he passes by and he stops in the middle, stealing references from their educational and promotional posters. his japanese is basic at its best but he can read pretty well.

leave the lights on. the stars don’t want to sleep until it’s time. good night.

click, scroll, click, tap, tap. an email chain is sent to his creative director and fellow producer, 4:13am: is being a dumb fuck a valid reason for an extension? he snorts and thinks of the title funny as he tries to configure how to set the font in times new roman, size 12, double spaced. how the fuck do you do this on the phone?

he breezes through the entrance of lawson and makes his way to the refreshments aisle where several tables are conveniently set adjacent to. he purses his lips and pulls a stool to sit on, picking up on the original task. writing the set list? the email? no yeah no, the archives you dumbfuck.

he sorts through a few drafts he actually likes. more than a few, there’s actually quite a lot of it and who knew being in a 24-7 convenient store would give all the motivation? an hour passes and the only thing he can think of is did i just plagiarize an original work of mine? fuck it, we ball, and then hits submit. it’s quarter to six now and he knows this because his alarm jolts him awake just as a figure crouches over the aisle right across. he stares at ground and tries to find his way back to his own business when he sees the anklet on the person's ankle. it kinda looks like the one his sisters like to make back at home. he takes another closer look and realizes the beads spell out d-a-n-i. he takes a second glance at her profile, a loud gasp bubbling from his lips.

“oh shit, what the hell?!” he hurriedly stands in excitement so quickly that he stumbles over his own footing, knocking over several stools on top of the other like a domino effect. the staff behind the counter begins to shuffle towards the rare commotion and he quickly grabs her by the arm, tossing one over her shoulder and ushering her towards the exit.

he thinks he hears laughter from her but he could be hallucinating. and wow is that the sun? it’s morning time?

and when she tells him what a coincidence it is that they’re both in town at the same and she asks him how he’s been, he tells her, “i think i understand my next album a lot less now. how about you?”

#did not beta #hes a crackhead per usual sobs #memory box

cannibalchicken

#1st convo between mika and a therapist 😭#study guide

truth is, parting is not by far the least pleasant bitter thing that has dared sit in my mouth. how can it when these broken hands have held the sodding remains of what used to be ours? that sounds bitter. i can’t wash it down. truth is, i wish ‘love’ was a word that i’m allowed to use in exile.

it doesn’t work like that.

#inner monologue

the people you bump into at the open bar today's forecast calls for misery › mika & olivia.

not a cloud in the sky with the moon shining down from above it's a perfect night to be united as one. it's the kind of evening where the warm maui breeze is tickling you softly in the back of your neck, a hint of deja vu when the promises are exchanged of i do's and til death to us part. the bride and groom are all smiles as everyone spurs them on into the dance floor and all mika can think of is getting another tequila from the open bar, the blissful pair being the last thing he bears in mind. tugging at the bar stool, he thumps a closed fist against the surface once, holding up a finger to the bartender, motioning towards the bottle on the right. he's lost track of the number he's ordered but who's counting anyways? he might as well give his brother a run for his money and make out this open bar's worth.

sometimes, mika wonders if he was born backwards.

not physically backwards, obviously, but – backwards. in reverse.

he’s a grown-up before he’s old enough to walk to the store on his own. there’s this feeling, a curling deep in his gut, and at night when he lies in bed it comes to tells him that he’s a bit too big for his body. he goes to community service every sunday with his mom, helps his dad fix the car on the weekends, takes anchovy for his allergy appointments, teaches kona how to sit and fetch and roll over. he watches his band mates go to university and become an entrepreneur, a musician, meets cute girls, get married and all the while mika remains rooted where he stands.

he doesn’t really feel the sands of time shift because he feels as though he’s been here – just… here from the moment he had any spatial awareness whatsoever.

nothing feels right. nothing seems to fit. his manager keeps telling him to go to therapy, have someone who will write him a prescription that they both know mika is never going to fill, and tells him that he can’t go on living the rest of his life feeling as though he's stuck. we all move forward, kid, his old boy band manager keeps telling him. so why does it seem like the wheels are going in reverse? everyone seems to be moving forward except for him and he's stuck in a limbo, just watching from a distance. is this what it's like to grow up? is he past that? is this what they call a midlife crisis?

his thoughts are muddled when a slender figure slips next to him, blinking out of the possibilities of (perhaps) seeing an actual professional for whatever the fuck it is he's going through. it's an odd funk, everyone goes through it, right?

"oh shit," he suddenly pulls back, the corners of his lips tugging into a broad smile. olivia, as he speaks and breathe. sure they speak with each other here and there on sns, but when was the last time he saw her? "well look who we have here."

she looks great, but when did she not? he smiles at her and just stares. in the darkness she feels similar to light slipping through cracks of concrete, a fresh of breath air. he opens his arms and says, "well come on now, bring it in. it's been way too long."

#serpenstellar #memory box