boop

He felt a terrible heat, but whether it came from the flames or from his love he didn't know. He gazed upon the little lady, and she looked at him. Even as he melted in the cast-iron stove, he still stood STEADFAST with his musket held trim on his shoulder.

[twdongwoon-blog]

HELLO, AGAIN! I want to have some threads up while I continue plotting with people (i’m doing my best to at least greet everyone!), so comment with a word and I’ll write us a random starter! 

BONUS: Let me know if you want a fluffy thread…or something more serious or emo. >:D

[twdongwoon-blog]

I’m reblogging for the new people who might need help getting started (or anyone else tbh)! 

I know I still owe starters for Soonyoung, Arthur, and Namjoon -- but I’m ready to add onto that list! \(ouo)/

[twdongwoon-blog]

to be human;

@twxchanyeol

Sundays are his days off, although he still stretches and squeezes yoga into his schedule. His instructor told him it was important to rest once in awhile or he’d run himself to the ground. Not only that, but he overheard Miss Pilsetsky calling him a robot one afternoon. Dongwoon didn’t mean to be so guarded and uptight, but he’d never known anything else. As a toy, being the steadfast tin soldier was his only quality. 

He decided an early morning stay at the park would help clear his mind (and soothe his hurt feelings). The park bench was freezing and he felt the cold biting right through his sweatpants, practically gluing his butt to the metal. Dongwoon planned on watching the sunrise which seemed, according to various movies, a very human thing to do. 

“Do I really not show that much emotion? Am I really that stiff?” he mumbles. He stretches his fingers far apart and callused palms outward, holds them up to the sunrise. The soldier inspects them -- inspects the calluses, the blueish veins, the rough flesh, and the chipped nails that make him alive. 

But he bends his fingers and the creak, rusty as ever underneath cheap glamour. “Maybe I’m really no better than a robot,” he sighs. “I should...smile more? Laugh more -- no, no that would seem too forced. How do I be less...than a tin spoon? ”

[twdongwoon-blog]

highlight;

@twpan

Dongwoon loves the overflowing energy backstage, the atmosphere reminding him of electric circuits. He’s accustomed to panicked, half-naked performers stitching a wardrobe malfunction and others caking on stage makeup in front of mirrors. It helps excite him before the performance -- breathe life into a man otherwise stiffer than cardboard. It doesn’t matter if the actual backstage is a little dingy and cramped; he loves it all the same.

He auditioned for a small production and was disappointed to receive a small part, but at least this place paid. The soldier was surprised at how many dancers were expected to work for free in the human world. He’ll take a few unpaid auditions here and there, but keeps in mind that it won’t pay for glamour. 

Dongwoon doesn’t go onstage until the third act, which is after the half hour intermission. He has plenty of time considering that the show, Coppélia, had started only a few minutes ago. The stagehands will stop by later, organize those in the third act, and run over the music cues or last minute changes. Hectic, but all in the name of dance.

They’re responsible for their own hair and makeup, so he sits in front of a mirror to tidy up. He combs back his hair, slathering it in enough gel to keep it slicked back even during the fastest of pirouettes. “I hate how this dries -- always feels like straw,” he mumbles. On the table in front of him, the rest of his stage make-up is lined up. From the heavy, sweat-proof foundation, to setting powder, to the eye shadow pallets. He doesn’t need to be done up as heavily as the ladies, but being subtle requires a certain finesse. 

Just as he combs through his rusty-colored hair one last time, he sees in the mirror reflection that someone is peering at him from behind. Looks like a young boy and oddly familiar, but he’s not concentrating enough to recognize. “Did you forget your makeup?” he asks. “You can use some of mine if you need to. It’s not very sanitary to share, but we do what we have to. Right?”

[twdongwoon-blog]

twdongwoon:

HELLO, AGAIN! I want to have some threads up while I continue plotting with people (i’m doing my best to at least greet everyone!), so comment with a word and I’ll write us a random starter! 

BONUS: Let me know if you want a fluffy thread…or something more serious or emo. >:D

REBLOGGING THIS FOR FRIENDS OLD AND NEW! I’m still taking them! ;u;

[twdongwoon-blog]

singing in the rain ;

@twjeongyeon​ .

Dongwoon hasn’t taken off his tap shoes in over forty-eight hours. In the morning, he shuffled into the shower and practiced the Shirley Temple while brushing his teeth. When he slipped into bed at night, his restless feet twitched under the covers as he did the Cincinnati in his dreams. Everywhere he’s gone from the grocery store to the studio, he’s click-clacked the whole way. Here is a man -- technically, an inch tall toy soldier -- who’s been dancing for two days straight as though possessed. 

Disciplining himself in tap dance would help loosen his footwork and prevent him from overthinking his choreography, something the soldier desperately needed. The spotlights still rusted him up on occasion, no expire glamour needed. 

But stiff and stuffy, he sacrifices the delight of dance in exchange of perfecting the technique. He’s overworking himself. He’s pushing his limits. He’s focusing so much on the final product that he’s forgotten about the journey. But, isn’t he a failure if he can’t master a simple combination? If there are eight year-olds who could tap quicker and cleaner than him? 

He holds a heavy, red umbrella overhead and stares at the asphalt as he scuffs along. The rain is beating down hard as he steamrolls splashes through puddles like the devil’s at his heels. “Touch, scuff, heel, dig, toe, heel, heel...” he mutters. "This is going to be pointless if I can’t get faster and cleaner. Touch, scuff, heel dig...”

In his concentration, he didn’t notice how he’d begun wielding his umbrella like a battle axe. 

And some poor, poor fable was about to get thwacked right in the head.

[twdongwoon-blog]

a petal for your thoughts;

@naeuntw​ 

Dongwoon always searches the crowd at the end of every performance. Sometimes he’ll get bouquets of fresh flowers wrapped in clear cellophane and fastened together with ribbons. Other times, it’ll be a single rose tossed as he makes his bow. Whichever it is, he takes them and weaves through the crowds. 

He’s certain that he would recognize her, even if disguised with glamour. One day he’ll be reunited with his lover (if she’s even alive) and their best chance at meeting again would be in a theater. There’s a possibility that if she’s still out there -- he tells himself that she must be out there.

But tonight, his darling paper ballerina isn’t in the theater.  Just like dozens of nights before. 

It’s raining outside by the time he’s washed off his stage make-up, changed into grey sweatpants, and packed up his bags. He still holds onto his giant bouquet of flowers, but his grasp is halfhearted and limp. The flowers are almost dragging against the sidewalk and the petals become soggy. 

Dongwoon stops underneath a streetlight. Petals are shedding around him, gluing to the ground like his drenched clothes are sticking to his body. “What if I just stand here until I rust?” he sighs. 

[twdongwoon-blog]

and fruits will fill the garden ;

@ludatw

Soldiers depend on structure: clockwork schedules, precise orders, and a perfectionist attitude about everything from firing rifles to the crisp folding of uniforms.

Dongwoon thinks it’s similar to ballet. 

Thus, the rigid, grueling practice schedules suited the tin soldier well. It’s a highly disciplined art. Jumps always need to be higher, backs straighter than boards, and toes perpetually pointed forward. Yet at the same time, he must exude fluid-like grace and emotion. Dongwoon had misunderstood that part of dance at first. He used to march like a soldier across stage and although his technique was near-perfect, his performances had always missed something. 

It still happens on occasion that he can become so caught up on technique that he becomes more army general than artist. But, he closes his eyes...takes a deep breath...and thinks of a tiny, baby blue strip of gauze lovingly tucked into a matchbox.

Then he soars.

He leaps and he bounds, he twirls and he extends, and passion ignites his eyes. There’s no holding him back. No more good little soldier -- no perfection worthy of pretentious claps of critiques and judges. He’ll tell love stories and tragedies on that stage, if only allowed to bend the rules. Dongwoon loves choreographing his own routines, whether for competition or just to distress after a long day of practice. 

The studio is open for free lessons today, a ploy to at least make money selling dance shoes if people don’t end up signing up for classes. Although he isn’t an instructor (and has no desire to be), the studio thought it would be good publicity for him to give a “quick demonstration” at the end of class.

[ It’s part of the marketing tactic -- have a professional dance, then tell these newbies after an hour of basic technique that they could dance like that too. Well, maybe. Perhaps if they kept up with the $150 per monthly class fee for the next few years, they could attain that level. ]

Dongwoon finishes breathless and content with his performance, but he feels that he could’ve done better. His heart pounds and his chest heaves, rolling like ocean waves underneath his black dance shirt. He stiffens up once the music stops and stalls for time by steadying his breath. He’s supposed to say something after this; something to help sell classes or dance slippers. His accent is reminiscent of Danish, the origin of his noble fable, and his English is decent. 

“I actually learned that dance off of Youtube,” he said. “It was choreographed by Sergei Polunin, the Ukrainian ballet dancer that quit a few years ago. You can learn anything just by observing it, but it’s difficult without an instructor. Does anyone want to try it?” He doesn’t expect any takers and he said it more as a joke, really. It could be enjoyable though and loosen him up for at least awhile longer. “How about you in the front? Do you want to be my pig guinea? I mean, guinea pig.”

(THIS (CLICK HERE) is what Dongwoon just did!!! It’s amazing, but things REALLY pick up at the halfway point and it’ll blow your mind)

[twdongwoon-blog]

HELLO, AGAIN! I want to have some threads up while I continue plotting with people (i’m doing my best to at least greet everyone!), so comment with a word and I’ll write us a random starter! 

BONUS: Let me know if you want a fluffy thread...or something more serious or emo. >:D

[twdongwoon-blog]

🔥🔥🔥 \(ouo)/ 🔥🔥🔥 

Your residential Meme Lord is here to get #LIT!

I haven’t greeted everyone yet, but I’m doing my best to message & read through your blogs! Your muses are all so lovely and creative, and I could totally ramble about that all day. I’m unworthy of all this writing talent going on, especially since I’m rustier than Dongwoon. ^^;;; 

He’s The Steadfast Tin Soldier, one of my favorite fairy tales growing up! The fable is edited a little so (spoiler alert) he doesn’t die at the end & it’s ambiguous whether his lover was swept into the fireplace or out the window. BUT EVEN THOUGH I MADE SOME EDITS, IT’S STILL A SUPER EMO STORY. PERFECT FOR AN ANGST LOVER LIKE ME! \0/

SO YES!!!! Like this if you want me to zoom zoom like a rocket into your messages for plotting! LET’S HAVE SOME FUN!!!! :D