PRIMADONNA @wxbitna - Tumblr Blog

hello my good dudes it is i, gemma, back on my bullshit 🤪 on today’s episode i’m introducing my bby gorl bitna, the one who looks real elegant on the outside but that’s only bc her posture is unclockable ( do not speak 2 her it will ruin the illusion ). if uve watched winx, she may b a lil familiar 2 stella bc,,, ya girl lacks creativity n what about it!! ok anw, under the cut is a longform ramble summary of her!! skip 2 the end for some cool plot ideas 🤪 also please spare this post a LIKE to plot!! i can do tumblr ims or u can find me on my discord ( ding dong#8039 ) ☆

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕. —— 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐍𝐎. 𝟏𝟒 𝐎𝐏. 𝟐𝟕 𝐍𝐎. 𝟐 / OUT OF CHARACTER #wx:intro

nabi:

( 🦢 )

when the bow slips from bitna’s hand, nabi could feel her heart drop as her eyes watch the artifact hit the shrine ground. the light emitting from the bow diminishes. sweet mother of nature. is it broken? “w-what happened? why is it not glowing anymore?” she asks with a shaking voice, feet stuck to the ground as she could feel her stomach is in knots. how are they going to explain to vice-chancellor seo? heck, are they going to be expelled? “we’re gonna be so screwed.”

as the two continued squabbling over who dropped the bow, darkness loomed and engulfed the shrine. nabi squeezes her eyes close and open again, twice. she cannot see her hands in front of her face at all. “well, now we’re really screwed.” mumbling under her breath, she reaches out her hand to where bitna was last seen. “bitna?” she calls out, grabbing onto what she assumes to be the light fairy’s wrist. “is that you?”

muscle memory is a most peculiar thing. it renders the most difficult dances automatic, makes it so that complex dance steps would come as simply as the act of breathing, like the motion of pulling air into one’s lungs and exhaling from the mouth in the most relaxed sigh. but suppose there is a limit to what one can remember, that the introduction of new motions would replace older memories, would surely tip out dance sequences she had learnt as a child until one day, when she can barely recall the dances she had performed so flawlessly in her adolescence.

and what this means is these days, bitna finds herself undergoing metamorphosis in reverse. because where she had once been the most graceful ballerina, what replaces her now is the brute of a warrior, so barbaric and clunky in her movements. why, it is only by this explanation that could possibly result in her dropping the radiant bow. an accident, of course, but suppose it would have been almost better if it had been on purpose.

the clang of the sacred bow onto mossy stone signals the final stages of her transformation, and bitna balks at its disconcerting sound. stands stupefied for a moment too long before she realises the flickering of the radiant bow preceding its light, extinguished. bitna hears nabi’s obvious questions and she shakes her head in disbelief, utters under her breath, the accusing, “y-you pushed me…”

and what she means is she swears nabi had bumped into her, but that is simply not enough, is it? for a real ballerina would hardly be caught off balance by a mere graze, and bitna is so resistant of letting go of the one thing that had defined her worth, all of her existence, that she would fight it at all costs. a pity then, that today’s price demands her housemate.

“you pushed me!” she repeats, surely this time. even raises her head to glare at nabi, and perhaps the latter would have seen it, if not for the light that had been extinguished in maruhan’s sacred shrine. bitna gasps as tears well in her eyes, utterly convinced that the banishment of light is mother light’s punishment for them dropping the radiant bow. bitna holds a hand out in fear. her palm finds its reprieve in nabi’s hold.

“nabi?” she parrots, her voice shaking momentarily before she finds her wits. she is song bitna, for mother light’s sake, and it would have to be her dying breath for her to admit weakness. “i— i can draw out my light.” and she tries, lets go of nabi’s hand and pulls her own in a circle at her core, tries to gather the vestiges of light left, but it flickers, then disappears. bitna lets out a frustrated grunt and reaches for nabi’s hand once more, “i just— i need to find a source. help me find a source.”

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. —— 𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐗 / CORPS DE BALLET #w. yoon nabi 002.#wxnabi #wx:witches #she sucks what's new

haksu:

( ‘ there’s that straightforwardness again; he supposes that’s something that doesn’t change, either. he braces his arms against his knees, smile faintly ghosting over his face. ) guess i don’t want that happenin’. ( ‘ haksu pauses and pulls out his hand when bitna goes in, a little surprised. haksu steals a glance at her. she looks like a swan in the water, all lean and graceful and perfect, even though she’s not exactly in her element. ) uh… ( ‘ chin lowers, and he sucks a contemplative breath between his teeth, before he’s taking off his slippers. a slooow ease in - tight grip kept at the side of the pool - and he grimaces only momentarily at the temperature shock. maybe he could use the distraction, too. ) s’pose i do. just in case. ( ‘ he sounds unsure, but he’s already in the water up to his collar. ) are you a good teacher, bitna? ( ‘ a squint to the writing at the side of the pool yields less-than-ideal information - a.k.a there’s no way he’ll be able to stand comfortably. ) ah, two meters…

( ┈┈ ⋆⛧* sometimes she forgets she’s not a ballerina anymore. it’s not the obvious things she forgets, like the threat of doomsday dawning upon them like that inescapable blinding light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. rather, it’s the little things, like the reputation that once preceded her, to be echoed off and passed along the prestigious company’s marble walls. it is for this reason that she falters, finds her tongue twisted in a knot when he asks her the simple question. ) i… ( ┈┈ ⋆⛧* how would she know? how would she know, song bitna, girl with the barred teeth, venomous and sharpened, the stuff made of nightmares to leave others scampering for safety? ) guess the both of us could learn a thing or two. ( ┈┈ ⋆⛧* she tries on a comforting smile, this girl with sharpened fangs. as expected, it doesn’t work, fits awkwardly on and slips off like water off a duck’s back. bitna moves on, swims two metres away from him with her arm touching the pool’s ledge. ) try swimming to me. you can use the ledge if you need to—but only if you need to. ( ┈┈ ⋆⛧* she stretches a rescuing hand out. ) don’t worry. i won’t let you drown.

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. —— 𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐗 / CORPS DE BALLET #w. im haksu 002.#haksuwx #wx:witches #these are clowns fr

yvesha

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈. —— 𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐏. 𝟗 𝐍𝐎. 𝟐 / PRIMA BALLERINA #throwbacks to the halloween event when she was drunk #also imma get to ims sometime today or tmr!!! sry 4 bein slow on plotting

yall... i have some limited plot ideas for her giving day gift pls take a look under the cut hoho

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕. —— 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐍𝐎. 𝟏𝟒 𝐎𝐏. 𝟐𝟕 𝐍𝐎. 𝟐 / OUT OF CHARACTER #the amount of ooc notes i post someone should Sue me

HAPPY GIVING DAY, BITNA! the giving tree acknowledges the kindness you’ve shown and coaxes its little sprout to blossom into a magical flower! if you look it up during your potionology class, you’ll find that it’s actually a flower of FAIRY MORPHING. consuming it will grant you the ability to morph into three other fairies for a maximum of 1 hour each. it can only be consumed once. isn’t that something special for winter! or, you could display it in your dorm room until you need it—a gift from the giving tree won’t wilt, of course. have a lovely giving day with your new plant, BITNA!

OUT OF CHARACTER DETAILS please feel free to use your new gift in any way you’d like, whether it be a plot point for threads, a solo for character development, or anything you’d like! whether your muse chooses to use it or not, please post this on the dash so others can see what gift you got!

#wx:givingtree #WAIT A SEC I HAVE PLOT IDEAS #MY BRAIN IS GOING WHIRR

prompt: on MARIPOSA BOUTIQUE’s cashier counter, a singular sprout with extensive branches of multi-coloured buds, ranging from the palest pinks to the richest indigos 🦢 w. @winxrp

she learns, at a young age, to give up on the dying thing. it mattered not how gently she cupped the plant, unearthed it from the parching ground to rest in the warmth of her hands, for perhaps it is written in the central vein of its largest leaf that the bud was fated to die, anyway. and it mattered not how delicately she approached the bumblebee with the broken off wing, for it simply twirled along the life line of her palm, twice over, before it succumbed to its demise, anyway. this is to say, it mattered not what she did, for there was nothing song bitna could offer as salvation, no green thumb or healing touch sparking from her digits, no matter how supple and attractive they may appear.

but there is something about this plant. she is hardly a botanist, far too bewitched by blinding jewels and exuberant outfits—manufactured things, of course—to care about that which is natural, that which is in nature. and perhaps it is precisely for this reason that she is drawn to it, its pretty pastel gradient of pink to indigo colouring its velvet petals. and it must be dying, because its roots are hardly buried in soil, instead gripping desperately atop the edge of the cashier, yet it turns its head and smiles at her. indeed, bitna learns to give up on dying things, but there is strength yet in the bud’s peering stem, and she so loves pretty things.

“are you for me?” the whisper falls like a drop of spring water, and she swears she catches the bud perking up. the cashier hands bitna her newly purchased dresses packed neatly in a bag, and perhaps it is a testament to her fleeting attention span, that she pays it little mind when she had, only moments before, been unable to take her eyes off of them. instead, her gaze is now fixed on her new bud, wrapped cozily around her finger as she leaves the boutique. the bag with her new dresses, she lets dangle haphazardly along the hook of her forearm.

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. —— 𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐗 / CORPS DE BALLET #wx:givingtree #leggooooo

jihwan:

( 🦢 )

what’s weird is how.. her mother pulled strings to find out about her roommates and there wasn’t a song bitna in the file.. jihwan would remember of course , she had a good enough memory. although the possibility of last-minute changes wasn’t too far-fetched so she yet again keeps the suspicion at bay. besides , if she really was her roommate.. jihwan wasn’t.. going to get all jihwan on the very first day at least.

she sorting out and sectioning off her boxes when the silence is broken and the taller woman looks back at the other , an eyebrow raised at the question only for it to settle down once the smile comes , “ uh..” clears her throat and tries to shy away from the spotlight. “ just.. like everyone else did. ” it doesn’t mean much but jihwan barely talks about herself with supposed close friends much less a near stranger. “ i — ” oh thank maruhan and the other roommate that enters and grabs their attention with a question , “ 2B? ” and jihwan simply nods , “ yeah , 2B. ”

experience is a maître de ballet with pitter-patter footsteps as she circles the mirrored dance studio. despite the harsh lighting, bitna does not see her, only hears the distinctive rhythm of her strides echoing closer as she freezes her croisé. and perhaps it is better this way, for even the slightest creak of her head to the left angle would earn her her stripes ( yes, stripes, that angry red to break her tender, pale skin ). she can see it now, in her mind’s eye, the rattan stick balanced within the ballet mistress’s iron fist, tucked neatly against the small of her back.

and what this means, quite simply, is that experience is a cold, but effective teacher. the memory of her failures haunt her, the ghost of its whip tracing along her flesh to coax goose skin to its tender surface. it is in this way that she is reminded not to falter, that should her muscles shake with strain, it shall be the faintest pitter-patter of footsteps that would grant her strength once more.

see now, how she straightens her spine amidst the intake of breath. and perhaps it is jihwan’s curt, almost obvious responses that set her off, or the split-second eyebrow raise that bitna perceives almost as judgement. indeed, perhaps there are a myriad of instances that resemble the threat of experience’s heavy hand, but sometimes, it boils down to something quite simple. like the pitter-patter of footsteps to prompt the appearance of a new stranger.

“no, this is 1A,” she speaks in tandem with jihwan’s response, and instantly, it becomes glaringly obvious that bitna is lost. it takes her a moment, of gripping tightly onto her handbag and turning her head to look at jihwan, before she shoots up from the couch, as though whipped at the ankles. “oh— i… i have to go.” and perhaps it’d be polite to bid farewell to her newest friend—or whatever semblance of it, given they’d only just met and even then, for a fraction of a moment—but pray tell, what is social etiquette in the face of embarrassment? and thus, she runs off, brushes her shoulder past the stranger’s as she squeezes through the occupied entryway, and just like that, she’s gone.

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. —— 𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐗 / CORPS DE BALLET #w. bi jihwan 001.#wxjihwan #wx:welcome #this end was hella abrupt but!!!#the end wuhuuu

haksu:

( 🦢 )

haksu tells her his name in a way that makes him feel like he’s in primary again, introducing himself for the first time in front of the entire class. he hides his mouth, clears his throat. “it’s im haksu… hak - su,” he says, adding extra enunciation the second time around. maruhan above, if he could douse his face in ice water, that would be quite nice - but he can only hope for the respite of the restaurant’s dim lighting while gripped in the throes of social suffering.

“uh - i’ll… i’ll get the same thing as you, then…” haksu stutters, saying things just for the sake of saying them, to move away from the previous subject as quickly as possible. (except he hadn’t managed to catch exactly what bitna was going to order, and from what he knows so far their tastes could be drastically different - it’s an all-round gamble that he only becomes aware of as he puts down his menu.) “wh–… what kinda food do ya eat… or, y’know… enjoy…?”

there is a lesson to be learnt in impact. it is more than just the dust to sweep past one’s lips to be chewed, more than just the stun and the striking pain to follow. it is the bitter aftertaste, the checking for damages, the learning to avoid that pothole in the sidewalk lest one trips over and embarrassingly falls again. the learning to drag cloth to spilt milk, to wipe—no, lick—it clean until it shines, until there is nary a trace of one’s folly. and this is to say, quite simply, that bitna’s since learnt to get up. she’s learnt to pick her feet off the ground, to do damage control— no, to control damages. and it’s unspoken but tragic, how she’s fallen so much, she’s had all this practice in making it hurt less, making it go away.

like how she allows herself only a moment for her features to sour, to squeeze her eyes shut and curl her features into equal parts mortification and dejection as he reaches down for her phone, and by the split second he’s back up, she’s rallied her polite smile back to her lips to stand at attention. but there’s a sheepishness to her beam that she can’t quite shake, and perhaps it’s for the better for in this way, he’ll hopefully acknowledge her regret.

( and regret is regret, yes? no matter where it comes from. no matter if she’s sorry for embarrassing him. no matter if she’s sorry for embarrassing herself. )

“im haksu,” she repeats with a nod, follows with a shaky inhale to lend to the rise in her shoulders, then the exhale, “right.” she rests a palm on her phone, “of course.” then slides it quickly towards her lap, “i’m so sorry.”

and here is lesson 1a: don’t linger. bitna slaps her menu closed and it is in this way that her smile is revealed in full view, with little obstacles in the way. she hopes it shines. she hopes it blinds him. lesson 1b: distract. “so the lobster salad, then?” she doesn’t wait for a response, instead raises a palm and waits for a waiter to come around before she places the order for both of them. and perhaps she’s being a little too convincing with the way she’s listing her specifications, like the “no beetroot, no rocket, and an extra dash of kosher salt” tacked on to the end of her order. with the way she forgets to ask for his specifications, simply sends the waiter off to prepare their brunches.

“i don’t… really know, actually,”—typical—“i enjoy lots of things.” and it’s almost like a comedy author’s juxtaposition, how the response comes right after all her nitpicking. “i also really like canned fruits,” she doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t let the conversation lull into the dreadful prolonged, awkward silence, “oh, except cherries. i hate canned cherries.” but suppose it’s not in her nature, all this talking for a fairy who’s always been so reserved. in this way, the threat of silence becomes ironically loud, louder than her train of thought and so it chugs on, eventually finds itself docked at this self-fulfilling prophecy. bitna blinks at him through the forced smile, tries to find something to say, and finally lands on, “how are— are your dormmates well?” not quite what she meant, but it’s something, so it’s enough.

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. —— 𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐗 / CORPS DE BALLET #w. im haksu 001.#haksuwx #the assignment is to describe pain in 500 words

light: what makes you tick?

“it’s balle—” the feeling of being tongue-tied is not new. after all, bitna’s never been any good at lying. amazingly, as she comes to learn from this truth serum, she’s even worse at being honest with herself. but in truth, bitna likes living in a lie, in this made up world in her head where everything always goes the way she means it to. where everything that doesn’t has an excuse made up and already dressed in a pretty bow. that is, ready for all to meet, to consume. “it’s…” well, bitna, what is it? what is it about ballet that made it seem like such an obvious answer, even when it’s wrong? “applause.” here it is. “adoration.” the truth. “acceptance.” oh, it is such a dishonour to meet you.

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈. —— 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐆 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐕 𝟏𝟓𝟐 / ASK MEME #wxbeomseok #so um yikes

[ light ] do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

“…die?” it’s such a morbid thought, one she’s certainly never entertained. and it’s for no other reason other than that it’s simply not in her nature, because to consider death is to be tired of life, and well… bitna hasn’t even started living. indeed, she’s been chasing after life’s coat-tails ever since she learnt to crawl, and it’s in this way that it becomes all she’s ever known. to just… give it all up? “i haven’t really thought about it.” but if she considers it now, she supposes the answer is rather obvious, is it not? picture this: her, a guardian fairy, a mission gone wayward… “but it would probably be beyond the barrier. maybe someplace absent of light,” she thinks of the shadow anglerfish she’d defeated way back when, calls to mind the partner she had and how much she needed her, what would happen if she wasn’t there, “someplace i’d be alone…” so a lonely death as the most obvious answer, she supposes. how… sad. “that’s… that’s how i’d die.”

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈. —— 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐆 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐕 𝟏𝟓𝟐 / ASK MEME #ty anon <3 #i think............................. hoho

denisvilleneuve

Nocturnal Animals (2016) dir. Tom Ford

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈. —— 𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐏. 𝟐𝟓 𝐍𝐎. 𝟏𝟏 / CHARACTER STUDY #my inspo for the last thread reply fshdkj

kahi:

( 🦢 )

that’s why he’s by her the doorstop of her dorm, a white chrysanthemum bouquet on his hand because that seems like their theme at this point, and dressed up for the dinner that they’re supposed to have together and then later on a short walk because that seemed the most romantic thing that kahi could think of, way too romantic for it to be read as just friends hanging out together— and that’s what it feels like they need right now, no matter how weird it still feels to think of bitna as his girlfriend.

“for you,” he says when bitna opens the door, offers the flowers and hesitates a little before adding. “baby.” because this is what a boyfriend would say, because this is him trying no matter how much he wants to laugh at his words. instead, he just smiles— tries to not make it too wide and amused, instead he tries to keep it small and charming. “are you ready for our date?”

the gap between the beginnings of consciousness and memory holds a space for the utmost learning, and it is at this point that bitna arrives at her first lesson. that is, at a time where she only just learns to crawl, she comes to learn the unfortunate truth that not everyone begins at the same level. and what this means, fundamentally, is that song byeol has always just been destined for greater. and this is not to say that byeol is meant for taller heights than that of her current status quo, that which has already skimmed the impossible fringes of perfection—though she most certainly can, and she most certainly will. no, the point to be made here is that song byeol has always been built for more than her. than song bitna.

as a toddler, bitna had grappled with the reality of her inferiority the way she would a piece of broccoli: its stem held in her fist as she tastes it hesitantly on her tongue, only to toss it violently to the marble floor to precede the angered flush, the inconsolable wail.

( mother had always said that she was a problem child. )

but the point to be made here is that things just come easily to byeol, perhaps to the same degree as how difficult things come to bitna, like grating sand against molars. like learning to just relax and take things easily. like… dating.

he’s her boyfriend, but why does he feel so far away? and it’s not like she’s not comfortable with kahi. after all, it’s kahi. her kahi. but it’s like the moment they’d made things official, the comfort of their friendship had dissolved and in its place is the awkwardness to accompany the sorts of acquaintances one meets on the street, when they’re not sure whether to acknowledge them with a pursed smile or to look the other way.

imagine that. song bitna and kang kahi. awkward.

“thank you,” she says after a gasp, one part flattered and two parts surprised. like kang kahi greeting her at her door with flowers, to take her out on a date, “…sweetheart.” what was it? like grating sand against molars. the pet name feels empty, like the way she hears mother say it when she’s talking to her. bitna winces at the thought, tries to push down the fact that she feels like her mother—or that she’s even done all of this for her mother—like one would regurgitated broccolis. for what it’s worth, she plays at being the perfect girlfriend, even dresses the part. and oh, to her credit, she does it stunningly, and it is in this way that it becomes evident that fashion is the few things bitna excels at.

she reaches for the flowers and brings them to her nose, takes a customary whiff before she cradles the bouquet in her arm, the way she would to flowers gifted to her after a performance, “they’re lovely—” and falters at the darling. she steps out of her room and closes the door gently behind her, then slips her free palm into kahi’s hand. somehow, this feels a little more like home. “i’ve never been readier,” she’s a seasoned performer, so consider this an act, like the way she plants a hasty kiss on his cheek, “are you taking me to our usual sushi place?” the one we always camped at when we were just friends? somehow, referring to that time feels like a sin, so she bites her tongue punishingly beneath the smile.

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. —— 𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐗 / CORPS DE BALLET #w. kang kahi 001.#wxkahi #this is so long pls don't match it omg fhdsjk

jihwan:

( 🦢 )

“ hey, i was just— ” and after that , no words really come but her lips stay parted and jihwan lies somewhere between confused and.. flattered. “ uh.. ” is all that comes in response the compliment and the woman thinks that the other still has her mistaken for someone else , she even does a quick look around to see if there was another tall and pretty person standing in the vicinity. “ are you….okay? ” the sentence trails off and her gaze follows foreign fingertips as they graze over red strands. jihwan practically gulps as her eyes lower to somewhere on the floor where they track the moving lights.

“ ballet? ” she asks , almost desperate to bring herself out of the spotlight. “ i mean.. i don’t have the grace or discipline for it.. but, did you..- are you.. into ballet? ” the woman clears a throat a little and grips onto the bottle in the other woman’s hand , gently coaxing it out of her to avoid any accidents as she continues. “ you’re tall and pretty too , though. you’d be good at it. ”

in the age of materialism, song bitna is a porcelain doll with the appearance and texture of cracked glaze. this is to say that she is beautiful, like the sorts of beautiful to accompany matured porcelain fired in the blaze of a kiln. like the sorts of beautiful that is learned, like the maître de ballet’s rattan cane held as a whisper to the small of her tender back, the threat of the cracking whip encapsulated within its deceivingly gentle touch. but more importantly, this is also to say that she is fragile, like the sorts of fragile to shatter into a thousand pieces, like the delicate nudge of a finger to tip her over the surface.

simply, song bitna has a tendency to splinter. it is for this reason that it is, perhaps, beneficial if she were to be treated as a delicate artwork, kept within the boundaries of red velvet rope strewn across reflective bollards. and this is not to say that she is a masterpiece of any sort, that it would do museum conservators well to keep her divinity away from the greasiness of the human touch— no, such reverence should only be reserved for song byeol. here, we have instead the little sister who is fragile to the touch and, well… should she make good on her threat to shatter, who will clean her up?

“i’m fine.” observe. even in her insobriety, she snaps. it is akin to the sound of a hairline fracture fissuring the rim of a champagne glass, grating and sharp. from the crack, it pours, “do i not… look fine?” and though her tone is cold and taunting, her posture is one of warmth, fingers tracing comfortably along jihwan’s scarlet fringe. in fact, she’ll blame it on her drunkenness, the way the crook of her finger eventually finds rest on the top of the latter’s cheek. nothing like alcohol to interfere with one’s motor skills, or something like that.

“ballet?” she parrots, but the question falls like a clarification, like that little gasp to precede the word, like she’s been caught, “do you really think so?” and it is in this way that jihwan wins her over, cemented by the tenderness that lines her doe eyes as she smiles. “come,” bitna orders, reaches a palm out and entwines her fingers around jihwan’s and pulls her along to an empty couch. “once…” she begins just as she’s sitting down, and she remembers to adjust her skirt and to pat it down twice before she continues, “it was my first love.” and somewhere between the pause and the sigh, the rests her head atop the water winx’s shoulder, but it betrays her regret all the same, “as the cliché goes, it didn’t love me back.”

“but i’m fine now. or i’m… i’m good at deceiving, at least.” bitna looks expectantly at jihwan, “aren’t i?” a smile and a sniffle. “what are you good at?”

( and she doesn’t mean for it to mean anything, doesn’t realise how she may be coming off, the way her pink tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip while she’s staring largely and blinking innocently at the latter. )

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. —— 𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐗 / CORPS DE BALLET #w. bi jihwan 002.#wxjihwan #wx:welcome #i need 2 be jailed for this shitty reply HFJSD

haksu:

same thing as you, i s’pose. ( ‘ in a way, he’s sort of glad it’s bitna. there is no deep emotional history - there’s only what happened at that restaurant, the general embarrassment, and the concluding urge to avoid for both of their sakes. but the things that happened there feel so surface-level all of a sudden, in a world that seems like it’s flipped itself on its head. )

( ‘ so haksu heaves a breath and takes a few steps closer to the pool, peering down the chlorinated depths. their state of isolation makes every movement echo, words funneling over the still waters; liminal and eerie. ) wanted to go do something. dunno what. ( ‘ he rubs the back of his neck. even in a world that has flipped itself on its head, he still can’t really look song bitna in the eye. ) i never, uh, learned how to swim, actually. ( ‘ a slightly dumb thing to confess while standing precariously close to the deep end of the pool, and he kneels down to put a hand in the water. ) y’think it’s… too late… for that? ( ‘ how fucked do you think everyone is right now, bitna? )

( ┈┈ ⋆⛧* it is alas, a painful truth, that at the end of the day, the intricacies of a person can ultimately be summed up into a handful of traits. that is to say, here is song bitna, a couple of alphabets embossed into the rectangular pieces of red plastic they call labels. here’s the first: self-centred. ) oh… ( ┈┈ ⋆⛧* why else would bitna think that she’s the only one who’s suffering all the time? they’re all going through the same catastrophic event, yet even at his admission of not knowing what to do in these last moments, she doesn’t quite get it. understanding is an acrobat at the tip of her tongue, too skilled to fall. ) probably. ( ┈┈ ⋆⛧* second is her tactlessness. she watches the ripple of water he makes as he puts his hand in the water. ) but if you don’t learn it now, it’ll be even later. at that point it’ll just be a joke that you don’t know it. ( ┈┈ ⋆⛧* third comes denial. like maybe if she occupies herself with something, all of this will go away. she slips into the water, shivers at the cold but she holds down the gasp. bitna turns and faces her body toward him as she treads water. ) i can teach you… if you want. ( ┈┈ ⋆⛧* her manicured left brow raises in anticipation. )

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. —— 𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐗 / CORPS DE BALLET #w. im haksu 002.#haksuwx #wx:witches #what m i writing who knows

haewonoh

she’s too beautiful—

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈. —— 𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐏. 𝟗 𝐍𝐎. 𝟐 / PRIMA BALLERINA #AIGHT IM FINALLY ON MY XMAS BREAK!!!#GET RDY 4 ME @ UR DMS AFTER DINNER

nature & water 🌊💧💦

🌱 —— ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

it’s peculiar, isn’t it? that song bitna finds this need to attach her worth to her craft. that without it, she is nothing more than the speck of dirt to be caught in the groove of one’s shoe. in this way, she had found sanctuary in the academy, for ballet had once held her lazily in its mouth and spit her promptly out, only because she had tasted so bland on its tongue. it, who posits perfection as the barest minimum. so had the academy not existed either… well, is there anything left for her retribution?

in this way, she’d lie in bed for a few months, stare at the ceiling and pray for a time fairy to come into existence, that she may undo the day of her fall. and perhaps bitna would spend so much time praying, she’d actually be a little more spiritual. would learn to visit maruhan’s shrine every now and then. and she’d like to think maybe, just maybe, one day she’d move on, when she’s well into her thirties and the wound heals like an amputated limb. that is, gone is the acute pain and the chance of infection, but its absence is still too glaring to miss, so maybe she’ll learn to lean on her left side. and the day that happens, well… maybe she’ll enrol into maruhan university, take up music or composing. after all, who can claim to know classical music better than her, when she’d once danced to it in all her waking moments, let it sing in the background to lull her to sleep, and when she’d left ballet, so too did it follow her like it was a ghost and her, its haunted home?

and what of minjun? she’d known him her whole life, had always viewed him as the limb attached to song byeol. and like everything that comes from her sister, so too does he exist as the embodiment of perfection. that is, too inviting to touch. that is, too far to grasp. in the moments when she’s stuck in limbo, in the stages of grief still fixated on her bedroom ceiling, she thinks he’ll forget her. in fact, she almost wishes him to, because what they shared was innocent and innocently flirtatious, and she wanted nothing more than to immortalise that memory, if only because she fears the way he’d perceive her after she… well. but maybe, when she’s in her thirties and she’s a student of maruhan university, and learning music is her latest obsession, maybe she could finally excel in something he—with all due respect—lacked. she’ll promise to teach him a thing or two, even sneak him into the university’s music room and she’d grab onto a trumpet the way a driving instructor has their own pedals. she’ll play, he’ll follow, she’ll try not to laugh, and somewhere… well, everything will fall back into its place. bitna knows best, after all. there is no one to understand the laws of gravity and fate quite like her.

🌊 —— LAST TEXT

[ ✉️ ↷ 김민준 ] we need to talk strategies [ ✉️ ↷ 김민준 ] i know my last plan didn’t work out but that’s also because you hesitated [ ✉️ ↷ 김민준 ] also sorry i let you die in the simulation

💧 —— UNSENT TEXT

[ ✉️ ↷ 김민준 ] are you home? [ ✉️ ↷ 김민준 ] i need to talk to you

💦 —— 2AM DRUNK TEXT

[ ✉️ ↷ 김민준 ] byoel said to tkae care ofm e [ ✉️ ↷ 김민준 ] untitled1.jpg [ ✉️ ↷ 김민준 ] so where areuoy and why am i aloen [ ✉️ ↷ 김민준 ] :))))

#𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕𝐈. —— 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐆 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐕 𝟏𝟓𝟐 / ASK MEME #wxminjun #yes she sent him a drunk selfie #this bitch cray

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