he goes to speak and realizes he needs to clear his voice when it comes out more like a croak then his usual tenor. it’s actually been awhile since he’s spoken, and sometimes he feels like in place of his voice, he’d rather you listen to this song, instead, because it explains what he’s thinking and feeling better then he could ever articulate.
— describe your muse’s fashion sense.
black boots that give him that little bit more height that he wishes he had, jeans that he ripped to all hell just because he could, and a tshirt put together with holes and safety pins and fabric paint. not something you could ever find anywhere else- and it’s because hangyeol did it with his own two hands.
it’s thrift store finds and him spending hours spread out on the floor of his room with piles of clothes and supplies around him as he paints and rips and tears and makes things to his liking. he thinks it’s better that way. there is that one jacket that he’s been wearing since he graduated from high school, black leather with a painting of his own design on the back- it’s a butterfly, shaped together with oranges and purples and that color the sky turns before it leads into stars.
— give a quote of something your muse has said before.
“do you.. wanna come on a drive with me? don’t really have a place in mind, i just want to.. drive. how about it? i won't let you play music, though. already got a playlist ready.. fine. fine. on the way home, alright?”
— if your muse were to achieve status as a local myth/legend, what would they be known for?
those mysterious paintings showing up on the back wall of the park radio station are probably a lot closer to home than a lot of people assume them to be. they almost have as much creativity as the current owner and son of the park family does, a blank canvas showing up every couple of weeks like they’re limited time only, cleared just for a fresh place to put some of those ideas down somewhere tangible.
maybe there’s some beauty in the way that the spray paint drips down, how the fresh coat of paint to cover it over every time just leaves behind layers and layers of stories to be told. he can only hope that it leaves a legacy that people will remember, even if they can’t ever find their way back to the brick that originally laid there, untouched.
— what fable, mythic, or fairy tale character would your muse best play the role of?
he scrunches his nose, ruffling a hand through his hair. “somebody called me peter pan the other day. probably because my hair is orange, which i’m.. not sure is good enough to say if i could play the role, but,” hangyeol’s picking at a stray string from his jeans, pulling it from the threads idly with chipped nail polish on his forefinger and thumb. “maybe if peter pan was made to grow up, and he couldn’t be in neverland anymore, maybe if he had to come back and make some sort of place for himself in the real world.. maybe then, that would fit better.”
— describe your muse’s favorite memory.
sitting on the pier with ice cream in one hand, the other reclining back, watching the last of the sun’s rays sink below the horizon. even if the ice cream is melting, running down his hand and making it sticky, the sweet taste is still lingering on his tongue. it's just like the waning heat of the day being coaxed into a cool, ocean breeze, the ice cream tries to cool him down, get rid of all of the warmth he had been building up from running around all day underneath the sun. his feet, dangling underneath the railing that he’s then leaning forward on, watching the waves crash and swell beneath him, giant and blue and stretching on and on further then he can see.
— describe your muse’s last dream.
something hazy. something he can’t quite remember, but it felt warm, and when he woke up, he had to blink his eyes a few times to remind himself that he’s awake now, and that wasn’t a memory, it was a dream, and now he’s blinking his eyes open, and there's that feeling of the cotton of his sheets around him, that cool side of his pillow. this is all reality.
— name a song that would play during the opening of a movie about your muse’s life.
he.. can’t possibly pick just one. it’s impossible. it’s more like he’d choose the music for the entire movie, or even make it himself, wanting to get the beat just right so that it felt just like him.
— name a plant or animal your muse would have if money/restrictions weren’t a concern.
“sometimes i see chipmunks running around in the trees outside and i think.. wouldn’t they make a great pet? imagine him just sitting on my shoulder,” he’s throwing his head back with a laugh, hand going out to shake back and forth. “i’m not going to actually adopt a chipmunk! but i do think they’re cute.”
— favorite pastime?
hangyeol’s leaning against a palm crooked up by his elbow, fingers tapping against the wooden table. he’s got headphones on, playing loud enough that it drowns everything out, and he’s humming under his breath, scrawling with his favorite pen out on a clean, blank page of his journal. it’s a few minutes before the words will lead into doodles, and a several more before he’ll rest his head down on the crook of his arm and doze off, but it’s only because he’s content doing what he loves.
— going out or staying in?
depends on the day. sometimes when his mind has got about a million thoughts, all he wants to do is feel the wind in his hair for awhile. on other days, he’s got this creative kick he wants to take advantage of, will stay in for hours recording and listening back and revising and getting ink all over his hands.
— read the book or watch the movie?
watch the movie. actually watch several movies in a row, popcorn and all. there’s nothing better then a movie marathon, one where he can sink into the plots of movies and zone out for a couple of hours.
— talk during a movie or absolutely not?
if the movie’s been seen before by everyone present, absolutely. if it’s new, maybe a few comments here and there when it feels right, but otherwise.. silence. he’s a little too into the movie to ever register a conversation anyways, might hum along but not really hear the words being said in the first place.
— sing to a song, hum along, or people should just stay quiet and enjoy listening to the song?
“you just have to.. feel a song, sometimes. whenever i’m choosing anything for the radio, i try to mix all kinds of types in. ones you want to turn the dial up on, scream the lyrics on the top of your lungs with your friends while driving down the road. songs you want to curl up with and just feel the way that it settles in your chest, the lyrics, the melody. ones you hum under your breath, because they’re so pretty and you can’t help but want to imitate it. there’s really.. no one right way to listen to music. it’s really all your own.”
— windows up while you’re driving or roll them down?
“down. all the way down, so the wind can blow through the entire car, make your hair scatter everywhere and you feel like all you can do is breathe it in.”
— a wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true colors. no, literally. the wisp of an aura is beginning to form around your muse. what color is it?
he puts his hands out, covered in rings and nail polish and leading up to his meandering doodles of tattoos, and sees the way that it shifts into blue. a vibrant blue, almost like the blue when the sun shines down on the ocean, and it’s translucent and shining and so bright you have to squint your eyes.
— a wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true nature. Smoke curls around your muse, accompanied by distant sounds of wildlife. when the smoke clears, what animal is standing in your muse’s place?
the smoke clears and it’s. a tiny little chipmunk, chattering and scattering about, trying to figure out why everything is so much taller now. wait.. this is a joke, right?
— a wizard (is this still the same wizard?) casts a spell on your muse that allows them to see what they most desire right here, right now, right in front of them. what do they see?
there’s no way to describe the look on hangyeol’s face as he sees his father. standing in front of him, smiling. maybe this really is a joke, because he’s not sure that he’s ever seen it before in his life. has his father ever smiled in any of his memories? he doesn’t think so. must be a great wizard, to show him something that he’s never seen before.
— a wizard (why haven’t they given up yet?) casts a spell on your muse that forces them to see what they are most afraid of. what do they see?
there’s a sign on the door of the park radio station that hangyeol doesn’t even want to step forward and read. he knows that if he walked up any closer, he couldn’t get inside, and it’s enough of a heavy feeling in his chest to make him turn and start walking away. always running, isn’t he? maybe this wizard is a little too good at their magic. it’s another thing hangyeol has never seen before- and never wants to.
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"oh. hello." coming out of his mouth, words blur together like undried swatches of color that an artist just smeared their hand through. his voice is light, sounding glib at worst and sleepy at best. "i like your cape. i used to have one like it, but mine was just made out of my bedsheet."
— Describe your muse's fashion sense.
he watches the wizard work their magic with heavy, half-lidded eyes. freshly dyed blond hair brushes lightly over his temples, already beginning to grow long again despite its trim at the start of summer. there’s an angry red splotch on his cheek where his knuckles have been propping his head up, matching that lurid orange jacket he’s wearing. the clothes beneath it are a little plainer: a white t-shirt, simple shorts, grass-stained sneakers.
— A wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true colors. No, literally. The wisp of an aura is beginning to form around your muse. What color is it?
“are you going to curse me now?” he asks politely, but of course he waits to ask it until after the wizard's done chanting. by then, though, maybe it's too late? feeling a little strange, he looks up like he's hoping to see his own forehead. there’s...smoke coming out of him? oh, not smoke, it’s just color. it’s ashen, almost dark enough to be called black, fuzzy around his outline. his mood dips just looking at it. “can you make it green?”
— A wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true nature. Smoke curls around your muse, accompanied by distant sounds of wildlife. When the smoke clears, what animal is standing in your muse's place?
it happens too fast. one moment, he's hearing the hopeful sound of a dog's bark, and then he's no longer there. it's just a hamster now, about as big as a palm with tawny fur and a deep dark stripe racing down its back. it looks up at the wizard, possibly indignant but it's difficult to tell by a hamster's face, and starts towards them. in the next second second, however, it becomes distracted by the pile of clothes pooled around it and immediately starts to dig into the fabric.
— A wizard (is this still the same wizard?) casts a spell on your muse that allows them to see what they most desire right here, right now, right in front of them. What do they see?
“i don’t think i like this anymore,” he says several long moments later, still coughing up fur, but just when he’s about to stand his ground about it, he looks up and the wizard’s vanished and so has everything else in the room, leaving him on a plane of white, white, white. his brows knit into a frown. didn’t he hear that so-called wizard’s voice just a moment ago? “hello, ah... wizard-nim? are your spells broken?”
— A wizard (why haven't they given up yet?) casts a spell on your muse that forces them to see what they are most afraid of. What do they see?
he closes his eyes and reopens them, because most times a wizard approaches him it turns out to be a dream, but his confusion only deepens when he finds that someone’s just turned out the lights. “you’re not that good of a wizard,” he says in case they’ve got a spell for invisibility too, but an unfamiliar uncertainty seeps into his tone when he becomes aware of just how quiet it is too, like it isn’t just dark, it’s...empty. “are you still there?” his voice rings out in the quiet. there’s no answer.
“See the horizon. See the sun that’s coming awake there, or perhaps it’s retiring for the moon now; see the golds and pinks and the promise of a sunny day’s blue, or perhaps the indigos and violets stark behind stars. See the one that approaches, their gait and their pace and the clothes that hang off their figure. Most details are lost to the distance, but if you look and listen hard enough, you might be able to discern their identity…”
⠀
TW: Death.
— Describe your muse as best as possible in a single sentence.
“She’s standing on a line between giving up and seeing how much more she can take.”
— Describe your muse as horribly as possible in a single sentence.
“I just gotta kiss myself sometimes, I’m so f*cking pretty.”
— Describe your muse’s voice.
Honey drips at the seams every time her lips dictate any form of noise. It’s sweet, delicate, gentle - perhaps, formal. She has been trained since a young age to maintain posture and reduce aggressiveness or excessive negative language due to her growth of rank. The classes have always been about creating a purr as opposed to a stuttering, unconfident statement. As, for a woman, in such an industry, one must be taken seriously by the way they stride or maintain themselves. Maybe if you leaned a little closer, listened a little more, there could be something seething in her undertones of dishonesty and toxic intentions.
— Describe your muse’s fashion sense.
Fashion to her is more than cute clothings, but rather an expression of personality, uniqueness, and showcasing her own self-confidence. From pleated skirts, thigh highs, short dresses, and high heels - she’s maintained the typical ‘rich girl’ aesthetic by the amount of high end brands endorsing her look. However, she enjoys a twist, her own sense of self in her clothings by either: cutting, restyling, recoloring, or repurposing.. which makes all of her closet options simply distinctive to only her. Nothing about her fashion sense would be found on anyone else, but her. It is what she has taken the most pride in over the course of several years as her style continuously evolves into something of a more formal business woman. No, you won’t ever catch her looking basic, even if she’s dead.
— Give a quote of something your muse has said before.
“How many funerals can someone attend before they’re twenty?” Black adorned her frame a little too perfectly for the event, at least, if you ignored any dark circles coated underneath her eyes that were negligent to constant appraisal; yet the mirror mounted in-front of her paid no mind to highlighting all of those small details to her. She knew she looked like a mess and didn’t need the untrustworthy reminder. “Miss. Jeon, that’s inappropriate.” Komi’s eyes rolled at such a statement since she nearly forgot someone else accompanied her in the tight space. “But, it’s true.”
— What fable, mythic, or fairy tale character would your muse best play the role of?
Sleeping beauty; her favorite princess.
“Princess Aurora (also known as Briar Rose) is the protagonist of Disney's 1959 animated feature film, Sleeping Beauty. She is the daughter of King Stefan and Queen Leah. On the day of her christening, Aurora was cursed to die by the evil fairy Maleficent. Due to the efforts of three good fairies, the curse was altered to instead draw Aurora into a deep sleep that could only be broken by true love's kiss.”
— Which archetype best describes your muse?
The Lover.
“The lover archetype represents play and sensual pleasure. They like to live in the moment and are appreciative of the physical environment. They try to be more attractive physically, and emotionally. They crave intimacy and enjoy being in a relationship with people. The lover archetype is also known as a friend, spouse, team builder, partner, and sensualist. The lover archetype is probably the most passionate, but they have a tendency to lack discipline. They want to stay young, innocent, and pure. They remain one of the most likable of archetypes.”
“Your temperament is Sanguine. The Sanguine temperament is fundamentally spontaneous and pleasure-seeking; Sanguine people are sociable and charismatic. They tend to enjoy social gatherings, making new friends and tend to be boisterous. They are usually quite creative and often daydream. However, some alone time is crucial for those of this temperament. Sanguine can also mean sensitive, compassionate and thoughtful. Sanguine personalities generally struggle with following tasks all the way through, are chronically late, and tend to be forgetful and sometimes a little sarcastic. Often, when they pursue a new hobby, they lose interest as soon as it ceases to be engaging or fun. They are very much a people persons. They are talkative and not shy. Sanguines generally have an almost shameless nature, certain that what they are doing is right. They have no lack of confidence.”
— Describe your muse’s favorite memory.
Four years old, a memory at its earliest stage, yet so delicate and precious. The young girl trotted after her father in a near skip, smiles echoed on both of their features. This was the first time she found herself glued to the man’s side in endearment rather than fear; something of a new emotion for her to experience. But, It was only given that her attention faltered onto the beautifully decorated frames of different generations alongside the wall by her. Curiosity at its finest, one that her father indulged in while they toured the vacant manor. “One day it’ll be your’s, darling. Your own castle that you can protect.” At the time, of course, she didn’t fully understand the definition behind his words, yet the idea alone gave nothing but a euphoric feeling as her fingers laced together with his. “You can do that for me, right?”
— Name something your muse will always believe in.
Destiny & soulmates.
— Name a song that would play during the opening of a movie about your muse’s life.
Worst Behavior by Ariana Grande
— Going out or staying in?
Going out.
— Read the book or watch the movie?
Read the book.
— Talk during a movie or absolutely not?
No. What do you think this is?
— Sing to a song, hum along, or people should just stay quiet and enjoy listening to the song?
She wouldn’t be able to decide herself.
— Windows up while you’re driving or roll them down?
Wait, she’s allowed to drive?
— A wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true colors. No, literally. The wisp of an aura is beginning to form around your muse. What color is it?
Crimson twirled around her in a deep fog. It felt suffocating as if air was forced out of her lungs within mere seconds, being replaced by nothing but the encasements of red. She knew very well that she deprives herself into two different personalities. She just didn’t expect the full showcase to cause such an intense pressure down against her chest. Red..? The color of love, creativity, passion, adventure, energy, and so many more beautiful things. Although, all she could think about were the color’s relativity to danger and aggression. There’s no way to tell which is the true or honest tell of her character.
— A wizard casts a spell on your muse that reveals their true nature. Smoke curls around your muse, accompanied by distant sounds of wildlife. When the smoke clears, what animal is standing in your muse’s place?
The previously suffocating smoke finally cascades from her senses. Opposed to the expected, a small fox appears in her wake, sounds of birds and leaves in the wind peeking from the distance. Many appeal to the fox as an ideal spirit animal by the way they follow signs of loyalty, independence, adaptability, beauty, and positive signs of luck. This is something she felt she could agree with as well as understand despite the strange circumstances. It’s what she didn’t know is the entire reason behind her revealed spirit; that the foxes are the royalties of mischievousness and tricks.
— A wizard (is this still the same wizard?) casts a spell on your muse that allows them to see what they most desire right here, right now, right in front of them. What do they see?
It seems these strange events never stop. This realization dawned on her the moment a figure shaped in-front of her, a figure so familiar yet unknown. The figure reached out to her with worry printed on their ghostly features. She didn’t know how to react at first, it was only natural that her hand reached out to his, an unforced smile tugging at the edges of her lips. When their fingers touched, all shades of color and light became possible. It became easy. It felt like fireworks plus all previous negative emotions or pressures ceasing to exist in his wake. She believed that this was her fate, the one she’s destined to be with. At least, until the figure lifted her small frame off the floor in a more maternal stance. Her eyes grew wide while everything around her froze. “Fa-..”
— A wizard (why haven’t they given up yet?) casts a spell on your muse that forces them to see what they are most afraid of. What do they see?
Within an instant, everything vanishes from her line-sight. Nothing but pure darkness surrounds her, not even indications of time or location. Her heart begins to pound inside her chest as panic shivers its way down every nerve and fiber of her being. Where is she? Where did everyone go? The girl paces back and forth before eventually running anywhere she could go without truly feeling like she’s moving at all. In the end, her body falls down to her knees as weakness or hopelessness settles into her bones; a broken sob stuck in the back of her throat. Being alone is the most tragic feeling anyone could experience.
