junk mail → celes writes things

[celestiaa]

ＪＵＮＫ ＭＡＩＬ

oh, yes. apparently i write things now, so this'll be where i dump all my stuff.
my muse is really temperamental so you're probably not going to find a recurring theme anywhere here.
i write all sorts of weird stuff (i just got into writing fanfics and i watch a lot of anime so what am i doing with my life)
i hope you enjoy! critique is welcome, so please tell me if you've got any criticisms/comments/etc - i'm still learning, so a shove/kick in the right direction would mean a ton to me.

[celestiaa]

[ reserved, just in case.

[celestiaa]

[ so after my third re-watch of hanasaku iroha i actually got around to writing something orz
this has literally been collecting dust (and still is, tbh). yeah, it's still a wip. how unfortunate!
awkward i just realized ko hasn't made his appearance yet COME ON SEA GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER

disclaimer: hanasaku iroha (c) p.a. works. i do not own any of the characters!

↷ ｓｏ ｔｈｉｓ ｉｓ ｓｕｍｍｅｒ

The air is so hot that it seems to muffle any and all sounds. Even the incessant and discordant chirping of the cicadas is mercifully muted, though that in itself brings only a little relief. In the glare of the sun, Ohana feels sluggish and drowsy, and the tasuki she is wearing makes her uniform stick to her skin. She wants nothing more than to take an ice-cold shower and perhaps go to sleep with a bag of ice on both her face and stomach, but the Madam Manager had been adamant and relentless that morning.

“The comfort of the customers always comes before the comfort of the staff,” she had said coldly, when Enishi suggested that they all take the day off today.

It’s too hot to do anything! Ohana thinks to herself, and wipes the sweat from her slick forehead for the umpteenth time. Sickle in hand, she bends over on her knees to slash at a patch of grass in front of her. Nakochi and Tomoe had already been assigned to clean the Crane and Wisteria rooms, and Minchi is working in the kitchens as always, leaving all the manual labour to be done by herself. After taking out the garbage, the Madam Manager sentenced her to go and trim the lawn. Ohana wasn’t sure whether to wail or scream at that point. She sighs, trying to banish all negative thoughts from her mind, and turns back to her work. Her vision swims dangerously as she swings at some more grass - although she is always mindful of the wild plants that Minchi likes to grow, right now, Ohana is too tired to care.

“Everybody’s inside their rooms, anyway,” Ohana mutters, fingers curling into sweaty palms. The handle of the sickle is burning within the grip of her right hand. “Who’s gonna care if the grass is a little bit overgrown?” She slumps a little bit, wiping at her neck and forehead once more, before letting out a shrill battle-cry and hacking wildly at the grass around her. Each slash of her sickle is punctuated by another one of her obnoxiously loud shouts, which attracts an appropriate amount of attention.

A window on the second floor of the inn is thrown open, and Tomoe slides her entire upper body out of it. Her uniform is loosened and her sleeves are rolled up sloppily and she has never looked so disheveled in her life. The state of Tomoe’s working ensemble screams unprofessionalism, but Ohana couldn’t blame the woman - she wanted to tear the clothes from her body, too.

“Ohana!” the waitress yells, disbelief colouring her voice orange and pink and bright yellow. “What are you doing out there? It’s way too hot to be working outside! Get inside! Inside! Dear God - you’re going to get heat stroke!” She looks behind her and disappears from the window for a second. Ohana looks quizzically at the older woman as she reappears, futons stuffed under both of her arms.

“But the Madam Manager said I had to take care of the front lawn.” Ohana calls back, as loudly as she dares to. All the drive she had amassed from performing her battle cries earlier is wearing off, and all of a sudden, she is feeling very fatigued. Her clothes are too tight and the tasuki is digging painfully into her sweaty skin. She wipes her forehead tiredly and refuses to give up. “It’s alright, Tomoe. Let me...finish...up...”

Tomoe starts to shout again, but the sound is fuzzy to her ears, and Ohana shakes her head furiously out of instinct. “I’m fine!” she shouts back, with more vigour this time, and swings her sickle like she needs to prove something. She holds her position for a minute, swaying slightly - and then she is falling, her legs splaying out at awkward angles beneath her. Her cheek is pressed firmly against the lawn and Ohana inhales slowly. It smells like raw earth and summer and everything that grass is supposed to smell like, but the impossible heat makes the scent overpowering and heavy.

Ohana curls up against the bright glare of the sun, because it’s hot, and all she wants to do is sleep. There are grass-stains on her knees, her hair is sticking to her neck and face, and her uniform is probably wrinkled beyond help. She’d probably scare the living daylights out of the customers, if they saw her collapsed on the lawn like that. She chuckles at the thought, but it’s not like anybody’s going to come anyway, it’s too hot-

“Ko-chan!” she remembers, and she makes a strange strangled sort of noise, because she forgot he was coming to visit today! Ohana looks down at herself and sees the grass stains and the wrinkles in her uniform again, and promptly makes another odd, constricted noise.. Her thoughts are whirling around in her head now, things like I’m so sweaty, he probably won’t even want to see me!, and how could I forget that he was coming to visit? and should I finish cutting the grass or should I leave it for Jiromarou to do?

The pounding of footsteps towards her is like a drill pounding into her skull. Overwhelmed by the sudden burst of noise that kind of sounds like Tomoe’s over-exuberant voice, Ohana slides back down on to the grass and sighs heavily. There is just too much to think about right now.

It’s so hot, she thinks despairingly. I hope Ko-chan makes it here without fainting.

The blackness that followed is deliciously cool and Ohana surrenders herself to it gratefully.

a/n: *jabs avatar furiously* also, before you ask, the kissuiso doesn't own a lawn-mower.

[celestiaa]

[ 4 hours ago i got back from my first piano recital in a heck of a long time
i don't remember the last time i screwed up so badly!
i think i made a mistake in every single section (stagefright to the next level oh my gosh)
and now i really want to write piano-y stuff so i'll just put this here for now

disclaimer: no disclaimer this time; original story by sea-salt (or whatever i decide to change my username to)

↷ ｂａｌｌ－ｃｕｒｖｅ

wordswordswords.

[celestiaa]

[ i'm suffering from username withdrawal!
whyyy. i mean i love celestia ludenberg to bits and pieces but
sea-salt. is my love for my sea salt family!
and after finishing 358/2 for the ~fifth time it sort of fit the moment? auuugh i feel gross and indecisive
if someone takes sea-salt., i'm not sure what i'll do

here are my au musician head-canons

Piano:
Apparently, the gods of piano are fickle beings. Instead of bestowing talent upon some well-mannered, cultured young person, they decided that there was somebody else who was more suitable to possess such gifts. You'll find the prodigy-among-prodigies of piano in the form of a world-angry, snappish teenager who simply cannot stand the presence of other people his age. At school, he's the sort of person you'd see stomping around the halls with a glare permanently etched into the lines of his face; combined with his reluctance to talk at all, it's kind of obvious that nobody really likes him. And though his name is a famous one in the world of sonatas and minuets, he prefers to keep that fact quiet from his peers. His style of composition - yes, he composes, too - is one that focuses on bringing out depth of emotion. Happy moods aren't always conveyed through major keys and neat chord progressions punctuated by a grand, sweeping cadence; he likes to challenge the musical stereotypes that have been used time and time again in various musical compositions and expose them with his own ideas. He performs because the only thing that can really make him happy is seeing how music affects other people, and he likes knowing that music - his music - can have such a profound effect on an audience. He believes that there is beauty in all darkness - anger, hate, pain - and he truly strives to bring that out through his playing.

Violin:

[celestiaa]

[ digging this colour right now.
i really really really need a short-term beta for this thing
so if you're interested, send me a pm ;w;

disclaimer: i don't own pokemon – and trust me, you'd know if i did (i'd make nintendo bankrupt LOL)

Bianca loved festivals.

She loved the warm glow of lights strung out across the streets like little stars, and the smell of sweets and fried noodles that seemed to cling to everybody's clothes for days afterwards. She loved the goldfish that you could scoop up and bring home in a plastic bag, though she preferred to watch them swim around freely in the large basin, tails flashing crimson in the low light. She loved dressing up in her yukata with its pattern of white plum blossoms and having her mother put her hair up in some elegant twist, because she could never do it herself. She loved laughing with her friends and eating until her stomach ached and watching fireworks explode over her head while holding hands with her most favourite people in the world.

There was going to be a festival in Nimbasa that day. Bianca wanted to go, no matter what, because the “city lit by lightning” was the city of her dreams, and she hadn't seen its flashing neon lights for too long.

There was only one problem to her magnificent plan: nobody wanted to go with her.

Apparently, none of her friends had the time to cater to the whims of a clumsy, air-headed pokemon professor's assistant, especially not with the reappearance of Team Plasma and the trouble that came always seemed to come along with them. Touko hadn't returned anybody's calls ever since disappearing into N's castle (Bianca would never forgive her for leaving), and it didn't seem fair to ask Touya to come, not when he'd finally fell in love with some girl (they were traveling the world together, which was just the sweetest thing ever). Nate and Rosa – the new kids – were both preoccupied with something-or-other, and Bianca couldn't help but let them off the hook, because they were off to become pokemon champions (and heroes, too), just like her old friends.

Looking at her pitifully short contacts list on her Xtransceiver, Bianca realized that her last chance would lie, once more, with her cynical, four-eyed friend: the one who wore hideous orange ties (they were always crooked, too) and had more brains than the whole of Unova combined. She almost laughed - why did all of her last chances have to depend on him, anyway? Even though he hardly said anything when she called, Bianca liked talking to him; she liked knowing he was there on the other end, that he still bothered listening to her when everybody else had gone away and left her behind. She liked that they were still best friends, even though she hadn't seen his face in two years and the only things he'd be sure to say over the phone were “hello”, “goodbye” and maybe some sarcastic comments in between.

Bianca clicked Cheren's contact information and held her Xtransciever to her ear. She wondered what he was doing right now – having lunch? Battling some young pokemon trainers who wanted to start their journeys as champions? Or maybe he's sleeping in, Bianca mused, and laughed. She'd never seen Cheren oversleep before, but the thought of him being late for anything was pretty hilarious.

He picked up promptly after the third ring, like he always did. “Hello?” He sounded impatient.

Bianca began to speak, but the words got stuck in her throat before they could make it out of her mouth. She'd talked to Cheren a thousand and one times before, but for some reason, she didn't know how she was supposed to ask him. “Uh,” she managed, thinking frantically of something intelligent to say (it was no use – her brain felt like a pile of scrambled eggs).

“Hello? Bianca? If you've got something to say, say it fast. I'm in the middle of something important.” His voice crackled slightly through the static, and it made his consonants sound sharp and harsh.

“Um! Sorry!” Bianca squeaked, rubbing the suddenly sweaty palm of her other hand on her skirt. “I just – I need you to help me!”

“Wha--”

“Come to Nimbasa tonight! Okay? Nobody else can make it!” she said agitatedly. Her cheeks were probably hot enough to cook poffins on by now – why didn't the jerk just say “okay” already? “I don't know my way around so just –- um, just find me, okay?”

“I--”

“Please!” she added hastily. “Okay, I- gottagobye!”

“Wait, Bianca--”

Conversation ended.

[celestiaa]

[ so i'm super duper happy because i made DECA
it's like this business competition which my school does really well in
ahhhh there are no words to describe this
i'm so excited to be part of the team!
anyway just dumping this dgm prologue here...

Lenalee is seventeen and still a child (still too weak) when she departs from the Black Order's European Headquarters. She leaves so quietly and so quickly that Allen and Kanda don't even have a chance to ask where she is going. Komui tells them, when she is too far gone to be chased down, that she has gone home, back to Hong Kong. His shoulders are stiff with bitterness – he doesn't like watching his sister leave (especially not by herself), because he doesn't know if she'll ever come back. Lenalee is too dainty, too breakable, to be pitted against the Akuma that could rip her skeleton in two as if it were made of paper – but, nevertheless, she had insisted on taking this mission alone.

“That's suicidal,” Kanda says, and his voice is sharper than a cold winter wind. “Hong Kong isn't safe from Akuma anymore. Lenalee's not strong enough to go by herself.”

“You should have more faith in her.” Komui smiles, but it is humourless and broken in all the wrong places. Even though he's crying in his heart (stupid girl, stupid Lenalee, you don't need to do this to be strong, come back home where you'll be safe-) he knows that he cannot send Allen and Kanda to bring her back – because they can, if he orders them to. This is Lenalee's decision and Lenalee's fight, and Komui cannot bring himself to stop her because that would be like shooting down a sparrow that has just begun to fly.

“There are some things that have to be done alone,” he says instead. “I couldn't have stopped her even if I wanted to.”

Except he could have, and he'd wanted to, but now Lenalee is halfway across the world and a thousand miles closer to a threat that could destroy her altogether.

Lenalee is seventeen and still a child (still too weak), and Komui wonders if he has just sent her to her grave.

disclaimer: if i owned d-gray man, lenalee's name would be rinali and she and lavi would have been canon a long time ago.