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studentinpursuitofclouds · 1 month

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how would the sdv townies react to a farmer that wears lolita / ouji fashion?

like imagine there's a new farmer in town and they tend the farm, go fishing or mining in the most impractical clothes ever !! (but it's pretty so who cares lol)

I searched for the meaning of lolita/ouji, because honestly this is the first time I've heard of it. Quite an enthralling article, by the way! Thanks anon, both for the question and the interesting information 💕🌺

For those who don't know what it is: basically, Lolita fashion is a Japanese subculture that was based on the clothing style of Victorian era and Rococo style. No one knows exactly when this subculture emerged, but Wiki said that it was somewhere around the 70s. Found a Tumblr post for an example of what it looks like, or you can look it up yourself. It's pretty, but it's definitely Hell on earth if you somehow think of working on a farm or in the Mines in such clothes 😅

Sorry anon, but I'll make it for bachelors/bachelorettes this time. Hope you don't mind 💕 Anyway, back to the question...

SDV bachelors/ettes react to a Farmer that wears Lolita/Ouji outfit while working:

_________________________________________

Ha, see! When Haley said that if a person wants to, they will always look beautiful and fashionable EVEN at work. EVEN if that job is digging in the dirt and picking up roots. And back then, people told Haley it was stupid and not practical. But Farmer is proof of her words, look at them! *Pointing at Farmer dressed up in a beautiful outfit that's covered in dirt and grass in a lot of places*. Ewww. Uh, or maybe not....

Sebastian thinks Ouji's gothic outfit is so cool, but doesn't understand why it's what the Farmer wears to pick pumpkins and cranberries. Do they like being stuck doing laundry for so long? Because he doesn't see the logic. They want to look pretty all the time? Okay, Farmer's choice. But they'll definitely need a tonne of washing powder, because dirt and dust will not spare the Farmer's pretty clothes (especially where the fabric is white).

Emily's heart cracked to pieces when she saw that Farmer had soiled their beautiful clothes in slime and monster blood. She was, of course, immensely glad that her chaotic friend was okay, but.... Maybe the Farmer will let Emily make clothes for them that are fashionable AND practical, to their taste and style? Plus the blue-haired girl wouldn't turn down the opportunity to try a new style in sewing clothes, especially considering how incredible and expressive Farmer's outfit are.

This valley seems to attract people with a bizarre choice of clothes. Alex doesn't understand why the Farmer is not satisfied with, say, an ordinary jacket and jeans. Or a T-shirt with jeans. Or any other clothes that don't look as weird. He's seen something similar to Farmer's clothes in Haley's fashion magazines with one eye once, but it's still weird to him. Especially working as a farmer in that suit in the summer heat all day.

Oh yes! Abigail recognised the style! A few years ago she'd always fought with her parents because they wouldn't let her daughter go out in "occult clothing" and couldn't understand that Abby had the right to express herself. The gothic Lolita style was her favourite, but she later wanted something a little more comfortable (and she's not a big fan of skirts). So Farmer, who is going to Mines in this outfit is either the bravest or the craziest person. The outfit is so cool, but it's kinda uncomfortable.

Shane almost choked on his beer at what he saw. A Farmer was seriously going to work in... this? Do they even know how much effort it takes to take care of a chicken coop alone, and that it's not a job for a fucking-? What is this shit anyway? Fashion? They kind of came here to become farmers, didn't they? What the hell does Shane care, though? Let the weirdo wear whatever they wants, he doesn't give a damn.

But that's completely impractical! Maru always prioritises convenience over beauty in her choice of clothes. Who would, say, be engaged in inventions and experiments in dressy clothes, when the probability of spilling machine oil or (Yoba forbid) chemical reagent on oneself is quite high? You can't wash such things afterwards, and it will be a waste of expensive fabric. The Farmer looks great (though a bit eccentric for Maru's taste), but you shouldn't be farming or fishing in such clothes.

As long as Farmer doesn't go overboard with their clothes and expose themself to overheating or difficulty breathing properly - then Harvey has nothing against their style. It's a bit odd and extravagant, but they're an adult and have the right to wear what they like. The worry comes, though, when the Farmer's told the doctor that they're going to fight the monsters in the Mines in these clothes. Yoba have mercy, maybe Harvey can talk them into wearing some protection, like helmet or something? Please, he's getting nervous....

Penny will be honest - as a child, she had secretly dreamed of some dress like this before. But having grown up, the red-haired girl became rather reserved and modest, afraid to step outside the bounds of comfort and afraid of the negative reaction of others. On top of that, such outfits were usually not cheap. Seeing Farmer running around in such a beautiful outfit and not really worrying about it getting ruined, while Penny could only dream of it made her feel.... envy? Sadness? Both? *Sigh* It's complicated...

Wow! Yo, sick outfit! Hey, Sam definitely remembers Abby used to wear something like that before her parents made her stop doing it. Farmer looks great! Except it's unlikely the clothes will be as chic after tilling a field. Or fishing. Willy used to say that some bait stinks for a week at least. So be careful, Farmer, it's easy to ruin an outfit like that.

This is Farmer's choice, but Leah should warn - going to the forest for mushrooms in such impractical clothes will end up with Farmer covered in cobwebs, leaves, and most likely, somewhere a sleeve will get caught on a branch and tear the fabric. As if the artist herself sometimes has a hard time with her clothes - blueberry bushes and thistles can be very treacherous and sticky. And also painful. That's why the Farmer's going to have a hard time. It is better to let them sacrifice one day without their beautiful clothes and go to the forest normally.

Elliot himself spends so much effort and time to style his luxurious and unruly hair, to iron his white shirt perfectly, to polish his shoes to a dazzling shine. The writer can't imagine such a thing - to do all the hard work on his appearance and clothes, to spoil everything in Mines at once. The Farmer looks so wonderful, don't they feel at all bad about ruining the expensive fabric of their clothes? Of course, Elliott is in favour of the idea of trying to look good at all times, but in some places it may be inappropriate.

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv abigail #sdv haley #sdv maru #sdv emily #sdv penny #sdv leah #sdv sam #sdv sebastian #sdv shane #sdv harvey #sdv elliott #sdv alex #sdv headcanons #thanks for the ask!

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minustwofingers · 4 months

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love is a laserquest p.2

series masterlist (read p1 here!)

pairing: rockstar!ellie williams x reader

request: @thatgiraffefromtlou so kindly included me on a post about writing something inspired by these beautiful edits :) thank you !

summary: after a serious of unfortunate events, columbia grad y/n y/l/n finds herself using her hard-earned journalism degree interviewing vapid stars and writing articles that she's convinced are rotting her mind. ellie williams has just dropped the album of the year and it's all anyone is talking about, but all she wants is to be off the press train. a certain interview with a certain interviewer might change this.

cws: explicit language, kind of suggestive phrasing? (i get a little feral with guitar playing descriptions), shitty bosses, mentions of nausea and throwing up (no one actually does tho dw), y/n is anxious asf, my writing is a little....yikes...in this one, loser!ellie

a/n: i lied i lied hehe. here's the next part. im still working on building this stupid app so i havent been able to write as much recently + holiday family stuff but oh am i back!

here's a playlist inspired by this fic

wc: 2.4k

tags: tags :) @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie@galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28 @diddiqueen @krisyslostsoul

enjoy mwah

It starts slow, like the drip of a broken faucet. It’s not like you’re actively seeking out anything Ellie William’s related, but somehow it seems like everything Ellie Williams related is seeing you out.

In the grocery store, one of her hit songs from her newest album blaring over the speakers.

On the street, where you see crumpled pages of magazines with her face plastered all over them.

And—perhaps the most offensively—on NPR and the New York Times, quite literally days after you’d met her. Suddenly Steve Inskeep and Leila Fadel begin the Up First podcast with a familiar song and devote an entire third of the morning podcast to Ellie and her band’s rise to fame.

You decide to switch to the BBC World News for a while, but even they seem to be under her spell.

It’s not that you don’t like Ellie. She seems fine. Normal. Really cute, actually, and clearly very talented. But whenever you think about her, you think about the ill-fated, awkward, charmless interview.

“What happened?” Alyssa had asked you when she’d come back from surgery. “That wasn’t you out there.”

Which was actually very hurtful to hear, because you’d been holding onto the hope that you’d been all in your head about your interview being a failure. It all culminates in Eric, your 300 year old manager, sending you a strongly worded email that told you that your performance in the interview was so underwhelming that you were being pulled from the interviewer pool and exiled to article writing land. Which could be worse, you admit. You could be unemployed on the streets of LA. At least you’re still writing.

And write you do. You spend all your waking hours either at your keyboard, on your yoga mat, or sat in a chair somewhere at a local cafe for a coffee chat. You’ve mostly deleted social media, since all you see nowadays are pictures of Ellie and Becca’s posts about her experience working and loving her life in New York (the algorithm apparently knows exactly what you want to see the most).

It’s bizarre that, even as you try your best to place your focus on honing your craft and consuming only content that you think will make you a better writer, you still somehow learn everything and more about Ellie Wlliams and her band. It’s in the emails at work whose chains you’re CC’ed on. It’s in the advertisements and the billboards everywhere. It’s even in the conversations you have with your two roommates, Greta and Maureena.

“She’s so fucking cool,” says Maureena dreamily as you sit around the TV in the living room. “I still can’t believe you got to talk to her.”

“It’s not like I actually got to, like, get to know her or whatever,” you say. “It was honestly kind of dry. Just awkward small talk.”

“That’s more than anyone else I know can say.” She reaches forward and grabs a fistful of popcorn. “How come she gets interviewed by the person who probably cares about her the least in all of LA? Like, what are the chances?”

“I care,” you say, and it sounds unusually defensive coming out of your mouth.

Maureena gives you a long, suspicious look, but before she can respond, Greta comes bursting into the apartment, purse swinging from her shoulder.

A greeting is halfway out of your mouth when she cuts you off.

“You guys will not believe what I just did.” She’s nearly bursting with excitement, her eyes bright and wide.

“Like, in a good way?” you ask.

“Yes. Obviously!” Greta fishes around in her pocket until she pulls her phone out, waving it around. “Check your email.”

The last time Greta had come in with an entrance this energetic, she’d been coming to inform you both that she was getting engaged to her loser boyfriend Brian (which—thank God—didn’t actually last), so you and Maureena trade nervous looks.

Maureena gets to it first.

“Tickets to see Ellie Williams? Tonight?” Now she’s about to explode with giddiness, leaping from the couch and throwing her arms around Greta. “I love you, I love you, I love you. How did you get these? I thought they were, like, totally sold out. Or ten thousand dollars.”

She grins wickedly, holding her hands out in a “who knows” sort of way. “You can all thank me later. We have to leave in about 20 if we want to get there in time. Y/N, you good?”

You’d been staring on in horror, jaw dropped and body completely frozen. You had registered that Ellie was playing in LA tonight—it’s all anyone you knew talked about at work today—but you never once considered actually going to try to see her. “Uh, yeah. Give me just a few.”

By the time you get to the venue, you’re convinced that you might actually puke from the nerves. It’s ridiculous. It’s not like three broke 20 some year olds were going to get last minute seats to an Ellie Williams concert that were genuinely good seats. It’s not like she would see you and realize that the girl who flopped while interviewing her was a big enough fan to attend. You’re going to be fine.

“Shit, Grets, how are we so close?” asked Maureena as she leads you both closer and closer to the front.

Horror steadily rises within you as you approach the front row.

“I got these from my boss,” she says, turning around with a devilish glint in her dark brown eyes. “Her daughter got food poisoning, bless her. She had to stay back to take care of her, and I was the only one who stayed late to work, so…”

Greta’s boss was some filthy rich nepo baby who was a partner of a big talent agency. All of a sudden you feel stupid for not realizing this sooner.

“Shit,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Oh no. Oh my god.”

“Isn’t this so cool!” Greta jumps up and down, hands on your shoulders as she tries to rile you up. “Dude, what if she recognizes you?”

“I think I’m going to puke,” you say miserably. Somehow the thought of her seeing you made you want to crawl inside your skin in shame and hide for the next calendar year. “Did you guys not see how ass it was? I was so fucking awkward.”

“It wasn’t even that bad.” Maureena pats your shoulder.

“I literally was forbidden from ever interviewing again because it was so bad.”

“Because Eric hates women,” says Greta. “It’s not your fault he’s a horrible human being. Give it, like, a year or so until he croaks. Then they’ll let you back in the game.”

“Uh huh,” you say, feeling very harrowed.

You remain in this state of abject terror for the entire opener performance. The nausea doesn’t subside. It only gets worse when you realize that if you actually puke, Ellie’s definitely going to see it. Just like she’s going to see you, with the stupid stars Greta had insisted you paint on your cheekbones with glittery eyeliner and eyeshadow.

“She really likes space,” Greta had told you while you’d been getting ready, pretending like you didn’t already know all about this. “So all of her fans wear star stuff to see her.”

Before you can think to wipe off the glitter, everything goes black. Then the crowd goes wild.

When the silvery blue light spills onto the stage, it illuminates Ellie, standing just a number of feet away from you. You barely have enough time to take in the black leather coat and loose white shirt she’s wearing before music explodes out of the speakers, her fingers flying up and down the fretboard.

You’re spellbound as you watch her. Her voice rings loud and clear and slightly gravelly when it snags on her words. She’s nothing at all like the girl you’d met a month ago—there’s no discomfort, no awkwardness. She looks like she’s born to be on stage.

When the first song ends, she steps back, grabbing the standing mic next to her.

“Uh. Hi,” she says, and it’s so endearingly nervous compared to how she’d just sounded that something in your chest twists. She rubs the back of her neck. “I’m Ellie.”

Greta and Maureena join the crowd, screaming and cheering.

“I LOVE YOU!” someone shrieks, louder than everyone else.

“You know,” she says, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to people reacting like this to me just, like, saying my name. It’s really fucking weird. Oh. Shit. Sorry. Are you guys okay with me swearing?”

The roar that comes from the crowd is entirely undecipherable.

“Right,” says Ellie. “Um. I’ll take that as a yes. Sorry to anyone who brought their kids or something. Anyway, this one’s about the ex who cheated on me and gave me mono.”

Before you can react to that, she starts playing.

As she proceeds through the setlist, you’re struck by just how close you are to her, how many things you can notice that hardly anyone else in the crowd can see. You see the outline of her phone in her pocket, the pieces of hair that have fallen out of her little half bun and are sticking to her face, the way that the glitter on her collarbones trails down her shirt in little rivulets.

And, above everything else, you can see the horrible way her fingers straddle the fretboard, curling and pressing with ease so practiced it looks tender.

Apart from this bad, bad development (you can feel your mind going a million miles an hour about things you should not be thinking about), things are going great. Ellie hasn’t noticed you. Or even looked in your direction. You’re not even sure she can see you, given how little light is shed onto the crowd. The false sense of security makes you feel comfortable singing along with Greta and Maureena, your lips forming the lyrics you’d been pretending to not listen to whenever her songs came on.

It happens during a slower song, a sort of ballad that makes your heart thud harder in your chest to hear from her mouth. The lights on stage dim a little. Light spills just the slightest onto the front of the crowd, and Ellie’s eyes fall and snap onto yours so decisively that it almost feels audible.

For a moment, you can’t breathe. Ellie’s voice suddenly catches mid-word, faltering and missing a beat. She thrusts her hand with the mic into the crowd, which eagerly picks up where she left off and finishes the verse.

It’s impossible to see on the screen projecting her image behind her, but you can see the flicker of recognition in her eyes, the stiffness that comes with realizing that you actually know someone from somewhere.

You’re the one who breaks eye contact, focused with a sudden intensity on the way the thin fabric of your sleeves are situated on your arms.

Greta pokes you so hard in your ribs that you gasp.

“What the fuck!” you snap, but the words are swept away by the noise around you.

“Why didn’t you wave?!” she hisses in your ear. “She totally recognized you.”

The realization falls over you with the subtlety of an anvil. Oh my god. You totally should’ve waved. That was the normal, well-adjusted thing to do. Now she was going to think you were weird. And it was too late now. But she didn’t wave to you. Wasn’t she supposed to wave first? Because you of course remembered her, but she might not remember you. Yeah. You could go with that.

Maybe she didn’t remember you.

You can’t relax for the rest of the concert. You try your best to just act normal and dance along with your friends and casually mouth the words, but it’s hard when it feels like she’s staring at you. Which is completely impossible. The light doesn’t fall back onto the crowd until the concert is over and Ellie and her band are long gone backstage.

Two months later, all you can think about is the way that Ellie stuttered over her words when she saw you in the crowd. Of course, this is definitely something you’ve made up in your mind, because there’s a number of reasons why she might’ve slipped up. Maybe she just thought she knew you from somewhere and couldn’t place it. That’s why she (allegedly) kept looking in your direction afterwards. Or maybe you’re completely batshit insane, and she didn’t look at you at all. Because if she had, wouldn’t she have waved? Right?

It’s almost bad enough to distract you from work. You find yourself prowling on Twitter, watching the #elliewilliams tag blow up following every concert date. It doesn’t give you any clarity, because in every picture, she looks just as perfect and cool and confident as she was at the LA show. You don’t know why you assumed she’d look different if it was true that she’d recognized you. More human, maybe. But she’s just as bathed in starlight as she was that night many weeks before, just as far away and untouchable.

You spend so much time thinking about her that you’re convinced you might’ve slipped into a dream when Eric appears at your cubicle with the news.

Instead of saying hello, he plops a stack of papers on the desk in front of you, all labeled “PopNow! Interview Etiquette”.

“Excuse me?” you say.

“Start reading up, kid,” says Eric. “You’re back in the game.”

“What?”

“You have an interview scheduled later this week.” He scowls down at you, gum smacking in his mouth. He smells faintly of tobacco.

“But I thought I was removed from—”

“You still are,” he says. “But someone requested you. Their manager told us they wouldn’t talk to us if they didn’t get you.”

“What?”

He huffs out a short laugh. “Believe me, I was surprised too. Don’t know what they’re on about after the last time you talked to their client. Fuck this one up and you’re out, okay? Got it? The info’s in your inbox already.”

Somehow the words don’t quite sink in until you open the email and see the words on paper.

SENDER: Maria Miller

RECIPIENT: Eric Bal

CC: [email protected], y/ny/l/n@popnow!.com

Eric,

Great to hear back from you. Glad that 3 next Wednesday works.

Best,

final a/n: lmk how u guys feel about this...feeling a little unsure about where this is going but enjoying writing it anyway there are two wolves inside of me etc. etc. also ive missed u all! i hope everyone is doing well! dont b shy!

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x oc #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams self insert #ellie williams fluff

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honeeslust · 5 months

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You don't know me but you will | part 1

🖤 vampire Satoru x vampire Suguru x human you

🖤 I haven't been to the dark side in a while so this is long overdue!

🖤 non-con, veuyer, mind control, maybe more, idk yet

I really don’t want this to be long-winded. But let me paint a picture for you. I'm thinking about the 90s of it all. A hot summer night, a gentle refreshing breeze breeze on your skin. You find yourself at the video store absentmindedly browsing the horror selection of video store. you’d glance over your shoulder, feeling the eyes that were surely on you. Chilled, you sidestep the people passing, whirling around to no avail. No one you could see but you were sure though, someone was watching.

Flustered, you make a hasty selection, opting for your favorite, Scream. You hoped you could focus your attention on the 90s heartthrobs. One being tall with such soft and pretty eyes and an eager personality to match. His stoic equally mesmerizing counterpart with those dreamy eyes as black as the darkest night. darker content was your happy place. You loved to lose yourself in a bizarre story, always opting for strange and unusual.

You pulled out your wallet to pay, handing the cashier your member card first and then the exact change. you took the movie and headed to your car. Just as you got the key in hand, (cause 90s) a sudden calling of your name made you turn on your heel. The first thing to strike you was how easily a pair of the iciest blue eyes overtook you. He was literally perfection, standing there in front of you rather than being plastered on some cheesy magazine flaunting his good looks.

He held something out to you, and your eyes averted to the item in his hand. you’re y/n? Right? You forgot your card in there. You smiled shyly, extending your own to take it from him. it’s actually pronounced …. (Y/n) but yea that’s me. You say nervously. Uhh, so thank you, you said, trying to accept the card into your hand. But then, he steps a little closer, invading just enough of your personal space that you were rendered motionless. My pleasure he says, eyes piercing your soul now as his fingertips touched yours.

Suddenly, everything stands so still that even the very breath in your lungs feels like something to be scrutinized. And there was a picture. No it was real, a memory? a feeling? It was impossible to place but not one you wanted to let go of. —His lips wrapped around your neck, a fearful set of fangs sinking into your flesh. The image floated away as quick as it had come to you and suddenly you couldn’t look past the way his incisors jutted out a little further than all the others.

But then. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. You spun dazed and confised, sharply glancing in every direction around you, dazed and confused. When a couple entering the store leered at your awkward presence. you shuddered, nervously mumbling to yourself and fumbling for your keys. It didn’t help that even after a slow and calming breath you opened your clenched fist to discover your movie card in hand.

You made the entire drive home, knuckles bared over the steering wheel as you rode in an uncomfortable silence. What had just happened? You knew you felt his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his… teeth on your neck. It was so real that you squeezed your legs shut, remembering in excruciating detail the pleasurable feelings that radiated through your body. And what was worse was that you knew you saw his face. But no part of the memory seemed to rectify his beauty.

You parked your car. Contemplating how you would even be able to sleep tonight after what you had experienced. When you got inside you dropped everything at the door and locked up tight. You needed to do something, anything but remain still with your thoughts. You were hastily stripping out of your clothes to hurl yourself into a scalding shower, hoping to eradicate whatever black magic clearly had gotten a hold of you.

The water cascades over you like lava as you stare down at your feet. You nake the mistake of shutting your eyes for a moment too long. And there he was again. So mystifying and angelic but there was an unsettling darkness about him as he loomed over you, his hand seizing your body, reducing you topieces . Your eyes shot open and you lurched forward, your palms bracing against the walls as you curled your leg over your calf, thighs squeezing together against that twinge of eager clenching between your legs. What was happening to you??

All the while…

They were twin flames, Suguru and Satoru. Born of the same darkness and their latest affliction was you. Having watched you as you walked the aisles of the video store. The likes of them were drawn to you the moment they had spotted you. Their game would begin once they agreed you would make perfect prey.

First, they would need to taunt you, embedding themselves in your deepest darkest fantasies, toying with you subconscious to make you more apt to overlooking the daunting reality. You didn’t know that his appearance was intentional. Merely a light to a match that wouldn’t be extinguished until the imagery you were plagued with had been satisfied. And the glimpses of what could be never seized would torture you now. Suguru wields his power over you relentlessly, watching as you exited your shower. your wet and steaming body was irresistible illuminated in a heavy chromatic light of Satorus making that made you even look even more appetizing. His power connects the three of you now. And in that moment you became theirs.

Then….

Your mind still swimming with the steamy portrayal they presented your psyche. You were in front of your mirror, massaging the vanilla scented oils over your skin. The sweet aroma soothing your rattled nerves but arousing you as you thought of the mysterious entities hands on your body. Your eyes fell shut as you caressed yourself. And again there it was, the feeling of a certain set of eyes on you. You didn’t know from where but, you didn’t exactly shy away from what you started to assume it was maybe more than just a feeling.

It was a curious phenomenon, what the unknown parties could make you feel and see. It became a need that your body wanted to satisfy, a feeling that needed to be chased. You lie on your bed, legs spread as you teased and caressed some more. They watched you from the shadows. unbeknownst to you,they were encroaching upon you. You could feel them before you could see them, so submerged in whatever was overtaking you. A stir rustled the cover between your legs and a husking voice prattled to you in the darkness. Your eyes shot wide open as you hurried to shut your legs.

Who are you, you said trying to make yourself decent in front of the raven haired adonis who was kneeling on the foot of your bed. He took pleasure in seeing you recoil so shamefully. The modestly you tried to protect was pointless, he’d already seen the way you pleased yourself before. The thought of how much better he could do had him shaking his head in appreciation as he answered you. relax little fox. He said coaxing your shaking legs apart revealing an intimidating set incisors, much like what you sawon the other. You've already met Satoru. He gestures over his shoulder, revealing another. He was long and lean with, muscled torso almost glowing in the warm light of you bedroom. His arms flexed and the veins lining those perfect arms bulged and twitched as he crawled into your bed beside the other. Your eyes trailed his body until meeting his gaze hidden behind the scream mask he wire. Their presence awakens something within you. Something unexplainable. As for me… well, you don't know me, but you will.

Part two

From the blood room 🩸

@blkkizzat @crescentmoontsuki @callm3senpaii @thecookiebratz @biscuitsngravie @littlemochabunni @i-literally-cant-with-this @nanamin-nah-nanamine @ryomens-vixen

#satoru x suguru x reader #vampire satoru #vampire suguru #smut oneshot #smutxanime honeeslust #vampiresmutshop #jjk smut #blackgirlswhowriteanimesmut

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icycoldninja · 6 months

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SOLDIER boys' S/O making them wear a dress headcanons

A/N: I always come across these pictures of Sephiroth wearing a dress, so I thought to myself, what if Genesis and Angeal wore one too? And what if it was their S/O's idea? 😜 Some of you might cringe at this; some of you might laugh, but I love what I've done.

♡Sephiroth♡

-It all started when he saw you flipping through a fashion magazine. He spotted an elegant evening gown and said it would look nice on you. In a teasing response, you said that it would look better on him.

-At the mention of wearing a dress, he was immediately against it, but after some coaxing from you, he gave in and allowed you to drag him to the mall to look at dresses. You spent the day strolling through the women's fashion aisle, trying to find the dress you saw in the magazine, or at least something similar.

-Eventually, you found the outfit you were looking for, (pic below) and hoo boy, does it looks gorgeous on him. The dress accents his broad shoulders and lean waist perfectly. not to mention those smooth legs.

-Once he got to see himself in the mirror, he decided to buy a few more different styles and put on a fashion show for you when you got home.

-Pretty soon, dress wearing became the norm. When you come home, expect to find an angel lounging on the bed in a sexy evening gown. Lucky you. 😉

◇Genesis◇

-What can I say? This man slays. You came home from a long day of work, only to find him prancing about the house with a giant pink bow in his hair, wearing a frilly Lolita dress like this one.

-As soon as he saw you were home, he proceeded to dance around to this song, making sure his skirt twirled as much as possible. Not so you could see the bright pink panties he was wearing, no not at all

-After that, he insisted upon having a tea party with you, complete with rosy tea, macaroons, little sugar plums, and strawberries.

-It was a bizarre, but entertaining day for you; an exciting and happy day for him.

■ Angeal■

-You were out of the house. Angeal was home alone. You'd accidentally left your closet door open just a little, allowing him to catch a glimpse of a glittery, puffy, pink baby doll dress.

He'd never seen anything like it before. He was curious now. Angeal tried on your dress, surprised that it fit him. He stood in front of the mirror, twirled around a few times and realized he was beautiful. "It's not bad," He thought, curtseying. "Not bad at all."

-When you came home, you found him still in your room, admiring himself in your mirror. It was the most adorable sight you'd ever seen.

-You'd stood there for like an hour watching him model your dress before he turned around and saw you staring at him.

-Completely embarrassed, he apologized and tried to make up some excuse, but you cut him off, saying that it was OK and that he looked great in your dress.

-From that point on, he started wearing your dresses around the house more often--you often came home to find him cooking dinner, wearing a maid dress and stockings.

#sephiroth x reader #Genesis x reader #Angeal x reader #genesis rhapsodos #Sephiroth #Angeal hewley #Dresses #Lolita dresses #headcanon #They're slaying

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inevitably-ineffable-husbands · 9 months

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A Thought on AziraCrow from an A-Spec Perspective

On the Eve of Good Omens S2, I just wanted to put my two cents in about AziraCrow, before we see the outcome of S2, because it’s pretty clear from trailers and promotions that their relationship is a plot point in the season.

I started writing a ridiculously long post a week ago spurned on from this screenshot from Pride Magazine, and my being upset by the current discourse on Twitter about AziraCrow “being canon or not”, but decided to shorten it to just this little thought, because I feel like me writing a meta-style commentary (which I do have saved if you want a more long-form thought about it after the series airs) isn’t necessary right now.

And this is all despite Gaiman AND the cast AND crew basically confirming that it is in multiple interviews, discourse from people in the community that are supposed to understand the queer experience, completely disavowing its legitimacy unless “X” happens (where “x” usually is explicit confirmation of sex happening) so therefore it’s not valid (which is really bizarre).

But I digress.

This is just a bit of a thought that I think allos are COMPLETELY skimming over:

Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s relationship, as it currently stands now prior to S2, is representative of the beginnings of a (currently) queerplatonic asexual relationship, and as an ace who so desperately just wants to see a relationship that I can see myself in on screen, and lo and behold came Good Omens. I’m part of a demographic which I and a few of my real-life friends fall into and were so happy to see on-screen when we saw GO. A demographic that is ridiculously under-represented in media that it often is mistaken as “bromance” or “just besties”.

As it stands now, in act 1, it is the part before the romantic gestures and before the “I love you”’s, and the part before the moving in and committing your life to someone else. Very gentle and romantic, slow burn kind of stuff that I, as an ace, relate to so much.

This relationship looks like what my best friends went through for YEARS before finally tying the knot in their queerplatonic relationship because they couldn’t imagine their lives without each other anyway and they loved each other fiercely. This relationship looks like the kind of relationship that doesn’t turn me off as an asexual: to share the ridiculous amounts of love I have, and be loved in return, despite my complete disinterest in having sex. The “you go to fast for me Crowley” was SO FELT in my soul as someone who needs a lot of time to feel comfortable in any relationship I’m in (like, Aziraphale is SO me, it’s ridiculous really), and me trying to explain to people that I need a lot of time to feel comfortable in a relationship and that sex may never happen, and me knowing that I’ll probably be turned down because of it. Me not wanting to hurt someone in a world where sex is an expected endgame, so I just... tend to keep to myself. I’m just as happy with my books and my video games and doing things on my own, but I long for a life partner to love and to experience my life with. And while can’t speak for what other aces and aros may relate to about the relationship, I like to hope that they can also see themselves in AziraCrow as well.

And please don’t get me wrong: I WANT them together-together, in any or all ways that it means: committing to each other 100%, love confessions, declarations of forever, marriage, a cottage in Sussex, and yes, even sex if that’s who they are canonically... I do want that, because I want it for myself. I want to see a relationship blossom where sex isn’t the primary outcome of it, but more of an afterthought as a way to consummate their love and to FEEL loved by each other.

I think the beauty of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship is that because they are essentially supernatural beings, we as people can put ourselves in their places, and use them as placeholders for us to project our relationships and experiences onto them and in turn feel seen.

AziraCrow gives me hope that I will find my Other Person someday, because there is unconditional love in the world for people like me, especially as I get older and more set in my ways. I only hope I find my own Crowley to make me feel loved.

I know my opinion isn’t popular about AziraCrow, but honestly, their relationship, and the way it’s progressing means SO much to me, as an asexual, anyway. I hope it’s important to others too. <3

#ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens meta #my meta #my thoughts #asexuality #not everything is about fucking #shitposting steph

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slavghoul · 1 year

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There’s an interview with Martin in the new issue of Sweden Rock Magazine and he talks a bit about Ghost. I know some of you still miss the good ole Omega days and wonder what the hell happened in 2016 or whether he and TF are on speaking terms at all, so I translated the few parts where he talks about his time in the band..

There have been countless rumours about the reasons for your departure from Ghost, everything from mental illness to alcohol. I want to give you a chance to sort out what happened when you left.

MP: I don't know if I need the chance. Well, I have severe fucking ADHD, I was diagnosed the other year. And I've been taking anti-depressants for 16 years, I quit three months ago. So yeah, mental ups and downs have been plenty. No more alcohol problems than the average construction worker. It's invasive and so fucking unnecessary to delve too much into it, but in short: after six-seven years of intense fucking work, you get tired of each other in a way that might be unimaginable to someone who hasn't experienced that kind of relationship. It wasn’t just Tobias, it was everyone towards each other. You sit on a tour bus and you don't feel like it's a holiday or a fun thing, but such is life. I see it as a marriage. Ask anybody, let a mate move into your living room and live together in the same room for two years. A lot happens to your personalities and even though we were anonymous, you got a boost of some feigned self-esteem that some of us never had. It was turbulent, but also really fun and beautiful to do those things with that gang. There was nothing dramatic happening, no one doing more drugs than anyone else. Me and Tobbe both thought and think good things about each other. I can say the same about Simon or keyboardist Mauro Rubino or drummer Aksel Holmgren or bassist Rikard Ottoson or guitarist Henrik Palm or whoever. But people don’t need to know everything. It's as bizarre as me talking about my ex to the newspaper. Maybe if I lived in Hollywood, but now I live in Linköping, haha.

Do you have contact with Tobias today? Will you ever reconcile?

MP: Strictly business. I definitely think so. Sometimes you just have to have some time apart. I see no reason why we shouldn't, I see it that way with all the guys involved. It's a bit like having broken up with a girlfriend. It can be hard to see her with a new guy and you have to look after yourself. I've never felt the need to pour this out to people, I think it just does more damage. I understand that people want to know, but it's funny. People buy that it's anonymous for however long and then they want to know the most intimate stuff.

You have an Omega tattoo, your symbol in Ghost. Is it a painful reminder or do you mostly look back on that time as something positive?

MP: I have it on my shoulder, it sits where it sits. The Omega thing has nothing to do with Ghost for me. We had five symbols to distinguish the costumes and I had one stuck to one of my guitars. As we didn't have names, people started calling me that. When I think back on my time with the band, it's many years of great stuff. Being on tour isn't a great thing if you're unwell or homesick, but overall it was fantastic. We had so much fun, it was great and new for everyone and we learned stuff every day. We took it seriously, were smart and strategic and didn't party the whole thing up. If we had been 20 years old, it wouldn't have worked. For me, it's a great, important period.

How different would Ghost's first three albums have been without you?

MP: I'm not going to trample on myself, but I'm not going to put myself on some fantasy pedestal either. The band, the idea and the concept was started by Tobias and bassist Gustaf Lindström. That's it. Five guys don't wake up the same day and have the same idea. He's the main visionary, no question about it. He started Ghost and has written Opus Eponymous more or less alone. But for the next album, we had formed a band around it. It was still his band, everybody understood that he's the boss, but the musicians became more or less contributors. I came up with song ideas, ideas of what we should look like, album covers, concepts. And Tobbe was damn clever. He understood that if something was good, it didn't matter who did the shit. But there was no one with the mandate to take his place. lnfestissumam would have been a little different, but not that different. Some people say that when the old members left, the band died. That's not true. I think the musicians have played a big role live, but in the song-writing I don't think so. It's really hard to say what impact someone has had, but if you've been there, you've been there. On Impera, Hux Nettermalm plays drums and I hear it's not Ludvig Kennberg who plays on Opus Eponymus, Meliora and Prequelle. Aksel has his style and Martin Hjertstedt who played drums live also has a great style. Other than that, there are not so big differences.

The first time I heard that Magna Carta Cartel and Ghost shared members, I thought that the bands had the same singer.

MP: I've heard that plenty of times. In MCC it has been me or Simon singing. Neither Tobbe nor I, especially I, are trained singers. I won't compare us too much, because he's probably done over a thousand live shows by now. But we're from the same town, have the same accent... I can't sing any other way, I can't really sing at all. My voice here is just another instrument. If I'd done it again from the beginning, we'd probably have a different singer. I know people want to imagine it’s Tobias singing in MCC. They can stand in the room when we play and think it's him. People have been talking about the lyrics of "Sway" being about Ghost, but it was written in 2004 and is about a girl I had a crush on. But it doesn't matter how many times you present the facts, people still think things - and it's both amazing and terrifying.

#martin persner #omega ghoul #the band ghost #interview #magna carta cartel #mcc

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kwisatzworld · 5 months

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‘My dad and my uncles used to go on track with their street bikes and sometimes I had the possibility to go with them and I was so excited to see them riding,’ says the 25-year-old Italian, who looks more like a philosophy student than a mean, lean motorcycle racer. ‘I remember perfectly when my dad got his Aprilia RSV4, the one with the trick taillight, and I thought how beautiful it was.’

‘Then I remember one of my uncles arriving at my home to call my dad to go for a ride and hearing the dry clutch of his Ducati 996. So from a very young age I was inside that world and every time Valentino was on TV we cheered for him. I was so happy when he was winning and I was crying when he didn't win the title in 2006. I believed a lot in him when he was at Ducati but it didn't work.’

That performance won him a ride in the 2013 Moto3 world championship but the step was too big. He didn’t score a point all year and wandered around the paddock, a lost, forlorn 16-year-old. Bizarrely, this proved to be his greatest fortune, because Rossi and lifelong sidekick Uccio Salucci saw talent inside the morose teenager. ‘I remember meeting Uccio for the first time at Brno,’ Bagnaia recalls. ‘He told me to smile more, because whenever he saw me I was angry or unhappy. A few weeks later Uccio called my dad and they had a meeting at Phillip Island. They discussed their new project for young riders, the VR46 Academy - I became one of the first academy riders.’

‘I didn't work with psychologists because I think the people that can help you more are the people around you. I love it when those people tell me what they think about me and what I need to improve.’

Bagnaia is so different from his mentor - quiet, humble and hardly bubbling with charisma - but perhaps he will get more interesting with age (riders usually do). However, he does already have some rock-and-roll credentials: during MotoGP’s 2022 summer break he went clubbing in Ibiza with Rossi and the rest of the VR46 clan. On the way home he stuck his car in a ditch and got nicked for drink-driving. This misdemeanour got him into big trouble with many, but not so long ago it was pretty much compulsory for motorcycle racers to get drunk and drive their cars into ditches. At least that episode proved Bagnaia isn’t as squeaky clean as he seems.

Archive｜Bike Magazine February 2023

#pecco bagnaia #motogp #bike magazine #magazine #by mat oxley

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 months

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Best and Worst of Both Worlds (part 41)

Tw: not that i know of

Part 42

Vote below pls i will only consider first 21 votes

Yves effortlessly carried you out of the back seat and placed you onto the wheelchair.

You gaped at everything while Yves closed his car door.

It's a stylish and minimalistic house with two floors. You like its modern architecture with sharp edges and boxy shapes, the walls and roofs are painted with black or various shades of grey.

It's much smaller than his neighbors who boast their colossal mansions and manors. Even if each owned land is similar in size, Yves's vicinity appears larger by tenfold due to how little he built. You saw some lawns even have a helipad, all other houses had a swimming pool of some sort and a garage that was as big as a shopping mall's parking lot.

Yves had none of that. It was just a relatively boring, regular sized luxury house. And with a small garden and a garage that fits a maximum of two cars.

You think he wanted you to look around, that is why he parked outside instead. His home looked... out of place. Not because he appears poor due to his lack of excessiveness, but it almost seems like he's hiding something from his equally wealthy neighbors.

Because how else is he able to secure housing in a neighbourhood that appears to accommodate multi billionaires? Yves has to be rich, but he refuses to show it, going against the norm. Is that not social suicide for the wealthy?

He lifts the brakes off your chair and pushes you towards the entrance. It's just a plain, singular door with no grand carvings. There is a metal gate that he had to unlock before accessing the next barrier, though. But it felt bizarre how there isn't some complex security system. Just a surveillance camera and two keyholes.

"Welcome to the place I call home, my love." Said Yves as he wheeled you inside.

His home is breathtaking. A dramatic, gothic interior design complete with a giant chandelier emitting soft, golden light. Black, greys, burgundy, ecru and browns were all you could see. It is exactly like the ones you would see in high end magazines, the epitome of opulence.

He has a brick fireplace that isn't lit, but upon further inspection, it's more of a glass box- an electronic fireplace that replaced the need for gas, wood or an actual fire. It's obviously not lit at the moment due to the scorching weather.

The lighting is nothing like you imagined, illuminance came from slender, golden lamps that glowed pleasantly. It's never too bright or dim, it felt perfect.

The windows quadruple your height and the blinds block natural outside light so much that you thought they were part of the walls, it's ridiculously spacious for its exterior. It was as if Yves managed to stuff an entire plane hangar into a little room.

It's cool inside, but not freezing. You couldn't find the air conditioner anywhere, you wonder where the cold air is coming from. No visible vents nor openings in the walls.

You picked up a nice, citrusy and vaguely floral smell with a clear note of sandalwood. It's very mild, almost unnoticeable if one were to be absentminded. But the general fragrance of his home fits the theme, sophisticated and seductive, yet enigmatic. You have no idea where the smell is coming from, seeing that there isn't an air freshener nearby.

It's so surreal to exist in such magnificence, you're afraid to touch anything else because whatever your eyes landed on, you knew that it cost way more than your life.

You told Yves that his design is beautiful. He smiled at your compliment.

"I'm happy that you like my sense of style. As you will be living with me for a while."

You asked if the bedrooms are upstairs. To that, he said yes. Scratching the back of your head nervously, you asked if you could stay downstairs until your leg is healed instead. It would be tedious going up and down with a pair of crutches.

Yves pauses for a bit. He had to hold his tongue as he would have told you to rely on him completely for mobility. That wouldn't have sat well with you as someone who values their autonomy to a certain degree. However, he would have gladly carried you wherever and whenever you wanted.

"I do have a guest bedroom downstairs." Yves appeared disappointed. You ignored that and told him you would take that instead.

"Very well then." He uttered, moving you towards your new bedroom.

You're surprised to know Yves has already moved all your belongings into his home. So setting up your new bedroom only took an hour. It seems like he was under the assumption that you will be staying upstairs, as he had to bring boxes upon boxes down by himself.

You grinned and leaned back against your comfortable office chair, your wheels resting close by. The room is almost five times as large as your previous one, everything is new and maintained. The aesthetic is similar to that outside, but it's more impersonal and plain. You assume that Yves would want his guests to customize their temporary living space to an extent.

The bed is fluffy and king-sized and there is an ensuite bathroom.

Yves hung up the last of your posters before bringing his attention back to you.

"Use this if you need me." He handed you a key fob with one button. It's safe to assume that you simply press it to alert Yves.

"I have duties to attend to." He bent down and gave you a kiss on the forehead. "I will be in my office, is there anything else you would like me to do, before I leave?"

You shook your head.

"Then, I will meet you later, my dear." He caressed your cheek before giving you privacy.

As soon as the door closes, you open your laptop and turn it on. The sound of your dusty fans whirring filled the space, it was loud and unnerving. But what could you do, you're too stingy to use the $5000 allowance from Yves to buy a new one since it's still working. You're not going to ask Yves to get another laptop for you either.

You clicked a few icons and began typing.

Yves frowned at his screen that's mirroring yours. His emerald eyes watched you type "Room rentals for university students" in the search bar of your browser.

He adjusted his reading glasses as he flitted his eyes between what is shown on his monitor and the conditions in your room. It's slightly colder than what you're comfortable with, so he adjusted the thermostat in your room.

After a few minutes of scrolling through the listings, once the temperature hits a specific figure, down to the decimals, you immediately close the window just to open up your favourite computer game. Seemingly losing interest in putting your life back together and wanting to distract yourself instead.

Meanwhile, you thought about what you wanted to do as you level your character up. There is no doubt that living with others is much cheaper, but you really wanted to try living on your own. Especially when you probably have the means to pay two months of rent in advance already.

Living with Yves is great, but you noted the lack of bus stops around. The rich wouldn't need public transportation, they have their own private vehicles and maybe their own hidden highways. That means you couldn't move around as freely and you would have to rely on Yves to give you a ride.

You didn't feel comfortable with being that needy with your boyfriend yet. Fearing that he might grow tired and annoyed with your constant requests. He has work and other obligations, he couldn't be on your beck and call 24/7.

Unless he hires a chauffeur, which from your past experiences, it wasn't all that nice.

You remember seeing an opening for a studio apartment on that website. The price seems reasonable and it's a 25-minute walk to your university, so you could save on bus fares.

You wouldn't need to ask permission from anybody, well maybe your parents who are funding your education and living expenses. Maybe even Yves to supplement more money. But in the end, you're an adult that has the right to make their own decisions.

Then again... money. Well, you'll burn that bridge when you get there.

You thought about it, pondering what your next step should be.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #oc yves #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader

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rabbitenn · 7 months

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hello, i was wondering if i could request trigger and what soulmate au you think matches them? like red string of fate, injuries appearing on your soulmates body, countdown timer, etc. please remember to take care of yourself and no rush when it comes to this. i just really appreciate finding another fan of trigger :)

thank you and i hope you remember to eat, rest, and hydrate <33

U COMPLETE ME.

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

ft. Yaotome Gaku, Kujo Tenn, Tsunashi Ryunosuke x gn! reader.

cw/genre: soulmate au, romance, fluff.

hi, lovely nonnie ! thank you so much for this request ! it is my first time ever writing soulmate au, so I hope it’s not too bad… you’re so sweet ! you take care as well, yeah? stay safe, well rested and hydrated 🩷 I’m glad to meet another TRIGGER fan too <3 I apologize this took so long :(( – it’s also the longest fic I’ve ever written hehe – I still hope you like it, mwah !

♡ YAOTOME GAKU

… and getting flowered tattoos wherever your soulmate receives a scar. The tattoos disappear once you and your soulmate meet.

It started around the time TRIGGER was formed.

Gaku doesn’t really know the meaning of the dark ink appearing on his skin sometimes.

It began with the swirling rose on his shoulder, an intricate pattern of decaying petals that seemed to drift away over the pallor of his back. The art was beautiful, but he can’t quite recall ever having it done. It seemed to be appealing enough for photoshoots, so his manager didn’t mind much.

However, that mysterious flower wasn’t the last of petals that would caress the idol’s skin.

Another flower appeared some time after, right below one of his knees. A dahlia this time, its petals with a subtle shade of warm pink filling them in.

And again, he is certain he has never stepped into a tattoo parlor…

This matter is beginning to take a turn for the bizarre, seeing how the rose on his shoulder is mostly faded, akin to a sepia colored photograph displayed in a sunny room, memories exchanged for light and time.

However, he was not the only one with a garden of ink flowering on their skin.

—

Lying down on your bed, you spread your fingers, hand raised before you. Your eyes follow the lines of the two blooms circling your pointer and ring finger: a dahlia and a rose, respectively.

Where did they even come from? You don’t have the habit of drawing on your own skin since you were a kindergartner, nor have you dared to get anything permanently inked on your body just yet… The flowers simply appeared one night, as if they were extensions of the starry heavens, forming a ring tailored to you.

You roll around in your bed, picking up one of the latest magazines you’ve acquired, your favorite idol group featuring on its cover.

The next thing you know, you’re bolting upright, the glossy book centimeters away from your face.

It’s not like the fact that TRIGGER appears on the cover is anything out of the ordinary, but rather, you’re solely focused on their leader.

Yaotome Gaku. Your bias since they debuted.

He’s wearing nothing but an open white shirt with black pants.

And there, on his right shoulder, you see it.

It’s partially covered by his clothes, but they’re see-through enough.

Dark lines converging into what’s unmistakably a rose, a few petals extending down his back and collarbone.

Your eyes flit from your hand to the picture and to your hand again.

There is no doubt. It’s the exact same design.

You have to make it to their next concert. You have to see him, and try to talk to him. Even if it just may be wishful thinking, you have to at least try.

Luckily for you, TRIGGER’s next live performance is around the corner.

—

And so, the fated day arrives, with you on the first row holding white light sticks tightly.

All your nerves seem to manifest in the throbbing sensation of the dark blooms you sport.

As usual, TRIGGER’s concert is an utter success, and you’d be elated to be witnessing such a spectacle were it not for the wild thumping of your heart at what you’ve decided to do afterwards.

As the music ends and your favorite idols say good night, you take one last deep breath.

You make a beeline for the back entrance and wait.

Muffled voices of fans come from the other side of the rundown door, but they’re all white noise to you.

Under the mixed light of stars and streetlamps, you examine your tattoos once more. They almost seem to flicker, as if glitter in shades of night had been melted over the inked lines.

Minutes pass, the crowd dissipating, their voices fading into the faraway stars, concealed behind the abundance of illumination.

And then, the door to your side opens.

A tall figure you’ve watched dance countless times strides out, and, for a second, your voice dies out in your throat.

Is this really a good idea? Will he just take you for another crazy fan?

No, you have to focus.

“E-excuse me…” You begin, voice slightly trembling.

Steely eyes meet yours, yet somehow, you don’t feel any of the coldness their color would suggest.

“I…” The idol’s head tilts to the side for an instant at your hesitation. “Okay so this might sound insane, and you’ll probably think I’m some crazy fan, which I am- A fan I mean, not crazy, hopefully…” You trail off, nervously fiddling with the hem of your shirt, as you look down. “But the thing is…” You shake your head. “I’ll show you.” You finally manage, exposing your ring finger to the night lights. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but… how did you get your tattoo? The one on your shoulder… I kind of… isn’t this one the exact same?” You ask, showing him your hand.

His winter sky eyes widen, and, when you follow his gaze, you find an eerie glow blazing in shades of white where your tattoos are.

And not only that. A gasp leaves your lips when matching brightness emanates from the man’s shoulder and knee, the shapes, the exact same on your fingers, glowing in your favorite color.

“What even-“ he begins. His sentence goes unfinished, the sudden burst of light fading, leaving nothing but untarnished skin behind, all traces of ink vanished.

Then you notice them.

Paler than the rest of his skin, two thin lines mar his ring and index finger, the exact same place where your tattooed flowers used to be.

And it dawns on you, that the garden of ink you’ve been sharing isn’t just a coincidence.

“How did you get these?” You question, fingers delicately threading through the idol’s. The rosy hue of summer dahlias rises to his cheeks at the contact. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…” You fumble, realizing you were holding his hand.

“No need to apologize.” He smiles. “I help out someone in the kitchen sometimes.” He doesn’t elaborate further.

Afterwards, one of his hands reaches for your shoulder, where the point of a jagged thin scar, mostly faded, peeks out. “May I?” He asks, as you nod, giving him the green light to pull your shirt slightly aside.

Momentarily, his gaze widens, a flash of puzzle pieces falling into place. Then, a soft smile tilts his lips upwards.

“So, may I know the name of my soulmate?” Are the words of Yaotome Gaku, as he extends a hand to you.

You take it, introducing yourself.

“Is it okay for us to be together here in the open, Yaotome-san?” You ask, glancing around for prying eyes.

“It’s alright.” He assures, tone soft. “And you can call me just Gaku.” A smile reaches his eyes, its shine not unlike the slivers of moon reflected in the puddles of late summer rain. “It’s nice to finally meet you, [Y/n]”.

“Likewise, just Gaku.” You grin, a little mischievous, as you take his hand.

♡ KUJO TENN

… and sharing the same talents. What one learns, the other can also do.

Unconsciously, you start humming the same melody again.

Like every morning as you walk through deserted streets, the sun yet to rise from behind an horizon that you felt was at the tip of your fingertips when you sang.

It’s a well known piece, of that you are certain. You’ve done your research as lyrics began flowing from your lips like a forgotten native language.

Somehow, one day you knew them by heart, when the previous one, a nostalgic melody was all you had to go by.

And the voice you hear, or imagine in your mind when you think about the song… you swear you’ve heard it somewhere before.

As a gust of wind causes you to tuck your coat tighter around you, a flapping sound momentarily interrupts your line of thought.

Clinging onto a street light, a dark piece of glossy paper catches your eye. Bright colors can be made out on the edges of it, white lettering covering the back of the flier.

No harm in taking a look, right? You think to yourself, as your gloved hand reaches for it.

Turning it around in your grasp, you notice it’s an advertisement.

Apparently TRIGGER is performing again soon at the FSC Hall.

A smile illuminated in the cold light of morning curls your lips upwards.

Finally, they’re getting a chance to perform at a large venue.

TRIGGER is the group that’s been with you through thick and thin since their formation, and oddly enough, somehow, you could always memorize their songs without even trying.

Well, not exactly memorize.

It’s more like, you already knew every one of their songs when you listened to them for the first time.

It certainly was uncommon, but then again, since you were a kid you somehow had always picked up dancing and singing uncanningly quickly, with no training at all. And while you did not choose to make it a profession, it certainly was a hobby you held very dear.

The tunes you sang, the swaying of your body on nights when all you knew were tears, had brought a little of light and color to otherwise tinted in drowning memories.

And it was TRIGGER’s songs you always danced to, akin to the first cherry blossoms carpeting an otherwise muddy ground.

Pocketing the pamphlet, you heave a sigh, adjusting your back and heading towards the train station.

You have to get tickets this time. Is the thought that accompanies you for the rest of the day, in moments when you’re not humming that song.

The center of your beloved idol group in question, by the way, happened to have a hidden talent of his own too.

—

Everyone who is a fan of Kujo Tenn knows of his enjoyment of sweeter tastes, and especially, his love for donuts.

However, what remains a secret to most is the fact that he can bake quite well.

The idol doesn’t know how or when exactly did he learn; his only memory is still being in middle school when his usual bakery had run out of his beloved treat, thus, he decided to try his hand at it himself.

To his surprise, both the flavor and texture came out perfectly, almost impossibly alike to the chocolatey desserts he usually got on his way home.

He hasn’t visited that bakery for a while, now that he thinks about it… Will it even still be there?

He doesn’t have much longer to dwell on the thought when his two groupmates (who also happen o be his roommates) get home.

“Something smells really good in here…” Tenn can make out Ryu's voice coming from somewhere in the corridor.

“Tenn, we’re home!” Gaku this time, and two sets of approaching footsteps.

“Hey, Tenn, what is it that smells so nice?”

Tenn in question has a few seconds to ‘tsk’ and turn around, frilly pink apron still on while he mixes the dough.

“You guys could have warned me that you’d be here so early.” He grumbles, blushing. Oh, he so knows the other two won’t drop the subject of him cooking in a cute apron.

“You baking?” Gaku, his head peeking over Ryunosuke’s shoulder.

Tenn pinches the bridge of his nose. For someone who was the center of a world famous idol group, he certainly didn’t enjoy being on the spotlight like this.

“So what if I am…” He glares at the leader of his group.

“Must you always be so charming?” Gaku shoots back, words coated in pure sarcasm.

“There, there… guys, please, there’s no need to fight…” Ryu intervenes. “I didn’t know you could bake, Tenn… when did you learn?”

Maroon eyes avert to the side.

“It’s complicated… I didn’t exactly learn… I just tried one day and somehow I knew how to.”

“Just like that?” His friend’s amber eyes narrow in thought. He gives Gaku a look, to which the latter shakes his head in confusion. “I’m not entirely sure that could be your case,” Ryu continues. “But, back in Okinawa, I heard people talk once, stories circulated too… I’m not certain how much truth is there in them but maybe… could it be you have a soulmate, Tenn?”

The modern angel’s brows furrow skeptically.

“A soulmate? Isn’t that a folktale?”

“We don’t know…” his older friend goes on. “Isn’t it just a little strange, however, you could bake perfectly on the first try? Unless you used some recipe…”

“I didn’t.” Tenn states, confidently. “It’s as if… I somehow had already memorized it, even though I cannot remember when, how or where.”

“Then it’s not impossible you got this talent from them… And whoever they are, they know a thing or two about making sweets. Seems fitting for you, huh?” Comes Ryunosuke’s friendly teasing.

As his friends go get changed, Tenn begins preparing the dough for shaping, the word ‘soulmate’ lingering on the back of his mind like an old childhood song.

—

Lately, Zero Arena had become a place of respite for you.

Early evenings dusked beautifully behind the building, pinks and golds glittering off of the expanse of rippling water surrounding it.

Despite the warm hues the world keeps dyeing in as the sun sets, the air is cold.

You regret not having brought a scarf.

Plus, the just baked donuts you made at work only do so much to warm your hands as you hold the box between them.

Closing your eyes against the dying sunlight, you lean back on the bench, taking a breath before starting to sing the lyrics the great idol Zero used to.

Dis one.

Curiously, that and TRIGGER’s songs were the ones you managed to always intone perfectly, especially the parts Kujo Tenn, their center, performed.

Except this once, yours is not the only singing voice.

You’d have to live under a rock to not recognize that voice, but then again, this couldn’t be, could it?

You wait until you and your duet companion chant the last note.

And then you turn around.

A few feet away from where you sit, a lean male stands. His hair falls perfectly over one side of his face, the color of starlight through clouds. He sports a dark coat, accentuating the overall angelic pallor of his complexion, the red scarf around his neck, almost matching the shade of his eyes, akin to little pools of a blazing horizon.

“How are you able to sing that song perfectly? Kujo Tenn inquires, without further preamble.

His tone… it’s… colder? than what you recall him to be on stage.

You bite your lip, then:

“I don’t know. I just do… I’ve known this song for a long time… I have no idea why I can sing it, how, when, or where I learned it.”

His expression remains guarded; then, he notices the box you’re holding over your lap.

Recognition flashes through his sanguine gaze.

“That box. What’s in it?” Tenn’s eyes don’t leave the logo stamped in pink over the white background.

He knows that design. He used to stop by every day back when he was still in middle school, after all.

“Oh, this?” You open the lid an inch. “Just something I made today at work after I ended my shift. Would you like to try one, Kujo-kun?” You offer, now opening the donut-filled box completely.

A tender smile paints the idol’s lips a more vibrant shade of rose the moment you recognize him, slender fingers reaching out for one of the chocolate covered donuts.

“I remember these, from years ago.” He trails off. “I didn’t know if the shop would still be there…”

“It is.” You smile, a little woeful. “My grandparents grew too old to keep working on the business, though, so I kind of manage it by myself now.”

A twilit breeze picks up, your free hand instinctively reaching up to pull your coat closer around your neck.

“Oh! Would you like to have these?” You manage, fumbling a little for words when it sinks in that, yes, you’re talking to one of the most famous idols of the moment.

“Only if you accept this first.” The man utters, already wrapping his maroon scarf snuggly around your neck.

You fluster, cheeks blazing like the sun that’s already halfway behind Zero Arena’s ground level.

Nodding, you hand him the box.

“I have another offer.” Tenn states, fingers brushing against yours when you pass him the package. “I can help you bake for your shop. Would you like to… meet up and practise my performances with me some time in exchange?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“No offense but, can you bake?”

“I don’t know why I can, how, when, or where I learned, but yes, I can bake.” The idol replies, with a warm, knowing smile.

“And what do you gain from this exchange?” You question further, a part of you fearing this is just some cruel joke despite how right everything, how right you feel around him.

“To get to know my soulmate.” Tenn utters, as notes of powdered sugar and fuchsia clouds surround you.

That’s more like the angel you admire.

Your soulmate.

“I’d like to get to know you, too, Tenn.” You return his smile, soft.

As you share conversation coated in colored sweetener, you begin making your way back home.

Home…

Perhaps you’ve already started becoming each other’s.

♡ TSUNASHI RYUNOSUKE

… and having a compass on your body leading you to where your soulmate is.

Lately, the needle has started twitching.

In golden ink, perfectly circular on the inner side of your wrist, the tattoo of an ornate compass lies.

Its point had always been stagnant, lines in silver glitter inked over your veins, its only movement your beating pulse.

However, as nights began to cover in bright lights and snow, your compass had started pointing towards somewhere.

Or rather, someone.

You knew wherever they were, whoever they were, you’d find them somewhere along the other end of the needle.

As you sip a warming latte, your gaze entranced by the slow flutter of snowflakes as they fall with the gelid breeze of night, you wonder.

What kind of person might your soulmate be? Are they still far away, since all the compass has done is flutter, not particularly pointing anywhere?

Does the movement mean you’re somehow getting closer to your soulmate?

Sighing, you pull your sleeve over the aureate circle permanently etched on you, before standing up, paying for your order and taking off into the cold evening.

—

The sudden activity on his compass can’t be just coincidence.

Tsunashi Ryunosuke knows he’s not hallucinating either, he knows the gilded lines tracing over his veins by heart.

After all, the compass never once moved when he used to accompany his father on fishing trips, tumultuous waters threatening to topple the small boat over.

However, since he’s gotten into this plane, the argent point has budged slightly, akin to a broken watch that went back and forth, forever ticking the exact same second.

Ryunosuke’s honey gaze glances out the window, his hometown in Okinawa little more than a dot of green and brown over the astronomical expanse of blue expanding on all sides.

Closing his eyes, the to-be idol leans against the headrest of his seat.

He wonders, what will this new life of his be like? And who is the person his tattoo is being pulled towards?

Landing is still hours away; he guesses he can rest his mind for a while for now.

—

The compass has moved again.

Fully moved this time, unmistakably pointing towards a concrete direction, no matter how much you turn around or change position.

A pull resonates throughout your whole body, urging you to follow the path it indicates. A lane of gilded cobblestones, at the end of which your other half supposedly awaits.

What if it’s all wrong, though? What if they’re someone scary? What if you just get kidnapped and all of this is just part of some malicious bigger scheme?

‘No. Focus, [Y/n]’. You try telling yourself, shaking your head.

A gust of liquid night pricks your skin in icy shards when you step outside, the moon’s smile glinting off of the aureate pattern on your forearm, a thread of starlight pulling you towards your fated soulmate.

Of course, the universe saw to it that you were not the only one chasing after this not yet tangible dream.

“Excuse me for a second now, guys.” Ryu announces, after him and his two future group mates have finished showing off their dancing moves.

Quickly grabbing his coat on the way out, his steps carry him through the stardust contained in the remnants of snow littering the streets.

And yet, despite the possibility of slipping, the idol’s gaze is solely focused on his wrist.

In the same way those of the person who accidentally bumps into him are.

A colliding force suddenly sends you stumbling backwards, the slippery asphalt already unforgivingly hard in your mind as you shut your eyes and brace for impact.

Except instead of the cold and hard sound of dirty concrete against bones, a gentle voice follows.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

Then you open your eyes. Strong arms are keeping you upright, strangely comforting, even though this is the first time you’ve seen the owner of this warming voice.

Regaining your stance, you apologize:

“My bad, I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going…” You explain, laughing a bit nervously.

The man smiles, and you realize then how handsome he truly is.

For all you know, he could very well be a model, an actor even.

Soft brown hair sweeps over one side of his face, his tanned skin accentuating inviting golden irises. The curves of his face are sharp and sculpted, but somehow soft all at once; a gentle hearth, beckoning you to take a moment of respite.

“I suppose I wasn’t paying attention either.” Are the next words he speaks, waking you up from your momentary reverie.

Then, a flash of gold catches his eye, and you notice him glancing to your wrist.

“Ah yeah…” You smile, a bit flustered. “I was just looking for someone…” Your words trail off, observing how the needle now points in the direction the attractive stranger came from.

“That makes two of us, then.” He smiles, displaying the inner side of his forearm for you to see the exact same tattoo you have, pointing straight towards you.

Matching smiles meet your lips when it all clicks.

He’s the one you had been searching for amidst nights where falling snow erased the traces of everything; the footprints of fated love buried beneath layers of frigid moondust.

And you. The tethering anchor awaiting in the raging waves. A lighthouse, the promise of a home here too, despite being miles away from his own.

“Call me Ryu.” He tells you, extending a hand to you.

You sofly shake it, both of you a little awkward.

You chuckle in unison.

“I kinda have to get back somewhere now…” He explains, a shadow of guilt passing over those sunshine eyes. “But let’s meet soon? I’ll find you.” He promises, raising his arm, showing you the compass pointed at you.

“Sounds good.” You softly utter, to him, to the stars who wrote this fate.

With a last kind smile, he rushes towards the street he came from.

You stand there for a few minutes after his figure has vanished.

Ryu. You have the impression the glow of fame is coming his way.

You turn on your heel.

The stars glow a little warmer.

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