sunlit-ruler

[sunlit-ruler]

Mum just came back from Japan, screamed 'I FOUND YOUR BOYFRIEND" and slammed this down in front of me

And somehow its that insane expensive CN colotta missing from my collection, which i don't dare to shop for on mercari

Shrine post soon btw I need to dust it for the clout /j

[sunlit-ruler]

Heya, thanks for the reblog! I'd love to know your thoughts once you've read it. Stay tuned for Day 7, I've got more stuff in the kitchen ~Mod 🐍

@enstars-selfship-event

Rating: 18+ for implied/referenced sex, mentions of vices and military trauma.

Genre: Black Comedy, Angst, Character Study

Ship: Snakesling (Ibara Saegusa x Milton Pelage) (Us!)

Notes & Warnings: Future AU (Ibara is 28) and Drunken OOC. I have not read Ouroboros yet, but I know it covers something similar, so I tried to workshop this so it could happen regardless.

What is Snakesling?

Ibara is 28 and Cospro President. Eden has gone solo for profit maximisation. He deals with that by letting loose at his new resort, Limbus Tropicae, and my sona Milton is unfortunately(?) the bartender. Read my yume intro to find out more about my setting!

Summary:

Ibara spent his teenage years eating barely nutritious meal replacements and workouts that could nearly tear his limbs off. Now 28 years old, he can feel the wear and tear in his bones. Stubborn as he may be, he knows no amount of scheming can relieve him from the clutches of age.

After being apart from Eden for so long, it takes just a few daiquiris for doubts about his ability as an idol to resurface.

Milton, his personal bartender and minder, has waited forever for a good night’s rest. Surely, the new outdoor karaoke stage in the resort won’t be an obstacle to that - because who in the fresh hell would perform his unit's entire album, alone, with full stage lighting at three in the morning?

Play while you read!

“Hey, Goose. What’s the difference between an idol and a prostitute?”

The daiquiri pouring through Ibara’s lips went straight back into the cup through his nose. 

The dim lanterns under the attap roof of the bar cast ominous shadows over the hard lines of his face, contorted into the stare of both a starving wolf and a stung horse. Red bloomed on his cheeks, and not just from the alcohol. A better sight, for sure, than that cold, obsequious grin he wore out while sober.

“Woah there, bud. You’re only supposed to drink those with your mouth.” Milton belched with laughter as the idol gasped like a fish, still trying to subtly lap up the streaks of orange liqueur trickling from the glass. Even at the top of the world, the CEO of Cosmic Productions was allergic to a single drop of waste falling from his lips. Mostly worrying, but partly entertaining, and that’s what really mattered.

“Firstly, do not call me that. I do not care how much you like your mass-produced Hollywood military movies, or their characters. ”

Milton frowned. “But… Goose."

“Do not bastardise my name.”

Ibara cleared his throat.

“Anyway. A reasonable question for someone with your level of abject ignorance.” He hissed those last two words, as if to express hate for all matters of incompetence right then and there. “Shall I put things into perspective, Pelage? You escape halfway across the world from your responsibilities to a resort which I own, receive an allowance from my own pocket that keeps you out of that shipping container I found you in -”

“It was rustic and cozy, dude.” Milton stopped wiping his glass for a moment and sighed with nostalgia. 

“It was rust-y. If I had known better, I would have had you vaccinated for tetanus - then neutered like a stray.” Ibara cleared his throat and straightened himself. “You do all of that, and proceed to ask…”

He looked straight ahead into Milton’s soul, voice lowered to a deadly baritone.

“The difference between myself and a common harlot.”

The corners of Milton's lips could not stop curling. 

“...Damn, you were an idol?”

“Oh, fuck you.” The glass bounced onto the table. Management had to order rubber ones just because of this habit of his. “Another will do. Make it quick."

Milton hummed a tune of approval as he took his shaker in hand and began to prepare his guest’s next dose of happiness. 

“Welcome back, Goose. But hear me out on this one, alright. Idol and prostitute - you entertain with your looks, your body and your charm. What’s the difference?”

“There is no art to inducing that sort of lowly pleasure.” Ibara shook his head. “We dedicate our lives and bodies towards more complex, extreme endeavours to convey our own unique creative ideals. The effort we expend on this is beyond your understanding.”

“And who’s anyone to say what’s worth testing your body for? On God, I’ve seen strippers put more thought and expression into their routines than some of your rivals. And every month it’s like another one of them gets caught with his pants down.” The bartender shrugged, then shook the metal cup for emphasis. “The end goal? Pleasure. How to reach it? Selling sex, or actual sex. It’s all the same.”

A low ‘hmph’ sat in Ibara’s throat, followed by a hint of fangs. 

“A sex worker sells their body to test their soul. An idol tests their body to sell their soul.” He drummed his fingers on the glass, faster and faster, until the rattling sent a creeping feeling of dread up Milton’s spine. “Does that suffice, O’ righteous defender of the common people? Do you feel the urge to shelter them in return for their compliments on your out-of-season Armani shirts?”

Turning his head, the bartender caught the sight of his fingers deftly smoothing over the fabric of his collar, a pattern that’s been missing from his wardrobe for a while now. Noticing the mortified curdling of his expression, Ibara shot him a smirk. 

That asshole was leaving his room naked next time.

“You forgot one thing.”

He swiped the glass away and thrust a new one in front of him, landing perfectly in between them. Craving the sweet, fresh temptation of rum-strawberry slurry on his tongue, Ibara embraced the wide brim of the coupe glass with both hands. He took a deep breath, then coughed on the noxious sting of bourbon and an orange peel.

An old-fashioned.

“Both of them don’t make it past thirty.” 

Milton dropped his shaker in the sink and with a cheeky cat-stretch over the table, nudged his shoulder with his wrist. “Good thing you’re more of a producer, so you don’t have to worry about that, right?”

“This isn’t what I ordered.” 

“Oh, you don’t order it. It comes to you, and you just have to acquire the taste.” Flinging his batik overshirt onto his shoulder, Milton shifted his attention to the glasses in the sink at the side of the attap hut. Of all shapes and sizes, they assembled themselves into a crude mockery of a celebrity host’s champagne tower.

“You are way over your quota today.”

“Which I set”, came a grumble from behind. 

“And I regulate. Need me to walk you back to your room?”

No response. 

Worried (and somewhat relieved for his liver) that he’d finally passed out, Milton swerved back to Ibara’s favourite seat at the edge of the table. But there was only the lone orange peel, dipping its toes into a grave of brown, watery disappointment.

Ibara stumbled around, above and between the candles leading up to the hotel residence. The wisps of flame at his feet flickered with amusement before being snuffed with a kick from his sand-covered Oxfords. 

Today and tomorrow blurred around him. His only audience in five, going on six years, and it was going to be a Black Ocean.

“10 years.” followed the breathy pop of his chapped lips from a hip-flask on the inside of his blazer. One night together after another had led Milton to offer to send his clothes to Laundry on his behalf, and made the mistake of not smoothing the hair-thin seams on the pocket lining caused by his fingernails. But there were just so many things about him that the preening parrot and his big beak couldn’t pry into. “For 10 years of my life I make Eden fucking perfect - ”

Another stray candle pulverised beneath his boot.

"And that's what I am to him!?"

He’d seen it coming from lightyears away that his self-sabotage would lead him down this path, wrestling every ounce of wealth and power from the feet of those who tried to take it away from him. That would fill every hole that, by sending him to that camp, they had bore into him even before it was born.

But it was lightyears away. So ensnared he was by that distant twinkle of righteous satisfaction, from a life of not needing to use or be used by anyone except himself, that he didn’t stop to consider how he’d live without anyone needing him.

“'m just a pretty face and a body, huh?” He grumbled, kicking over another candle - on purpose this time. It rolled and splashed into the artificial lake nearby. “You spoiled little brat, that’s not the only reason yoi last long as I do in this shitty - ”

The sandstone beneath his foot shifted under his weight. He lurched forward and was punished with an electric jolt to the base of his spine. 

“Goddamnit!”

There was a pop, like Christmas Crackers at his waist (not that he had the sufficient levels of nostalgia to have used those outside of garish office parties, their horrific artillery-like sound notwithstanding). 

He gritted his teeth through the ringing in his ears. Nagisa, Hiyori and Jun’s absences since their breathtaking overseas debut as Eden were loud enough of a reminder, but he supposed the fickle god that made him related to an idol dynasty had its own mysterious ways. 

His foot slipped, landing him on the stone. A parched water lily leaned out, and with petals that oddly matched his hair, seemed to stroke his head. Instinct compelled him to throw a fit at the landscaper’s laziness, but surrounded by the mocking dance of half-snuffed candle flames, he reprimanded himself for the lack of perspective. 

Idols were a galaxy of dying stars. In their early 20s, they’ve already exploded as supernovas on their finest stage. The audience continues to bask in that light for a good five, ten years, without noticing that last glint of purpose petering out. He’s been burning away with every crinkle of a Caloriemate wrapper, every last rep he’s missed from a strange muscle ache the strictest routines could never alleviate.

Good thing you’re more of a producer, so you don’t have to worry about that, right?

Fucking bastard.

He marched through the slimy water dripping onto his ruffled bangs away from the french doors of the reception, straight into the dark. Whatever that stepped out of line in his life could, and would be whipped into shape, including the creaky protests of his joints. 

They brought him far enough through the undergrowth of the nearby reserve and towards the other shore for something to smack him at full force in the waist. Ibara wasn’t as worried for his manhood (his… ‘lifestyle choices’ and contract didn’t have much practical use for it anyway) as for why the hell it had been built so close to the tide. 

He scrambled onto it like a cat desperately trying to avoid a bath by the incoming waves. Looming over him was a tower of scaffolding and light fixtures. Speakers lined the steps down to the sand, which he had only just noticed. 

“...Oho.”

Ibara smirked. That old upgrade he’d commissioned looked much better in person.

The parrot was just going to have to try and put him to bed.

With the crisp new linen hugging his sore body, his fluffy sunset-coloured mask finally over his eyes, the haze of sleep washed over Milton faster than a bottle of fine scotch.

“FALLING DOWN!~”

A flash of light, like he’s turned his phone screen on in the pitch darkness.

“FEELING UP!~”

The mask flew off his head and he scrambled to the window. He flung the blackout curtains open and was drowned in Magenta.

“YOU WANT IT!~”

“Damn you, Saegusa, it’s not even pride month yet!” The viper’s minder threw on a spare shirt and squeezed into his flip flops with so much force the friction could’ve burned down the whole building. 

nido to mo-do-re-na-i!

“二度と戻れない!”

The rest of the staff had popped their own heads out of their little mouseholes for dorms. In hushed whispers, they dismissed it as another one of their boss’s neuroses, exchanged noise-cancelling earplugs and went back to sleep. The whole resort was closed for the week for inspection, after all; putting up with him was their job.

“Seriously, guys?” Milton was left alone in the hallway, gesturing wildly to the closed doors, while the shockwaves of the bass turned the floor into the deck of a cruise ship in a storm. “Like, I know he comes by every so often, but it’s not like we’re married, y’know?”

They were completely synchronised too. Was it because it happened so often, or did they just exchange a wordless ‘not it’ so he’d have to wrangle him?

He flung the hotel doors open and was greeted with a hurricane of light and thunder towards the horizon - yet the skies were completely clear. From the glittering purple eye of the storm sprang forth a spectacle of multicoloured lasers that he wished could taunt a fighter jet into firing missiles at them both.

Milton raced towards it without hesitation. Flip flops were not good shock absorbers, and he could feel each step in every bone in his body. He knew he was close when he could no longer hear his own screaming – partly in the most raw frustration he’s ever felt, partly to keep himself awake – over the synths burning through his precious night. 

“FALLING DOWN!~”

He broke through the jungle clearing -

“YEAH I SURE HOPE YOU DO, YOU ASSHOLE!”

And emerged on the other shore.

What he thought this whole time was an audio recording, meticulously parsed and edited in a studio setting, was Ibara Saegusa in the flesh. One fluid sway of his hips after another, he dominated the otherwise empty platform. Sweat glistened down the patches of skin where his shirt had become untucked, drawing the dazed parrot’s attention to the glint of sinister delight in his smile. 

The annoyance welling in his gut petered out to… confusion. Intrigue, even. Each thrust of the idol’s lower body brought a chuckle, seeming rather out of place for the flurry of sophisticated and complex breakdances, but the way he commanded his own body left him drinking the sight. Whatever he was feeling now, he was sure a protagonist in a particularly bad Wattpad bad boy story somewhere could sympathise. 

“Miltoooon!” The 28-year old fought through his own stupor into his next set of thrust-swerve-thrusts. “How kind of you to join me at my inaugural solo concert!”

“What the hell are you doing, man!? Turn it off!” Milton shouted over the pounding music. 

“And a question, if I may, for some mandatory audience engagement -” Both the vibrato of his voice and body swayed from side to side. Ibara survived a brief slip of his foot unscathed and even slipped into an improvised breakdance. “Can a whore do this, you son of a bitch!?”

“I said, turn it off!”

Ibara raised an eyebrow, and while still dancing, stretched his hand towards the nearby iPad controlling the sound - then jerked it away to flip Milton the bird. 

There went the bad boy magic. 

Milton seized the opportunity to pounce on a nearby mic, which had been left connected to the audio system during their very first test run.

“I mean, when you’re doing that with your hips, kind of defeats the purpose of what you’re trying to say.” He deadpanned. “Okay, look. I get it.  We’re all very impressed. I don’t know how you did all of this yourself. But it’s like, 3:30, so please stop before you get hurt -”

“No, Milton. You don’t.’

He planted his foot into the ground. No more coy glances. His limbs stopped their pretentious fluttering, freezing solid into squared shoulders.

“You think I spent my childhood digging mass graves in Kosovo so I’d be quirky enough to sell tickets to parasocial women?” Colder than the whites of his knuckles was the fury on his face, that magazine-cover complexion wrought with something Milton couldn’t recognise. “You think I do it all for the money, the sex, the attention?”

The extra mic fell from Milton’s wrist to his side. When he knew what it was, a sharp pang in his chest forced him to look down at the sand at his feet. There were many things about Ibara that eluded him, but for the first time, something didn’t seem so alien after all.

“No, look at me.”

A quiver in his voice. The rheuminess in his eyes, coating them like glass.

The electronic beat was overtaken by Milton’s own heart.

“Being an idol is leverage. It’s release. Because I wasted 18 years of my life making myself a tool for everyone’s dirty jobs, before realising I could be more than what I was born to do.” Ibara’s wounded voice reverberated across the island. "I don’t care if you think it’s pathetic that I thrust my hips onstage for a living. Or that it’s pointless for me to act like I can do it forever. It’s the only thing in my shitty life that has ever made me feel like a person!”

With no time to waste, Milton leaned into his mic. There had to be something, anything he could say.

He was never really that good at figuring where the lines were unless it was just to cross them. With the way things turned out back home - his track record was the very thing that sent him in that shipping container in the first place. But there was nowhere else he could go - and nowhere he would rather be. He had to try. 

Static grazed his lips. 

He was stopped by the cracked gurgle of Ibara’s throat, amplified by the speaker.

“And for a while - for a really long fucking while.” Ibara shook his head, wiping his eyes with his wrist. “I thought that thing was you.”

The speakers screeched, then fell silent. The Eden member began to storm off the stage, rubbing his back and grumbling to himself. 

“What am I even doing? Ah, that hurts… ”

Milton rushed up the stage.

“You’re my number one oh-shee!”

A high-pitched whine shattered the eardrums of Milton, Ibara and probably everyone within a ten-kilometer radius. 

“Too close, too close!” The idol covered his ears, looking to be both in pain from the sound and the pronunciation. He rolled his eyes and hissed. “Hold it further from your face - ”

“I wasn’t trying to -”

Another screech.

“Still too close!” Ibara groaned, having to catch himself against the scaffolding this time.

“...Better?”

Milton assumed that was a yes, judging by how Ibara continued to walk away on the platform. It didn’t matter. He was going to put on an even more spectacular performance for this whole island, whether they liked it or not.

Whether Ibara liked it or not.

“I didn’t ask you that because I wanted to make fun of you.” Milton insisted. “I mean, of course there’s the banter, but what I really meant was - are you happy spending your whole life pleasing others!?”

Ibara’s foot didn’t touch the next step, just barely hovering over it. 

“I don’t just read the papers to find stuff to embarrass you with.” Milton furrowed his eyebrows. “I’ve seen what happens to other idols. They do the things you do and go out like a light. I just - I hate seeing you push yourself over the edge.”

“...You’re treating me like a child.”

Milton sighed and unplugged the mic.

“I guess I got so used to managing this place that I’m even trying to manage you, now.”  He walked towards Ibara and sat at the precipice of the stairs, right at Ibara’s feet. “I don’t know, I just… I love that you keep me on my toes, and I thought telling you straight up would just stop making things fun. It was an awful way to go about it. I’m sorry.”

The nest of red curls atop his head greeted the playful embrace of manicured fingers, the cool steel touch of their multitude of rings.

“You do have bad taste. But I suppose that’s one of the things that make us well-suited for each other - that being, our ill-suitedness to everyone else.”

Ibara sat down next to him.

“...Hey, Goose.”

“Mm?” Ibara mindlessly twirled his index finger around Milton’s bangs, gaze affixed to the ships passing in the night.

“If you weren’t a descendant of that Godfather of yours, would you still want to be an idol?”

His gentle whispers back held the cracks of sobriety. “I tend to find it… inefficient to focus on hypotheticals rather than the present. But a place like this defies time, slowing it down for me to realise - what I knew as inefficiency, I unmasked to reveal avoidance.”

Ibara brought a kiss to Milton’s temple. A rare display; for someone whose stage language (and bedroom language) mastered the art of innuendo, these chaste little gestures were nothing short of blasphemous in a public setting. As the tide did to his feet, he bit his tongue and let the warmth wash over him.

“Rest assured, if I were reborn into a world where I was free to choose this profession… I could have used someone like you as my producer.”

“Why be reborn? We can do it now.”

Ibara’s head tilted with surprise. 

“...I beg your pardon?”

“I just have to decide what you sing, right?” Milton grinned. Still confused, Ibara went limp like a ragdoll as he grabbed his shoulders and shook him from side to side. “Well, as your producer, I’ve decided that you can sing whatever you want.”

“My, ahem… outburst notwithstanding,” Protesting, Ibara desperately tried to mask his childlike intrigue. “Don’t you have to work in one hour?”

“Well I could think of someone who could make that one day instead. For all of us.”

The owner of the resort took one of the longest breaths he had ever taken in his life.

“Very well.” He nodded. “On one condition: you must sing with me on this very stage.”

“You got a deal. So what are we singing?”

Ibara took his hands away from Milton’s head and clasped them together, cackling.

“If I recall,  there were quite a few songs in my youth that Shuetsu Academy would never let me sing…”

Drenched in warm hues, the acrid mist from the Java Sea greeted the rolling waves, which caressed the silent graves of sea creatures across the empty shore. Birds of paradise began their whooping chorus in their nests to announce the arrival of the rising sun. 

Here, at Limbus Tropicae – the edge of the tropics, a peaceful suspension of daily life between the equally dangerous arctic ‘paradise’ and deserts of ‘hell’ — the stillness of nature created a different world to behold. 

“BUT SHE WEARS SHORT SKIRTS, I WEAR T-SHIRTS ~”

…Or at least, that was what some intern wrote on the branding kit.

“SHE’S CHEER CAPTAIN AND I’M ON THE BLEACHERS!~”

The birds scattered. Fluorescent lights cut through the smoke, revealing the stage in all its glory. But there was neither the entrancing vocals or complex manoeuvres of the idols of ES, nor a lovestruck audience to receive them.

“DREAMIN’ BOUT THE DAY WHEN YOU WAKE UP AND FIND THAT WHAT YOU’RE - LOOKIN’ FOR -”

Ibara croaked, lying flat on the floorboards like a dead fish. He swatted at a can that had toppled and rolled near his shoulders: cheap beer he’d ordered in from the nearby convenience store, the sixth one this time. 

He poked Milton’s cheek with the mic.

“...Has been here…” Milton choked back a snore and hiccuped. “ the whole time…” 

“Oho. Is that the extent of your stamina, ‘Producer’? The setlist for Eden’s final live show was thirty, if I recall.”

“Dude, we went through your whole Spotify, can you cut me some slack?” The parrot shook himself awake, groaning as he sat up. “And out of all the songs your school banned, you chose this one? Don’t know about you, but I would’ve loved growing up thinking Swifties didn’t exist.”

“It wasn’t so much of an affair related to the quality of her music, fans or even moral character.” Ibara shrugged, then grimaced. “Even today, Eden, myself and some of our fans could be identified with that sort of… profile. It wouldn’t have made sense on that basis.”

“So what was it?”

“To prepare us for an industry that permitted limited contact with the opposite sex, all love songs by female artists were banned.”

Milton scoffed and started tidying Ibara’s shirt. The inconveniences of timezones led his board meetings to happen while they shared the same bed, and before he knew it, this habit became hard to kick. 

“And how did that turn out?”

As he finished the top one, Ibara’s palm ghosted his own.

“What do you think, Pelage? That we are a happy coincidence? I’m afraid not: you have Ms. …Ms?”

“ - Yeah, still not married.”

“Good for him, whoever that is.” Ibara huffed, then continued. “But I digress: you have Ms. Swift to thank for our… arrangement. Because without those thrice-divorced temptresses that define the face of romance pop-rock, came the throes of BL CDs - some of them more explicit than others.” 

“Wait.”

“I did not own any myself.” Ibara was quick to snap. “Whatever I did was research material for Eden.”

“I mean, I don’t care. I know you’re lying.” Milton lay back down, then spread out his arms and started to make a snow angel from all the cans around him. “So you said that music was banned… but who banned it? Hey, weren’t you like the Supreme Leader of Shuetsu at the time -”

“I have a meeting in five minutes.”

Ibara picked up his own pile of cans and buried Milton in them, then sped deep into the forest.

And we've made it to the end of the fic! I'm Mod Serpent. I can't thank you enough for being interested in my yumeship, even if you just scrolled down here to see if it was really that long, haha. If you're reading this, Rumi, thank you for reblogging and taking the time to organise such an event for us all!

"Goose" is a Top Gun character. It has less to do with the character's background and film genre than Milton saying "SaeGUSa" out loud and going, "heeeey..."

Why Taylor Swift, you might ask? Well ES! is set in 2015, so any songs he would've listened to and influenced Eden would have come out a couple years before then. I just thought Taytay would be hilarious because it's so jarring compared to Ibara's self-imposed image, yet the, ahem... 'toxicity' element is there in the lyrics.

Being a future AU, Snakesling is not your standard coming of age enstars setting, and I like to imagine what problems/personal growth Ibara will face when he has to undertake adult responsibilities. I wrote my heart out in the confrontation scene - it was very emotional for me, having to empathise with his abuse and a long search for an identity not defined by his trauma.

I'm going to write lots more to unpack this. I love my dumbass snake. Stay tuned!

[sunlit-ruler]

giving very men in black. kakkoi

thanks for the like on my day 2 fic! ~ Mod 🐍

ENSTARS SELFSHIP WEEK - DAY FOUR

dorm situations !

moodboard:

honestly, for this day all ibara was imagining was chaos. not sure why, ibara just was thinking about shenanigans

the sketch is ibtm with nerf guns lmao

(moodboard) i imagine that the cast gets up to some crazy stuff, esp between tomoya's dorm and ibara's dorm. i just think it's very silly

may update with headcanons later but ibara's already a day late so sjndjs

[ @enstars-selfship-event ] [ @maoisarap ]

[sunlit-ruler]

Thanks Mira! Nice to meet you! If you like my sona/our ship check out the portraits I did here! My yume intro is there as well ~Mod 🐍

@enstars-selfship-event Day 1: Uniform Steal

“Dude, check it! If I’m a parrot, does that make me a bird of paradise?”

“…Those are two entirely different species, Pelage. Now I believe I’ve been awaiting a martini for quite some time.”

Milton wouldn’t be able to resist trying one of Ibara’s old uniforms, although he’ll only get the chance when hell freezes over. Luckily for him, Ibara allows himself to keep a commemorative one and it gets sent to the resort’s laundry service every few months.

[sunlit-ruler]

@enstars-selfship-event Day 1: Uniform Steal

“Dude, check it! If I’m a parrot, does that make me a bird of paradise?”

“…Those are two entirely different species, Pelage. Now I believe I’ve been awaiting a martini for quite some time.”

Milton wouldn’t be able to resist trying one of Ibara’s old uniforms, although he’ll only get the chance when hell freezes over. Luckily for him, Ibara allows himself to keep a commemorative one and it gets sent to the resort’s laundry service every few months.

[sunlit-ruler]

some out of context screenshots of my new snakesling yumefic, Slipped Disc-ography!, to tempt (haha eden joke) you all into reading it.

i promise i am funny guys

as implied the pink lyrics are dance in the apocalypse being blasted in milton's face and across the eastern seaboard /j

[sunlit-ruler]

@enstars-selfship-event

Rating: 18+ for implied/referenced sex, mentions of vices and military trauma.

Genre: Black Comedy, Angst, Character Study

Ship: Snakesling (Ibara Saegusa x Milton Pelage) (Us!)

Notes & Warnings: Future AU (Ibara is 28) and Drunken OOC. I have not read Ouroboros yet, but I know it covers something similar, so I tried to workshop this so it could happen regardless.

What is Snakesling?

Ibara is 28 and Cospro President. Eden has gone solo for profit maximisation. He deals with that by letting loose at his new resort, Limbus Tropicae, and my sona Milton is unfortunately(?) the bartender. Read my yume intro to find out more about my setting!

Summary:

Ibara spent his teenage years eating barely nutritious meal replacements and workouts that could nearly tear his limbs off. Now 28 years old, he can feel the wear and tear in his bones. Stubborn as he may be, he knows no amount of scheming can relieve him from the clutches of age.

After being apart from Eden for so long, it takes just a few daiquiris for doubts about his ability as an idol to resurface.

Milton, his personal bartender and minder, has waited forever for a good night’s rest. Surely, the new outdoor karaoke stage in the resort won’t be an obstacle to that - because who in the fresh hell would perform his unit's entire album, alone, with full stage lighting at three in the morning?

Play while you read!

“Hey, Goose. What’s the difference between an idol and a prostitute?”

The daiquiri pouring through Ibara’s lips went straight back into the cup through his nose. 

The dim lanterns under the attap roof of the bar cast ominous shadows over the hard lines of his face, contorted into the stare of both a starving wolf and a stung horse. Red bloomed on his cheeks, and not just from the alcohol. A better sight, for sure, than that cold, obsequious grin he wore out while sober.

“Woah there, bud. You’re only supposed to drink those with your mouth.” Milton belched with laughter as the idol gasped like a fish, still trying to subtly lap up the streaks of orange liqueur trickling from the glass. Even at the top of the world, the CEO of Cosmic Productions was allergic to a single drop of waste falling from his lips. Mostly worrying, but partly entertaining, and that’s what really mattered.

“Firstly, do not call me that. I do not care how much you like your mass-produced Hollywood military movies, or their characters. ”

Milton frowned. “But… Goose."

“Do not bastardise my name.”

Ibara cleared his throat.

“Anyway. A reasonable question for someone with your level of abject ignorance.” He hissed those last two words, as if to express hate for all matters of incompetence right then and there. “Shall I put things into perspective, Pelage? You escape halfway across the world from your responsibilities to a resort which I own, receive an allowance from my own pocket that keeps you out of that shipping container I found you in -”

“It was rustic and cozy, dude.” Milton stopped wiping his glass for a moment and sighed with nostalgia. 

“It was rust-y. If I had known better, I would have had you vaccinated for tetanus - then neutered like a stray.” Ibara cleared his throat and straightened himself. “You do all of that, and proceed to ask…”

He looked straight ahead into Milton’s soul, voice lowered to a deadly baritone.

“The difference between myself and a common harlot.”

The corners of Milton's lips could not stop curling. 

“...Damn, you were an idol?”

“Oh, fuck you.” The glass bounced onto the table. Management had to order rubber ones just because of this habit of his. “Another will do. Make it quick."

Milton hummed a tune of approval as he took his shaker in hand and began to prepare his guest’s next dose of happiness. 

“Welcome back, Goose. But hear me out on this one, alright. Idol and prostitute - you entertain with your looks, your body and your charm. What’s the difference?”

“There is no art to inducing that sort of lowly pleasure.” Ibara shook his head. “We dedicate our lives and bodies towards more complex, extreme endeavours to convey our own unique creative ideals. The effort we expend on this is beyond your understanding.”

“And who’s anyone to say what’s worth testing your body for? On God, I’ve seen strippers put more thought and expression into their routines than some of your rivals. And every month it’s like another one of them gets caught with his pants down.” The bartender shrugged, then shook the metal cup for emphasis. “The end goal? Pleasure. How to reach it? Selling sex, or actual sex. It’s all the same.”

A low ‘hmph’ sat in Ibara’s throat, followed by a hint of fangs. 

“A sex worker sells their body to test their soul. An idol tests their body to sell their soul.” He drummed his fingers on the glass, faster and faster, until the rattling sent a creeping feeling of dread up Milton’s spine. “Does that suffice, O’ righteous defender of the common people? Do you feel the urge to shelter them in return for their compliments on your out-of-season Armani shirts?”

Turning his head, the bartender caught the sight of his fingers deftly smoothing over the fabric of his collar, a pattern that’s been missing from his wardrobe for a while now. Noticing the mortified curdling of his expression, Ibara shot him a smirk. 

That asshole was leaving his room naked next time.

“You forgot one thing.”

He swiped the glass away and thrust a new one in front of him, landing perfectly in between them. Craving the sweet, fresh temptation of rum-strawberry slurry on his tongue, Ibara embraced the wide brim of the coupe glass with both hands. He took a deep breath, then coughed on the noxious sting of bourbon and an orange peel.

An old-fashioned.

“Both of them don’t make it past thirty.” 

Milton dropped his shaker in the sink and with a cheeky cat-stretch over the table, nudged his shoulder with his wrist. “Good thing you’re more of a producer, so you don’t have to worry about that, right?”

“This isn’t what I ordered.” 

“Oh, you don’t order it. It comes to you, and you just have to acquire the taste.” Flinging his batik overshirt onto his shoulder, Milton shifted his attention to the glasses in the sink at the side of the attap hut. Of all shapes and sizes, they assembled themselves into a crude mockery of a celebrity host’s champagne tower.

“You are way over your quota today.”

“Which I set”, came a grumble from behind. 

“And I regulate. Need me to walk you back to your room?”

No response. 

Worried (and somewhat relieved for his liver) that he’d finally passed out, Milton swerved back to Ibara’s favourite seat at the edge of the table. But there was only the lone orange peel, dipping its toes into a grave of brown, watery disappointment.

Ibara stumbled around, above and between the candles leading up to the hotel residence. The wisps of flame at his feet flickered with amusement before being snuffed with a kick from his sand-covered Oxfords. 

Today and tomorrow blurred around him. His only audience in five, going on six years, and it was going to be a Black Ocean.

“10 years.” followed the breathy pop of his chapped lips from a hip-flask on the inside of his blazer. One night together after another had led Milton to offer to send his clothes to Laundry on his behalf, and made the mistake of not smoothing the hair-thin seams on the pocket lining caused by his fingernails. But there were just so many things about him that the preening parrot and his big beak couldn’t pry into. “For 10 years of my life I make Eden fucking perfect - ”

Another stray candle pulverised beneath his boot.

"And that's what I am to him!?"

He’d seen it coming from lightyears away that his self-sabotage would lead him down this path, wrestling every ounce of wealth and power from the feet of those who tried to take it away from him. That would fill every hole that, by sending him to that camp, they had bore into him even before it was born.

But it was lightyears away. So ensnared he was by that distant twinkle of righteous satisfaction, from a life of not needing to use or be used by anyone except himself, that he didn’t stop to consider how he’d live without anyone needing him.

“'m just a pretty face and a body, huh?” He grumbled, kicking over another candle - on purpose this time. It rolled and splashed into the artificial lake nearby. “You spoiled little brat, that’s not the only reason yoi last long as I do in this shitty - ”

The sandstone beneath his foot shifted under his weight. He lurched forward and was punished with an electric jolt to the base of his spine. 

“Goddamnit!”

There was a pop, like Christmas Crackers at his waist (not that he had the sufficient levels of nostalgia to have used those outside of garish office parties, their horrific artillery-like sound notwithstanding). 

He gritted his teeth through the ringing in his ears. Nagisa, Hiyori and Jun’s absences since their breathtaking overseas debut as Eden were loud enough of a reminder, but he supposed the fickle god that made him related to an idol dynasty had its own mysterious ways. 

His foot slipped, landing him on the stone. A parched water lily leaned out, and with petals that oddly matched his hair, seemed to stroke his head. Instinct compelled him to throw a fit at the landscaper’s laziness, but surrounded by the mocking dance of half-snuffed candle flames, he reprimanded himself for the lack of perspective. 

Idols were a galaxy of dying stars. In their early 20s, they’ve already exploded as supernovas on their finest stage. The audience continues to bask in that light for a good five, ten years, without noticing that last glint of purpose petering out. He’s been burning away with every crinkle of a Caloriemate wrapper, every last rep he’s missed from a strange muscle ache the strictest routines could never alleviate.

Good thing you’re more of a producer, so you don’t have to worry about that, right?

Fucking bastard.

He marched through the slimy water dripping onto his ruffled bangs away from the french doors of the reception, straight into the dark. Whatever that stepped out of line in his life could, and would be whipped into shape, including the creaky protests of his joints. 

They brought him far enough through the undergrowth of the nearby reserve and towards the other shore for something to smack him at full force in the waist. Ibara wasn’t as worried for his manhood (his… ‘lifestyle choices’ and contract didn’t have much practical use for it anyway) as for why the hell it had been built so close to the tide. 

He scrambled onto it like a cat desperately trying to avoid a bath by the incoming waves. Looming over him was a tower of scaffolding and light fixtures. Speakers lined the steps down to the sand, which he had only just noticed. 

“...Oho.”

Ibara smirked. That old upgrade he’d commissioned looked much better in person.

The parrot was just going to have to try and put him to bed.

With the crisp new linen hugging his sore body, his fluffy sunset-coloured mask finally over his eyes, the haze of sleep washed over Milton faster than a bottle of fine scotch.

“FALLING DOWN!~”

A flash of light, like he’s turned his phone screen on in the pitch darkness.

“FEELING UP!~”

The mask flew off his head and he scrambled to the window. He flung the blackout curtains open and was drowned in Magenta.

“YOU WANT IT!~”

“Damn you, Saegusa, it’s not even pride month yet!” The viper’s minder threw on a spare shirt and squeezed into his flip flops with so much force the friction could’ve burned down the whole building. 

nido to mo-do-re-na-i!

“二度と戻れない!”

The rest of the staff had popped their own heads out of their little mouseholes for dorms. In hushed whispers, they dismissed it as another one of their boss’s neuroses, exchanged noise-cancelling earplugs and went back to sleep. The whole resort was closed for the week for inspection, after all; putting up with him was their job.

“Seriously, guys?” Milton was left alone in the hallway, gesturing wildly to the closed doors, while the shockwaves of the bass turned the floor into the deck of a cruise ship in a storm. “Like, I know he comes by every so often, but it’s not like we’re married, y’know?”

They were completely synchronised too. Was it because it happened so often, or did they just exchange a wordless ‘not it’ so he’d have to wrangle him?

He flung the hotel doors open and was greeted with a hurricane of light and thunder towards the horizon - yet the skies were completely clear. From the glittering purple eye of the storm sprang forth a spectacle of multicoloured lasers that he wished could taunt a fighter jet into firing missiles at them both.

Milton raced towards it without hesitation. Flip flops were not good shock absorbers, and he could feel each step in every bone in his body. He knew he was close when he could no longer hear his own screaming – partly in the most raw frustration he’s ever felt, partly to keep himself awake – over the synths burning through his precious night. 

“FALLING DOWN!~”

He broke through the jungle clearing -

“YEAH I SURE HOPE YOU DO, YOU ASSHOLE!”

And emerged on the other shore.

What he thought this whole time was an audio recording, meticulously parsed and edited in a studio setting, was Ibara Saegusa in the flesh. One fluid sway of his hips after another, he dominated the otherwise empty platform. Sweat glistened down the patches of skin where his shirt had become untucked, drawing the dazed parrot’s attention to the glint of sinister delight in his smile. 

The annoyance welling in his gut petered out to… confusion. Intrigue, even. Each thrust of the idol’s lower body brought a chuckle, seeming rather out of place for the flurry of sophisticated and complex breakdances, but the way he commanded his own body left him drinking the sight. Whatever he was feeling now, he was sure a protagonist in a particularly bad Wattpad bad boy story somewhere could sympathise. 

“Miltoooon!” The 28-year old fought through his own stupor into his next set of thrust-swerve-thrusts. “How kind of you to join me at my inaugural solo concert!”

“What the hell are you doing, man!? Turn it off!” Milton shouted over the pounding music. 

“And a question, if I may, for some mandatory audience engagement -” Both the vibrato of his voice and body swayed from side to side. Ibara survived a brief slip of his foot unscathed and even slipped into an improvised breakdance. “Can a whore do this, you son of a bitch!?”

“I said, turn it off!”

Ibara raised an eyebrow, and while still dancing, stretched his hand towards the nearby iPad controlling the sound - then jerked it away to flip Milton the bird. 

There went the bad boy magic. 

Milton seized the opportunity to pounce on a nearby mic, which had been left connected to the audio system during their very first test run.

“I mean, when you’re doing that with your hips, kind of defeats the purpose of what you’re trying to say.” He deadpanned. “Okay, look. I get it.  We’re all very impressed. I don’t know how you did all of this yourself. But it’s like, 3:30, so please stop before you get hurt -”

“No, Milton. You don’t.’

He planted his foot into the ground. No more coy glances. His limbs stopped their pretentious fluttering, freezing solid into squared shoulders.

“You think I spent my childhood digging mass graves in Kosovo so I’d be quirky enough to sell tickets to parasocial women?” Colder than the whites of his knuckles was the fury on his face, that magazine-cover complexion wrought with something Milton couldn’t recognise. “You think I do it all for the money, the sex, the attention?”

The extra mic fell from Milton’s wrist to his side. When he knew what it was, a sharp pang in his chest forced him to look down at the sand at his feet. There were many things about Ibara that eluded him, but for the first time, something didn’t seem so alien after all.

“No, look at me.”

A quiver in his voice. The rheuminess in his eyes, coating them like glass.

The electronic beat was overtaken by Milton’s own heart.

“Being an idol is leverage. It’s release. Because I wasted 18 years of my life making myself a tool for everyone’s dirty jobs, before realising I could be more than what I was born to do.” Ibara’s wounded voice reverberated across the island. "I don’t care if you think it’s pathetic that I thrust my hips onstage for a living. Or that it’s pointless for me to act like I can do it forever. It’s the only thing in my shitty life that has ever made me feel like a person!”

With no time to waste, Milton leaned into his mic. There had to be something, anything he could say.

He was never really that good at figuring where the lines were unless it was just to cross them. With the way things turned out back home - his track record was the very thing that sent him in that shipping container in the first place. But there was nowhere else he could go - and nowhere he would rather be. He had to try. 

Static grazed his lips. 

He was stopped by the cracked gurgle of Ibara’s throat, amplified by the speaker.

“And for a while - for a really long fucking while.” Ibara shook his head, wiping his eyes with his wrist. “I thought that thing was you.”

The speakers screeched, then fell silent. The Eden member began to storm off the stage, rubbing his back and grumbling to himself. 

“What am I even doing? Ah, that hurts… ”

Milton rushed up the stage.

“You’re my number one oh-shee!”

A high-pitched whine shattered the eardrums of Milton, Ibara and probably everyone within a ten-kilometer radius. 

“Too close, too close!” The idol covered his ears, looking to be both in pain from the sound and the pronunciation. He rolled his eyes and hissed. “Hold it further from your face - ”

“I wasn’t trying to -”

Another screech.

“Still too close!” Ibara groaned, having to catch himself against the scaffolding this time.

“...Better?”

Milton assumed that was a yes, judging by how Ibara continued to walk away on the platform. It didn’t matter. He was going to put on an even more spectacular performance for this whole island, whether they liked it or not.

Whether Ibara liked it or not.

“I didn’t ask you that because I wanted to make fun of you.” Milton insisted. “I mean, of course there’s the banter, but what I really meant was - are you happy spending your whole life pleasing others!?”

Ibara’s foot didn’t touch the next step, just barely hovering over it. 

“I don’t just read the papers to find stuff to embarrass you with.” Milton furrowed his eyebrows. “I’ve seen what happens to other idols. They do the things you do and go out like a light. I just - I hate seeing you push yourself over the edge.”

“...You’re treating me like a child.”

Milton sighed and unplugged the mic.

“I guess I got so used to managing this place that I’m even trying to manage you, now.”  He walked towards Ibara and sat at the precipice of the stairs, right at Ibara’s feet. “I don’t know, I just… I love that you keep me on my toes, and I thought telling you straight up would just stop making things fun. It was an awful way to go about it. I’m sorry.”

The nest of red curls atop his head greeted the playful embrace of manicured fingers, the cool steel touch of their multitude of rings.

“You do have bad taste. But I suppose that’s one of the things that make us well-suited for each other - that being, our ill-suitedness to everyone else.”

Ibara sat down next to him.

“...Hey, Goose.”

“Mm?” Ibara mindlessly twirled his index finger around Milton’s bangs, gaze affixed to the ships passing in the night.

“If you weren’t a descendant of that Godfather of yours, would you still want to be an idol?”

His gentle whispers back held the cracks of sobriety. “I tend to find it… inefficient to focus on hypotheticals rather than the present. But a place like this defies time, slowing it down for me to realise - what I knew as inefficiency, I unmasked to reveal avoidance.”

Ibara brought a kiss to Milton’s temple. A rare display; for someone whose stage language (and bedroom language) mastered the art of innuendo, these chaste little gestures were nothing short of blasphemous in a public setting. As the tide did to his feet, he bit his tongue and let the warmth wash over him.

“Rest assured, if I were reborn into a world where I was free to choose this profession… I could have used someone like you as my producer.”

“Why be reborn? We can do it now.”

Ibara’s head tilted with surprise. 

“...I beg your pardon?”

“I just have to decide what you sing, right?” Milton grinned. Still confused, Ibara went limp like a ragdoll as he grabbed his shoulders and shook him from side to side. “Well, as your producer, I’ve decided that you can sing whatever you want.”

“My, ahem… outburst notwithstanding,” Protesting, Ibara desperately tried to mask his childlike intrigue. “Don’t you have to work in one hour?”

“Well I could think of someone who could make that one day instead. For all of us.”

The owner of the resort took one of the longest breaths he had ever taken in his life.

“Very well.” He nodded. “On one condition: you must sing with me on this very stage.”

“You got a deal. So what are we singing?”

Ibara took his hands away from Milton’s head and clasped them together, cackling.

“If I recall,  there were quite a few songs in my youth that Shuetsu Academy would never let me sing…”

Drenched in warm hues, the acrid mist from the Java Sea greeted the rolling waves, which caressed the silent graves of sea creatures across the empty shore. Birds of paradise began their whooping chorus in their nests to announce the arrival of the rising sun. 

Here, at Limbus Tropicae – the edge of the tropics, a peaceful suspension of daily life between the equally dangerous arctic ‘paradise’ and deserts of ‘hell’ — the stillness of nature created a different world to behold. 

“BUT SHE WEARS SHORT SKIRTS, I WEAR T-SHIRTS ~”

…Or at least, that was what some intern wrote on the branding kit.

“SHE’S CHEER CAPTAIN AND I’M ON THE BLEACHERS!~”

The birds scattered. Fluorescent lights cut through the smoke, revealing the stage in all its glory. But there was neither the entrancing vocals or complex manoeuvres of the idols of ES, nor a lovestruck audience to receive them.

“DREAMIN’ BOUT THE DAY WHEN YOU WAKE UP AND FIND THAT WHAT YOU’RE - LOOKIN’ FOR -”

Ibara croaked, lying flat on the floorboards like a dead fish. He swatted at a can that had toppled and rolled near his shoulders: cheap beer he’d ordered in from the nearby convenience store, the sixth one this time. 

He poked Milton’s cheek with the mic.

“...Has been here…” Milton choked back a snore and hiccuped. “ the whole time…” 

“Oho. Is that the extent of your stamina, ‘Producer’? The setlist for Eden’s final live show was thirty, if I recall.”

“Dude, we went through your whole Spotify, can you cut me some slack?” The parrot shook himself awake, groaning as he sat up. “And out of all the songs your school banned, you chose this one? Don’t know about you, but I would’ve loved growing up thinking Swifties didn’t exist.”

“It wasn’t so much of an affair related to the quality of her music, fans or even moral character.” Ibara shrugged, then grimaced. “Even today, Eden, myself and some of our fans could be identified with that sort of… profile. It wouldn’t have made sense on that basis.”

“So what was it?”

“To prepare us for an industry that permitted limited contact with the opposite sex, all love songs by female artists were banned.”

Milton scoffed and started tidying Ibara’s shirt. The inconveniences of timezones led his board meetings to happen while they shared the same bed, and before he knew it, this habit became hard to kick. 

“And how did that turn out?”

As he finished the top one, Ibara’s palm ghosted his own.

“What do you think, Pelage? That we are a happy coincidence? I’m afraid not: you have Ms. …Ms?”

“ - Yeah, still not married.”

“Good for him, whoever that is.” Ibara huffed, then continued. “But I digress: you have Ms. Swift to thank for our… arrangement. Because without those thrice-divorced temptresses that define the face of romance pop-rock, came the throes of BL CDs - some of them more explicit than others.” 

“Wait.”

“I did not own any myself.” Ibara was quick to snap. “Whatever I did was research material for Eden.”

“I mean, I don’t care. I know you’re lying.” Milton lay back down, then spread out his arms and started to make a snow angel from all the cans around him. “So you said that music was banned… but who banned it? Hey, weren’t you like the Supreme Leader of Shuetsu at the time -”

“I have a meeting in five minutes.”

Ibara picked up his own pile of cans and buried Milton in them, then sped deep into the forest.

And we've made it to the end of the fic! I'm Mod Serpent. I can't thank you enough for being interested in my yumeship, even if you just scrolled down here to see if it was really that long, haha. If you're reading this, Rumi, thank you for reblogging and taking the time to organise such an event for us all!

"Goose" is a Top Gun character. It has less to do with the character's background and film genre than Milton saying "SaeGUSa" out loud and going, "heeeey..."

Why Taylor Swift, you might ask? Well ES! is set in 2015, so any songs he would've listened to and influenced Eden would have come out a couple years before then. I just thought Taytay would be hilarious because it's so jarring compared to Ibara's self-imposed image, yet the, ahem... 'toxicity' element is there in the lyrics.

Being a future AU, Snakesling is not your standard coming of age enstars setting, and I like to imagine what problems/personal growth Ibara will face when he has to undertake adult responsibilities. I wrote my heart out in the confrontation scene - it was very emotional for me, having to empathise with his abuse and a long search for an identity not defined by his trauma.

I'm going to write lots more to unpack this. I love my dumbass snake. Stay tuned!

[sunlit-ruler]

My Feelings Deep Down

Words: 550

Pairing: Junann (Jun/Ann)

By: Mod 🐺

Something small which serves as an intro for the dynamic I will focus on in my writing. I use fics to expand on my dynamics and Jun is no exception. These will take place either during the !!!-Era or sometime after. I should probably work on a masterlist for those interested reading more when I get to it. Also gotta make up for a lack of art. Anyways, I am also writing a longer fic featuring Junann taking place during the !!-Era of Enstars. You can read it by clicking this part if interested. Keep in mind that it's not finished yet though. But enough talk! Hope you enjoy!

Nowadays Jun and I are just seeing each other here and there but not much else, at least for a good while.

Honestly, I should have returned back home by now. But my Mom unexpectedly crashed by and said that she had accepted a job right here in Japan, at Ensemble Square in fact. My father came along and so did the old timer family cat. Not just that but by sheer luck I got accepted into a special program, switching to the movie department at ES and started partaking in film studies. It's a long story honestly but for now just know that I went from part time interpreter to full time film student and assistant in various movie shoots and script writing for the idols.

We’re both busy. Jun is furthering his idol career and I have a new field of study. Our schedules don't match up these days and we hurry from one job to the next. Well, it's not as if we're that close or anything. Of course not. But it would be nice to spend a bit more time with him. But that's just too selfish to ask for.

Yet somehow things have led to this. I was just intending to take my mind off things, from work and studies. Find some time to relax, spend some time elsewhere. I recalled the manga café nearby that I wanted to check out. Yet before entering to my surprise I bumped into Jun on the way there. Usually I would assume that he was just passing by but actually he wasn't.

“I just wanted to be here and unwind. Y’know, get away from it all.” He tells me.

“Oh, I… See. Well, please–”

“Why not go in together?”

His suggestion has me flushed. “Together!? But… Rumors!? And also… Uhm…”

“It ain't that big of a deal. Just two friends hangin’ out, right?”

I suddenly stay silent yet nod. Friends… Right, just friends. What was I even thinking!? That's all we are, all we should be. And yet, why do I always feel so peeved at that reminder?  Why is it like a punch in the gut? Each time I hear it I just want to bite my lip in frustration. But he's right. I can't protest. If I said anything about how I feel I would only cause him more problems. He wants to be an idol. So being anything more than friends wouldn't be ideal for him.

His grin doesn't help things either though. It's genuine, making it hard to read. He doesn't hate me, I’m relieved. But… How does he feel about me? It can be kind of confusing sometimes. 

But I decide not to ask, shoving my feelings aside. It's the only thing I can do to not get between him and his big dream. It's best not to know, pretend that nothing is up.

“Hm? Somethin’ wrong Ann? If you're not–”

“No, it's fine! All good!” I cut him off quickly, walking past him. I need to stop the pounding in my chest somehow. And I can't let him see any of my uncontrollable blushing. “I don't mind. Let's go.”

Yeah, this is just something between friends. A mere hangout. Nothing more. It's a rare opportunity so I may as well take it.

[sunlit-ruler]

Art of my sona, Milton, and Ibara for my yume intro! A fugue state of 200+ layers total, several days, and lots and lots of hot tea 🍵

I imagined future!Ibara with much longer hair to make his silhouette bigger as the cospro CEO, like a cobra widening its hood hahaha. He has more leeway to express himself and he’ll do it with subtle but impactful statement pieces of jewelry. Milton probably got him those snake fangs from a local market near the resort lol. He wouldn’t want himself to forget his past in such a high position, either, so the aviators are a call to that.

Let me know in the comments or through asks if you want me to go through my process for a specific part (eg hair, skin, the glass), it also helps me to remember exactly wtf i did because ngl atp your guess is as good as mine 🤣

[sunlit-ruler]

My yume intro! I’ve completed my maiden launch into the yume stratosphere! you can find the full art i used for this here :3

I’m not sorry for my sona’s VC. Since most of their interactions take place in English, I had to choose an English VC for Ibara which was sooooo difficult… but I loved Chris Parnell’s role as Cyril in Archer and Jerry in Rick and Morty. I think he hits just the right amount of gap moe: nasal, wimpy kiss-ass to smug and intimidating in a split second.

Don’t have a yume piece of us together yet because my fingers need to recover, so I improvised and added some extra bits and bobs.

[sunlit-ruler]

Actually made it on EN... I actually made it!

This tour took a bit with my laziness time restraints but I'm happy. Now to grind on JP for the new Jun card.

Also this card... The unbloomed art makes me go crazy, feral even. Everytime I see it tbh. I'm having thoughts and they're not holy.

[sunlit-ruler]

Addition to say this (because I registered not too long ago that the banner is on, whoops)

I NEED TO GET TO THE GRIND OH IT'S SO OVER THEY ARE OUT FOR ME!!!

This yawn is so cute I can't- I'm down horrendous.

No I did not pull him yet but hopefully soon. I'm on the grind!

Ok I realized that I have not yet talked about the most recent Jun card drop so I will now also @ the other mods: first /j

I just love how this looks! From the angle to the outfit (you bet that I'm grinding & pulling on JP). Alsobhis grin here... It's just so cute! Then again, I love how Jun tends to grin and smile in general, he's always so adorable. No take backs, I stand by that! I never get tired of it. Also his fang is showing, that's an added bonus I'm a fang enjoyer. Jumping in joy whenever I get to see him like this.

If you excuse me though, I got DIA grinding on JP to do. Maybe with some luck I can get it pretty early as if.

[sunlit-ruler]

Ok I realized that I have not yet talked about the most recent Jun card drop so I will now also @ the other mods: first /j

I just love how this looks! From the angle to the outfit (you bet that I'm grinding & pulling on JP). Alsobhis grin here... It's just so cute! Then again, I love how Jun tends to grin and smile in general, he's always so adorable. No take backs, I stand by that! I never get tired of it. Also his fang is showing, that's an added bonus I'm a fang enjoyer. Jumping in joy whenever I get to see him like this.

If you excuse me though, I got DIA grinding on JP to do. Maybe with some luck I can get it pretty early as if.

[sunlit-ruler]

Welcome To Paradise!

Hello! This is a blog focused on the unit Eden (and its two sub units Adam & Eve) from the game Ensemble Stars! 

We are a group of 4 who run this blog and want to share our love for said unit (and the game of course)! This blog focuses on yume content specifically. We’re all Eden yumes and generally are fine with sharing! 

Meet The Mods

Heya! 🎣 I’m Mod Apple (🍎), Local eldritch being and Nagisa yume! I’m a newgen yumeshipper who goes by it/its, but generally I accept every other pronouns!  Local fake Absolute enjoyer /ij and I draw sometimes! Let’s all be filled with horrors and oddity and become one 🦑

I’m Mod Serpent (🐍, they/them), a showman at heart who loves Ratpack songs and old men with a soul that’s Melting Rouge, deep inside my heart 🎼🎷My story with my beloved bastard of a tactician begins 10 years post-canon. With all of Eden focusing on successful solo careers, CosPro CEO Ibara’s quarter-life crisis takes him to the distant shores of his new tropical resort… And that’s where we find each other.  Come escape with us to paradise - watch the sunset and swing! 🌅🍸

Hey, I'm Mod Sun 🌞 and I'm your friendly neighborhood geriatric Hiyori yume! My pronouns are she/her. I draw once in a blue moon and enjoy collecting miscellaneous merch. I'm also a huge J-Pop and idol enjoyer. I'm relatively new to the yumeship scene so be patient with me 🙂 Let's all have some fun!

Hello! You can call me Mod Hyena (🐺)! I’m a yume for Jun Sazanami (shocker)! I go by They / Them pronouns. I’m ficto so I like to say that I date Jun (I don't mind the terms selfshipper / yumejin tho). Hobbyist writer and also artist, though I write more than I draw. I love Jun a lot, to the point I want to support him all the way in his idol venture and often think about tackling him and hugging him into oblivion. I hope that you will find my ramblings entertaining.

We are all looking forward to meeting you and sharing our thoughts within the community!

More info below cut

Tagging System 

#Mod [Name / Emoji] – Posts of said Mod

#Letter Collection – Answered asks from the Inbox 

#Eden Gospel – Posts related to Eden 

#Adam Preaching – Posts related to Adam

#Eve Musing – Posts related to Eve

#Rocksolid – Posts related to Nagisa

#Mi Solecito – Posts related to Hiyori 

#Sunsetstrategy – Posts related to Ibara

#Wild Blueberry – Posts related to Jun

#Almondchoco – Nagisa Yumeship Tag

#Sunlit Rose – Hiyori Yumeship Tag

#Snakesling – Ibara Yumeship Tag

#A Duo Of Berries – Jun Yumeship Tag

Do not interact if you are...

A minor (primarily for our own comfort, all mods are 20+)

Proship / Comship / Darkship

A Fujoshi / Fudanshi

A Bigot

A Racist

A MAP (Pedophile)

A Zoophile

Other than that we will also block you if you make any of us uncomfortable.