#Makeup fusion

[candylandphotos]

Dramatic eyeshadow feather creative lipstick beauty makeup model cosmetics lipstick beauty

"Feathers of Creativity: Where Dramatic Eyeshadow Meets Bold Lip Beauty."

[nerosdayinanime]

su au lets fucking goooooo

edit: TUMBLR ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. WHY THE FUCK DO YOU SCRAMBLE SHIT WHEN I USE A READ MORE YOURE A FUCKING CUNT GOOD LORD

edit2: it added the edit but not the fucking read more. im tired

i had the brush set too small at first & didnt realize until i was already too far along- full body diamond authority is ok w the shaded fit & wings but the headshot is just. eh. kinda dislike it. im fucking obsessed with the other headshot tho

giyuu's a lapis along w tsutako, normal lapis terraforming job but some shit went down, tsutako got shattered, giyuu was left to fend for herself until she ran into a lost kunzite fresh out the ground (she had a slight imperfection, showed up as a spot along her cheek (corner of mouth to center base of ear) that looks like raw kunzite/ yk when a helmet or somethn gets shaved down sliding against a road? that)

they tough it out in the wilds for a while, they got attacked and accidentally fused to defend themselves, kept fusing when they were in trouble after that- yadda yadda meet makomo (also a gem) & sakonji and learn how to be their own person, getting their own names (giyuu got Giyuu, the kunzite got Sabito) and meeting a group of other rogue gems & making human friends

sabito got particularly interested in the concept of human masculinity & highly respected the closest man she knew, sakonji- transed his gender & chose to dedicate himself to protecting those he cares about. giyuu is very close to him and also changed pronouns & vibes bc sabito loved it so much, though he doesnt really care about human perceptions of gender (hes a pretty rock made of light, the fuck does he need a gender for? (sabito doesnt see it that way, he never got indoctrinated/had a formal gem education or whatever, so hes just vibin))

something something giyuu found a way to precisely control water, and what is ice if not Structured Water. sabito never got whatever his job as a kunzite was, but he has a similar ability as Pearl where hes able to summon a blade from his gem (rectangular cut, back of his left hand). when theyre fused they become Hawk's Eye (also know as blue tiger's eye), able to both control water(& subsequently ice) and form blades along his arms and feet; the blades on his feet allow him to ice skate, the blades on his arms are attached at two points on the forearm and is curved over the hand- the blade's allowed to spin around the arm, tip of the blade is at the point of rotation so itll be in the same spot above the hand no matter what side of the arm its on

[dragonji]

bday spoils ft. fitcheck

[otherclawdeen]

"We share the moon"🌝 🌙🌚🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

[sammydigitaleu]

[alaskassweetdump]

This weekend, my boyfriend and I celebrated our one year anniversary by going to the fanciest Italian restaurant in town.

I wore a long, white, floral, halter dress and grabbed my favorite black cardigan for just-in-caseys. When we got to our table, I felt something in the pocket of my cardigan. Low-and-behold, I had washed my About Face Cherry Pick Lip Color Butter (in Date Me) and it was now ruined.

I fluttered my lashes and asked my boyfriend (it WAS our anniversary after all) if we could go to Ulta the next day so I could get a replacement. Naturally, he obliged.

Fast-forward to Ulta. I grabbed my Date Me replacement and thought, ‘oh hell, why not?’ and grabbed Dragonfruit Fusion too (color pictured on my lips).

Nothing says ‘happy anniversary, babe’ like some yummy About Face goodies!

[themanfrommensa]

Replacement razorblade Fusion Proglide Gillette (4 uds)

Replacement razorblade Fusion Proglide Gillette (4 uds) #razor #Gillette #Fusion #proglide #Jewellery #sunblock #Innovagoods #beauty #perfumes #makeup #cosmetics #beads #bracelet #hair #necklace #shampoo #deodorant #lipstick #earring #moisturisers #conditioner #mascara #hairspray

[raguiras]

Music Weeks at NRC!

A Twisted Wonderland fan event

For a big event, Night Raven College splits into four large music groups, each with their own unique style and aesthetic. Follow the beat of your heart and create something miraculous!

These are just some quick sketches, but I'm pretty happy with them!

SHARING IS SUPER APPRECIATED!!! ♡♡♡

DEADLINE: none :) // My other ongoing event (ship art trades)

ALL INFO BELOW THE CUT!

☆ LORE ☆

RAGU Entertainment, an up-and-rising music company focusing on young talents, has offered Night Raven College a sponsorship and cooperation! The student body is being split into four large music groups, each with their own aesthetic and style. For every song made by the students, Night Raven College is rewarded with both exposure and money in exchange for promoting the company through the students' music. Some of the teens chose their groups themselves, others were assigned to one; some are performers, others work behind the scenes. Additionally, everyone is turning the music weeks into an unofficial battle — who makes the best, most well-received songs?

The NRC faculty members supervise the groups themselves, and Allen, the Ramshackle student known for his lyrical talent, organization skills and passion for music, is in charge of supervising the event's quality while simultaneously also working as the co-leader of his own group.

☆ GROUP INTROS ☆

Hazard/Riff: hip hop/rock fusion // street style aesthetic // leader: Deuce (+ Allen)

PASTEL BXMB!: bubblegum/dance pop fusion // pastel aesthetic // leader: Kalim

GLOWCHAIN: k-pop/EDM fusion //sparkly, mature aesthetic // leader: Vil

lonely lantern: indie/soft pop fusion // light academia/cottagecore // leader: Silver

The descriptions are rather vague so there's more room for you to be creative.

You obviously aren't limited to these pictures and can expand on the aesthetic as long as it's still similar! Draw your OC in whatever clothes you consider to be fitting.

☆ HOW TO PARTICIPATE ☆

Pick one of the four groups for your OC. Which one suits them best?

Use said group's designated background (scroll down in this post to find them) and make a TWST event card for your OC!

Write some voicelines, such as gacha or homescreen ones.

OPTIONAL: Make a GROOVY version portraying your OC in a music video scene (may be posted separately).

OPTIONAL: Include a few fun doodles or outfit-related stuff.

Post it with the hashtag ragu music weeks, tag (@) me so I can see it, and link this post in it!

I will link your OC's card in the official lineup section of this post.

Writing a fic, drawing something other than a card, or just doing anything creative in general is also allowed! You can obviously mix multiple of these things, too.

I'm looking forward to ALL types of entries.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ RULES ☆

No NSFW.

All types of NRC student OCs are allowed (except for fan children/another generation)! Faculty OCs are also allowed, but as supervisors instead of performers.

Your student OCs can be anything: a vocalist, rapper, dancer, instrumentalist, producer, lyricist, makeup artist, stage designer, director, choreographer, whatever! Just don't make them a co-leader without my approval.

You can obviously enter with multiple OCs!

Making cards of canon characters is technically allowed, but the event is supposed to focus on OCs. (I will draw Deuce's OFFICIAL card and maybe also some others.)

There are no canon ships (other than Deuce x Allen, which is only canon/extremely implied because Deuce's planned event lore is heavily dependent on his relationship with Allen), so please don't bash anyone for implying that their OC is dating/crushing on the same canon character as yours.

Don't make your OC beef with other people's OCs unless they've given you permission to do so.

Don't move a canon character into a different group. The official lineups can be found below.

☆ CARD BACKGROUNDS ☆

Hazard/Riff -> PASTEL BXMB! -> GLOWCHAIN -> lonely lantern

☆ OUR LINEUPS ☆

[Your OC will be added here with a link!]

Hazard/Riff (supervised by Vargas)

DEUCE, Allen, EPEL, ACE, LEONA, RUGGIE, FLOYD, Zian, Estella, Iyad, Estelle, Yuhua

PASTEL BXMB! (supervised by Sam)

KALIM, LILIA, IDIA, ORTHO, SEBEK, Carla, Bonbon, Astrid, Romeo, Fiend, Yumi, Yuya, Forsythea, Ben, Ruby, Victor (links will be added once I've regained them... they got removed 😭)

GLOWCHAIN (supervised by Crewel)

VIL, TREY, CATER, AZUL, JAMIL, MALLEUS, Ryuuni, Viviroe, Stephanie, Erin, Kyoi, Aurinelle

lonely lantern (supervised by Trein)

SILVER, JADE, RIDDLE, JACK, ROOK, Jinx, Cass, Yorrana, Illysabeth

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OUR LEADERS ☆

DEUCE: Having adapted music as an outlet for his delinquent tendencies from Allen and enjoying himself with this form of self-expression, Deuce is the born leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only have his vocals and especially his rap greatly improved by now, but he also writes lyrics together with Allen.

KALIM: Spread joy! Despite it being different from his usual aesthetics, Kalim immediately felt intrigued by the concept of PASTEL BXMB! and knew that this was the group he wanted to join. Through his naturally positive aura and ability to bring people together, he fits them incredibly well, and serves as a vocalist as well as the main dancer.

VIL: GLOWCHAIN has a mature, elegant sparkly aesthetic — it was a no-brainer that Vil would be its leader. The ambitious, talented artist makes sure that the group stands out and draws people in with his preexisting popularity and charisma. He is a vocalist as well as the visual of the group.

SILVER: Being calm, kind and well-liked, Silver is a fitting leader for lonely lanterns, an indie group welcoming to all kinds of personalities and skill levels. With his soothing vocals, good looks and somewhat odd aesthetic, he became the face of the group.

(ALLEN: Being the person who introduced music as a coping mechanism to Deuce, Allen is the co-leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only is he a talented producer and rapper as well as an exceptional lyricist, but he also has a blind understanding with Deuce, and the two spend tons of time together. When it comes to the group, Allen is perfectionistic but enthusiastic.)

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ GROUP FOCUSES ☆

Hazard/Riff: Partial usage of instruments. Focuses on rap, rock vocals, and meaningful lyrics.

PASTEL BXMB!: No usage of instruments. Focuses on positivity, good vibes and dance.

GLOWCHAIN: No usage of instruments. Focuses on aesthetics, elegance and good vocals.

lonely lantern: Partial usage of instruments. Has no focus and is the most open-minded group.

☆ INSPIRATION PLAYLISTS ☆

Hazard/Riff — PASTEL BXMB! — GLOWCHAIN — lonely lantern

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OTHER EVENT NOTES ☆

You're very much allowed to include my designs, Allen (his profile is linked in the leader section), or the Deuce x Allen ship (they have duo magic too!) in your OC's card's groovy version. No need to ask for my permission!

Interactions between your OC and Allen are very much encouraged! Feel free to mention him in your OC's voicelines, too.

I'll make a card for Allen, and I'll also make Deuce's OFFICIAL card. If the mood strikes me, I'll possibly also draw official cards for some other canon characters.

I'll reblog every entry on my reblog blog and also link all entries in this post!

If this event ends up being well-received, I'll do a second part someday! So far, the idea is that it would be vkei/electro swing/weirdcore/Europop.

All resources were found on and downloaded from Pinterest, then edited. The event art was drawn by me.

If you have any questions, please leave a comment!

[cheralith]

vogue — 「 boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader 」

synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink?

content tags/warnings ; gn!reader, use of they/them pronouns, mild language, traditional japanese basis of (l/n) (f/n) used, reader wears glasses, makeup, and heeled boots, some mild manga and jjk 0 spoilers (three minor characters from each are introduced), uhhh suguru being a dick lawl, some parts not edited/not beta read

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned ****!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, mild angst, some crack if you squint

word count ; 10.2k

notes ; heavily inspired by "the devil wears prada" and "paradise kiss", so there'll be some references i've dropped within this—see if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.

now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai

It’d be foolish not to know the household name of Geto Suguru, the ultimate male muse of Jun Takahashi whose title has yet to be reigned by another. He was the ultimate breathing mannequin of the iconic Yohji Yamamoto piece he had worn on the Milan runway back when he was just a teenager. It was one of the most staple pieces of the new century that helped open the gates of the mixing of world culture and avant garde fashion—an England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojōu-gesa splattered with weaves of gold—and it was that very piece that rose him to the top of the fashion world as one of the most powerful names in global fashion.

And how could he not? At seventeen, he was scouted as a model for Gaulthier and became his muse at the ripe age of twenty before several other worldwide designers began to fight for his eyes. It was only a few shrewd years later that he’d open up his own successful fashion line, RIIKO, named in honor of his late sister, resulting in it becoming one of the fashion line pillars in the modern century. 

It didn’t take long after that, due to his fame and distinct education from Jujutsu University, rising to the top for Kaizen fashion magazine and ruling it with an iron fist and several cups of coffee with almost all his designs on display for all to see in the office. It was due to his work that Kaizen became the powerhouse of powerhouses of fashion editorials and magazines and it was solely his work that made fashion what it was in present times. 

Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodel’s name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru. 

So it’s understandable that many had called you a fool—a dimwit, even—for not understanding how big of a deal it was to become his junior assistant after lazily submitting your resume. Originally, you had just wanted to become a simple lifestyle journalist for papers like Sankei Shimbun or The Japan Times, but seeing how it was between a seemingly mysterious fashion magazine that mentioned, received gasps, or the measly and homely newspaper of The Hokkaido Tribune, a magazine you knew would only give new journalists the scraps of what they earned, the choice was obvious. 

Whatever gave you more money, you’d take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?

“Do not tell me you’re going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?” Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. “You’re going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.”

You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (don’t mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that there’s nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it. 

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. “What on earth do you know about fashion?”

“Enough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,” he states simply as he shoves a donut in his mouth. He kicks his feet up on the table, making you cringe at their nakedness. “Trust me, change if you can. Make a statement for ‘em.”

Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that you’ve worn since early college. “And at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they don’t like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.”

“Can’t find them,” you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. “I’m already late, anyway,” you sigh, “Listen, if I don’t come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him. 

You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldn’t even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. There’s nothing wrong with the gray, you think. It’s safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and you’d much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble. 

Stretching out a hand on the street, you call for a taxi and humbly enter as you smooth out your trousers. The taxi driver eyes you in the rearview mirror with a questioning glint in your eye. “Job interview?” he asks.

“Oh, um,” you nod your head. “Yep! I'm a little nervous, haha.”

“Really?” he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. “Better get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?”

“Kaizen Magazine,” you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.

“Kaizen?” questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. “As in the… the fashion magazine?” 

You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didn’t know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didn’t up until a few weeks ago. 

“I see…” he mutters. The drive there is a mix of silence and everyday morning conversations, before he pulls up to the building that held the key to your dreams. “Well then, here’s your stop.” 

You let out a little gasp of excitement. “Thank you so much,” you reply as you shove some cash into the slot. 

“Hm, well,” the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, “Good luck, Plain Jane.”

You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. “Sorry, what was that?”

But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all that’s left is a billow of smoke and cinders. Dazed and confused, you quickly shake those feelings off before you head inside to the building that was now your shining beacon of hope with a determined smile still plastered on your lips. White is the first thing that greets you when you enter the building as it was essentially aired out onto every corner. White marble counters, white tile flooring with white grout, white frames of fashion icons—the white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You haven’t even met Geto Suguru yet, but you understood already that he expected nothing but excellence.

You ride up the elevator quietly and alone, trying not to focus on how your anxiety increased with each ding of the passing floors. The elevator screen seems to almost taunt you as it closes in on your doom, the numbers getting closer to the designated floor until it slowly pauses and shone brightly the number 21 in stippled red.

The doors slowly open and the light seeps itself back to your vision, white flooding your senses again. You carry yourself carefully down the hallway whilst taking your time to admire the many framed pictures of past magazines, multiple runway models, and scraps of newspaper articles. One specific piece catches your attention, however; it was large, almost half your body size and framed in a gilded black frame. It was a picture of a mannequin wearing a tawdry gray-black robe with the kanji characters of “summer” painted with purple messily atop. Layered was a loose, but well-fitted piece of thick green and gold cloth that looked much more refined to the messiness of the other materials. 

You stare at it for what seemed to be forever whilst admiring the contrast and beauty of the work before your name is called out.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?”

Your trance breaks from the voice approaching you. You turn to see a short and young woman with dark blue eyes staring at you with a raised brow. “That’s you I presume?” she asks.

“Oh! Uh,” you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. “Yes… yes, that’s me. I assume you’re Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?”

She nods slowly, her eyes going to study your outfit which was a rather stark contrast to her own attire that highlighted an emphasis on shades of opal and navy. Her eyes have a similar glint in the way that Ino’s and the taxi driver’s had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather… something.

“I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion,” she murmurs. Sarcasm going undetected by you, you grin as a response and think that a compliment from her was a sign you did something right. Her eyes go to rise back and meet yours again before she turns and redirects you to the end of the hallway where some rooms belonging to subordinal editors sat in, clacking away at the computers. There was one singular room that held the only door on the floor and it doesn’t take you long to assume who it belongs to considering the large letters of GS frosted onto the glass.

Two desks stood on each side of the door, one completely devoid of life and decorations. Manami guides you to the empty one and patted the top of it. “This will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.” 

Manami taps on her clipboard a couple of times, listing off a couple of requirements that you were most likely going to need in the future: efficient time management, ability to fight for what Geto wants, sharp memory, quick feet…

“And uh…” Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, “... a good wardrobe.”

You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“A good, warm…” she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. “... welcome to start off his day.”

She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. “Got it!”

Manami tours you around the floor of the office, letting you say hello to your future coworkers that work in the cubicles that send you worried looks behind your back. They obviously seem too pitying of you, knowing that your fate would be sealed as Geto’s potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract.  

“This is Human Resources,” Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. “You’ll contact them if you have any—” her phone dings suddenly. Casually, she pulls it out, only for all of her resolve to disappear in an instant. Manami then abruptly blows a whistle with her teeth, alerting everybody in the radius.

“Everybody! His morning facial was canceled!” Manami hollers. “Geto is coming in…” her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manami’s heart instantly drops. “Oh God… he’s in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,” she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. “Come with me.”

Manami takes back to where you first started and orders you to stand in the front of the blank desk with a look that screams both fright and anxiousness all in one. She lists off too many tasks that you need to do before he comes, but you’re so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you can’t even remember the first thing she told you. 

“Help me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before he—”

The elevator dings and all goes quiet; Manami tosses the magazines over her shoulders and positions herself firmly in her place, gesturing for you to do the same. The doors open and unveiled from two bodyguards is a man—a tall man, around six feet or perhaps even taller—dressed in noir fitted pants and a matching button-up closed only halfway to reveal a silk navy turtleneck. Caped behind him is a black velvet trenchcoat that you’re sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. He’s slightly sunkissed, with blue-black tresses of hair with a soft bang sneaking through and large plated earrings to match. His eyes, however, show a tint of color—a sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.

But he’s almost hauntingly attracting—like a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful. 

“Good morning, Geto,” Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.

Geto doesn’t reply, just merely giving a silent blink before he sheds his coat off and tosses it aimlessly towards Manami. It proves to be heavier than anticipated, giving how she fights to groan from the weight of it. He’s handed his briefcase from one of the bodyguards and begins to open the door to his office until he pauses and turns and glances at you, the stranger.

“Hello,” you state with a slight bow. “I-I’m one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name is—”

“(Y/N),” Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. It’s all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. “(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?” 

 Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. “Yes, that’s me.”

Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, “In my office.”

You glance at Manami for confirmation, only given back with a jut of her head towards the door. All the unease you felt in the elevator comes hurdling back to you in an instinct and you feel as if you were no more than a peasant to someone that was essentially royalty in the fashion world. 

Geto turns his chair to face away from you, shuffling a few papers over each other that appears to be your resume, before he spins it slowly towards you. He kicks his feet up lazily on his desk. 

“It’s nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,” he says. His voice is still the same—a little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds… bored. Unamused even. “A bachelors in print journalism… same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?”

You fight to fiddle with your glasses as you watch as Geto tangibly toys with his own, with his focus angled on the papers in front of him rather than you. “Um, I assume so. Though I believe they’re actually retiring this year.”

“Good,” he sighs in what seems to be relief. “Shame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.”

“Really?” you quietly question. You had only taken their class a few semesters ago and thought despite their rather… all too lenient disposition… you did learn quite a lot in their class. “I thought they were a rather alright teacher…”

Regret pools in your mouth from the moment you have finished your sentence. Geto finally goes to look at you from the edge of his glasses with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. 

“Tengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,” Geto declares. “Though, I’ll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.”

A laugh that’s just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. “I suppose I had learned just a few things…”

“Mmh,” Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. “Well. Let’s start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?” 

Geto already feels the cliche comments erupting. Had the person in front of him say at least one of them, he was ready to insert the papers he was holding into the nearby shredder. Or maybe out the window this time, he wonders—something nice for a change.

“I was inspired by your work.” 

“It’s been my dream to work at Kaizen.”

“Fashion is my absolute passion.”

“I want to—”

“I’m just in need of a job, really,” you say lifelessly. 

He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesn’t say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating you’ve piqued his interest. “Well, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?”

You clear your throat. “I had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious mag—”

“‘Recently’?” Geto repeats quietly. “You hadn’t heard of us before?” 

Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. “My specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-I’m not too knowledgeable in that area.”

Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. It’s then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothing—it confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesn’t do much to ease your brain. 

“Continue,” Geto gestures and takes off his glasses to look at you, or you suppose your outfit, more properly. He folds his hands and places his chin on top of them. “You said you only learned about us not too long ago?”

“Yes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,” you explain. It’s only then you realize that your declaration sounds absolutely ludicrous and almost disrespectful to the editor-in-chief of the most iconic fashion magazine in the nation. “Connections are quite powerful in this day and age, haha…”

“I suppose,” Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. “What about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?”

Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that it’s almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.

He sighs. “Do you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?”

“Well, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,” you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).

Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.

“Um,” you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. “N-no…”

“Then tell me,” he continues smoothly. “Why exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadn’t even heard of my name, let alone my magazine, until recently. What is there within that makes you want to work here other than you just… what was it that you said?” He air-quotes mockingly, “‘needing a job?’”

Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly can’t get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Geto’s profession. And that’s all the response he needs to make his decision. 

His hand takes the packet again and to your horror that you fight to keep in, inserts it into the paper shredder. The groan of it rumbles through the room agonizingly and you realize that Ino is going to have the time of your life planning your doomsday. 

Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. “You may go.” 

With a swift flick of his wrist, Geto dismisses you with a slight edge to his murmuring as he puts back on his glasses to examine the morning newspaper to not waste any more incessant time in the day. 

You don’t even attempt to fight back with any poor excuses. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the sting of them frustrating you to your wits end. Instead, you gather the last of your resolve and bid him through a strained throat good day and make your leave, humiliation and disappointment trailing not too far behind. 

You hope that Ino will give a nice eulogy, at least.

Out of all the miracles that await you in life, you do not expect the one that comes in the form of an early morning phone call that wakes you at the ass-crack of dawn. When you pick it up with sleep still very much embedded in your eyes, it dissipates in the instant you hear Manami’s voice. It’s only then that it hits you why on earth she was calling so early and why she was demanding to know your whereabouts, claiming you were going to be late on your first day of work. 

You think it’s some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manami’s voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguru’s junior assistant. 

You don’t know how, but you don’t waste any time questioning how on earth you landed in such a position because you leap out of bed at 7:23 a.m. and manage to do your morning routine in the matter of what you think is a record-breaking fifteen minutes. Your ruckus manages to wake up deep-sleeping Ino, who, when you excitedly tell him to postpone your funeral, gives a groggy thumbs up before drooling back into his pillow. It’s 7:38 a.m. when you shove on your shabby coat and you realize you only have a mere twenty-two minutes left until you have to officially clock in for work. 

At 7:40, you’re out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasn’t too far from where you lived.

At 7:47, you’re at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Geto’s coffee.

7:50, you’re sticking your hand out waving desperately for a taxi and tip extra to make the driver speed through as you attempt to make sure the coffees don’t spill out of their containers.

7:58, you arrive at the building and just barely make it into the narrow gap of a tight-fitting elevator, earning stares from the others from your rather… frazzled appearance.

At 8:02 a.m., you dash out the elevator and officially clock in for your first day at work at Kaizen Magazine amidst a birdnest of hair, clothes that were plucked out of your hamper, and what you pray to the heavens above are hefty layers of deodorant and perfume since you were given no time to shower.

When Geto comes in that day, all suave and composed, he takes one good look at you before sighing and focusing his attention to the more refined Manami and lets her take the gears for the day. The only attention he gives you that morning is the rough toss of his heavy coat—a cashmere pearl peacoat today—flung at your arms that nearly makes you tumble from its weight.

You quickly learn that working for Geto requires high demand and maintenance, as he is not one to skip over any details in his day. Not even three hours in your first day, you already have to plan out his future meetings, reschedule one with a rather feisty and insistent client, edit a forest of emails, finishing by dashing out five blocks on foot to the two michelin star restaurant to retrieve Geto’s weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only would’ve gotten half the tasks you had completed by the end of the usual eight hours, but you realized early on that you had barely scratched the surface of your future in Kaizen.

You think that after plating his steak with the shakiest of hands, you finally have time to relax during lunch time when you see the small hand of the clock finally hit 12:00 p.m. , especially since you and him were left alone in his part of the office together. But the moment that Geto saunters into the office again, he tends to you once again with a final task by himself.

“(Y/N),” he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly. 

You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. “Yes, Mr. Geto?”

“No need for such formalities,” he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. “They make me feel old, and I’m surely not much older than you are…” you think that’s the longest he’s spoken to you since the day had started. “Did Leibovitz confirm?”

Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. “D-did who confirm?”

He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. “Leibovitz. Did she confirm?”

Silence fills the office, much like the silence that drowned you back at the interview. He clicks his tongue and dismisses you with a disappointed shake of his head. “Just go on your lunch,” he mutters, sighing.

Manami, the savior that she is, is called into the office after her break and is asked the same task and you watch with humiliation whilst packing your things to go on your lunch as she picks up the telephone and speaks to someone over the line before confirming to Geto that, “I’ve got Annie!”

“He hates me, Taku!” you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. It’s ten in the evening and you’ve just come home after what was supposed to be an 8-5 shift. You suppose you should be used to this already after two months of working for the Lucifer donned ritually in white in the building, but you don’t know how much your sanity (and body) can take. 

Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasn’t familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that he’s beginning to pile you with the more urgent and busier duties and that he often stares you down more menacingly in the morning with those piercing purple eyes of his, like you were gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. You thought it was just him being normal Geto Suguru, the man with the expectations higher than the clouds, and that you just were still adjusting to such a high-intensity environment, but it was today that your world came crumbling down when you overheard him muttering to his associates about you, tone icier than ever.

You were on the other side of the door, a fist going to rap on the glass with the other holding his afternoon coffee pick-me-up when you heard it.

“... can’t even do the most miniscule things right,” Geto had groaned. “I ask if Lanvin’s models are all good to go for next Thursday’s shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask ‘How do you spell Lanvin’? For fuck’s sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.”

You hadn’t heard Geto swear since you had started working there, but something about his venomous tone enunciating such words had made your blood run cold from the other side of the door. Not having the courage to face him after that, you left his coffee on Manami’s desk for her to tend to with a post-it note saying a sorry excuse for yourself before letting your eyes sob frustratingly in the bathroom, isolated from others.

The last time you had cried that hard was way back in childhood, where you had broken your arm from falling down a tree branch. But you think that Geto’s words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will. 

“It’s a miracle how I haven’t been fired yet… I don’t even know why he hired me!” you wail.

Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you can’t tell if it’s a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that it’s both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you. 

“First off, you need to eat,” he presses, staring at your gaunt features. “The way your face is swallowing is making me feel like I’m living’ with a ghost. You’ve lost some weight, I’ve noticed.”

Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize he’s right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. They’ve never been so cavern before. You suppose it’s because of the lack of proper meal time between your days and how you often eat small and very late dinners back at home, truly not enough needed fuel for you.

“Secondly,” Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what he’s about to say because of your current disposition but goes through with it anyway. He might as well rip the bandaid off now to let more time for the wound to heal. “You won’t like what I’m ‘bout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.”

An aching body rises up from the table. You go to stare at Ino through glazed eyes and a pouty lip, asking him what he meant.

“Ah nope! Don’t give me that face and don’t play coy with me,” he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He can’t—he shouldn’t give you the easy way out and just say to quit—not when you’ve been earning so much bank that rent isn’t a problem for either of you anymore. He wonders, though, for a moment if so much money is worth your rationality.

He drags a hand down his face before placing his chin on it, examining your haggard appearance. “What I mean is that you need to see through Geto’s eyes. See what he sees when he looks at you. Tell me, if you had an assistant that showed up wearing things that looked like they were plucked from the clearance bin at a thrift store and didn’t show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all things…” Ino eyes you with a raised brow. “You startin’ to follow me?”

Your fingers fiddle with each other. “... sorta.”

“Now listen,” he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. “I already know what you’re ‘bout to say about me not knowing’ how to dress in shit other than black and more black, but even I know that you should put in more effort into your appearance. That’s the first step.”

“But I have—!” you exclaim helplessly, “I-I swear, I’ve been trying to… but it’s not my fault that it isn’t up to his standards.”

Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. “Free up your weekend,” he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. “I’m no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?”

“And remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in today’s fashion world,” Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom that’s been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. “I’m so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.”

The past weekend had been filled with endless shopping trips and you shuffling in and out of clothes every minute, practicing how to pair items and colors together by Yuki’s teachings. Of course you should’ve known that Ino was going to contact the one person that he was within reach that was essentially a walking encyclopedia when it came to fashion. You’ve met Tsukumo Yuki before, found her to be quite delightful even, but you never anticipated she would be this giddy, especially about clothes of all things.

And she used her brain to good use for not only clothes, but the entirety of yourself. You never knew how much just a simple haircut could do your face along with small hints of makeup to emphasize the best parts of it. Dared not your hands go to a lash curler, but here you are now, making sure your powder compact and lipstick for the day was in your bag before you went out. 

“Uh, I don’t think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,” you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. “Are you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? I’m okay with just borrowing them.” 

“Nonsense, babe,” she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet that’s now bursting with many clothes given by her. “I needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.”

So (Y/N)’s closet is basically her trash can, a particular shaggy brunette thinks with a roll of his eyes. Ino fiddles with the piece of toast in his mouth as he leans on the doorway, watching as Yuki essentially treats you like her very own Barbie doll at such an odd morning hour. 

“(Y/N)’s not a doll, Yuki,” Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. “You better get ‘em out the door soon or else they’ll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlord’s been on our ass about increasing our rent…” he mutters, sniffing. “Damn bastard.”

She snaps at Ino to be quiet and let her work before she shuffles on a regal blue overcoat over your shoulders that completes your look. When you look at yourself finally in the mirror, you almost think there’s a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. It’s a simple outfit with not much layering, but it’s still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. You’re adorned in a white weaved sweater with flared, light-wash jeans and white boots to match. Over the outfit lies the coat that drapes almost like a king’s mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.

Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. “How’re you feeling, hun?” she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. “Don’t you look wonderful?”

You know that it was all her work, it was all her creativity that made you into the artwork that you are now, so breathlessly laugh with a smile on your painted lips and thank her quietly once more before whispering, “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

Her eyes study you for another minute, going to stare at the glasses still atop your face. Yes, they were new and much more modern considering she quite literally called your old pair atrocious, snapped them in half, and tossed them over her shoulder, but she was still quite dissatisfied when you told her about your hesitance about using contacts. “Are you sure you don’t want to give contacts another chance?” she sighs. 

You shake your head with a small smile, “I’ll feel completely naked without them,” you murmur, “Besides, I think they actually compliment this look, if I’m being honest.”

Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used. 

“Well then!” she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. “We wouldn’t want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Let’s get you a cab!”

Somehow, you think you really are at your first day at work again from the way you feel that same fluttering in your stomach and from how the people you’ve once grown accustomed to seeing in the early mornings are not merely passing you with mundane nods of their heads but instead, greeting you with wide-eyed gawks and open-mouthed smiles. Some of them, a few who you knew but never spoke a word to, even do a double take and compliment you aloud on the new look. Even the cute barista in the lobby that never bothered to spell your name right at last did after finally taking a good look at the holder of the card.

When you exit out of the elevator, Manami nearly drops the pile of magazines she’s holding when she spots a refined and refreshed you. You offer a bright smile to her and you watch as her gasp slowly forms into an affirmative grin when you round your desk.

She laughs softly. “And who might you be?” she asks with a tease in her voice. “‘Cause last time I checked, that’s my coworker (Y/N)’s desk.”

“I murdered them,” you shrug nonchalantly, earning another chuckle from her. You take it as a good sign, great even, considering up until now, Manami had been rather stoic and a little indifferent towards you because of your amateurism; but now, you suppose that ditching that Plain Jane from just two days ago is finally beginning to do you good by finally grounding a proper relationship with her. “Shame, isn’t it? Poor thing.”

“Truly,” she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. “Don’t tell me those are—”

“—the new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?” you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. “Oh yeah.”

Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. “How on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! I’ve been looking for them fo—”

The elevator dings again but with a tone that makes you and Manami flinch. Both of you stiffen and straighten out your posture, falling into a thick silence when out comes Geto traipsing out like he usually did—his aura being nothing less than dominating. You and Manami chime out in sync a good morning to him as he saunters towards his office as he begins to shuffle off his coat as usual to toss to you until he looks up and catches you in his field of vision.

He stops all of a sudden with his eyes dancing about your figure, a stark contrast to the rest of his paralyzed body. Geto’s lips thin all of a sudden, and so do his eyes when they scan your outfit. He takes in a sharp breath and opens his mouth to say something to you, yet nothing comes out, even as your eyes glisten with anticipation.

It merely instead zips itself close and he finally whisks himself into his office, coat still on and briefcase still in hand, and slams the door shut. 

But not without glancing at you one last time.

Much has changed in the past month for the better.

Yuki was a godsend—she had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sorts—because you swore your career life had taken a complete 180° the moment your closet was revamped. Ever since that makeover, you had felt so much more confident in your actions, so much lighter on your feet. The price of your efforts was beginning to pay off as well, as Geto began to slowly thaw his icier sense of self when you began to actually put effort into your appearance. His thrusts of his coat towards you began to become less aggressive, was significantly more lenient when it came to more of the impossible tasks, and had at one time actually muttered a ‘good morning’ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.

She’d occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didn’t want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it that’d usually read “With love, YT ❤” in neat cursive. Along with forming a close bond with Yuki, your relationship with Manami improved significantly, especially when you gave her those white Louboutins she was eyeing. She often invited you to lunch with her other friends, Larue and Remi. 

The iconic John Galliano once said that, “The joy of dressing is an art.” A month ago, you would’ve never believed what you would think is a rather tacky statement, but now, you can truly see it to believe it. It never occurred to you to actually look at your surroundings closely, but you often would sometimes take a few seconds out of your day to admire the many colors and materials that would adorn your coworkers. Whether it be admiration for their sense of style or mild jealousy over luxurious pieces, you were finally understanding what makes fashion, fashion.

And your epiphany was awarded today with the task that you thought would never come into the light of your days working for Geto—being tasked with dropping off The Book.

The Book was a collection of pieces that were needed for the upcoming edition of the magazine, regarding it as being the most important item in the entire company. It was a duty that usually Manami tended to, but she hypothesized that you managed to finally get on Geto’s good side after a while and congratulated you. Manami spoke to you briefly about how trivial The Book was to both Geto and Kaizen. She told you about how you must guard it and Geto’s key to his penthouse with your life, and that you were to remain absolutely invisible to him if he was in the apartment. Manami told you because it was usually the hour he needed most concentration—it was during the later hours of the day that he usually mended last minute edits to the edition or he was working on his latest fashion collection since he was only able to work on it during the weekends as Kaizen took too much of his time.

Manami told you he would most likely be found on the second floor of his penthouse, and you were to remain on the first floor at all costs. 

“The editors will finish The Book around 10:30 or 11:00 at night, wait in the office until then. Then, drop the book off at his penthouse at no later than 11:30 with his dry cleaning, too.”

Her words echo in your mind as you tiptoe out of the cab and look up to see a gleaming, glamorous building sitting in the heart of the city. It’s one you’ve passed a plenty of times—hell, you pass it on your way to work—but it never occurred to you that it’d be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss. 

“Take the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, don’t wander around, don’t even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.”

The only doors that are on the very top floor of the apartment complex are two large metal doors that sit before you. You enter the key into the keyhole and push them open with controlled force, closing them as quietly as possible with Manami’s whispers still floating about your head. You knew that Geto was certainly a man of luxury, but to see that wealth exempt in a form other than fashion was a sight that you weren’t sure if your eyes deserved to feast on. Sculptures and paintings decorated the foyer and hallway, adding occasional splashes of color to the ivory-adorned apartment. After hanging the dry cleaning in the designated coat closet, the first room you enter - and perhaps the only one you’ll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.

“Place The Book on the coffee table in the living room. That’s it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. It’s for your own good.”

But oh, how curiosity is just a little devil of temptation that sits far too easily on your shoulder. A house holds the most of a person, and Geto is just an all too mysterious enigma for you not to at least dip your toe in. The doors at the end of the hallway are waiting for you, but so are the picture frames that sit atop the TV stand. You suppose… maybe another minute wouldn’t hurt.

Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. There’s only two of them—six by fours, both in oak brown frames. The first one is a picture of a smiling young girl with short chestnut hair sporting a smile with a cigarette between her teeth. Beside her are two boys taller than her, both making similar faces at the camera. One of them, the one that’s a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesn’t require much brain power to know the other figure in the photo is a younger Geto Suguru, his hair shorter in a tight bun with a rare, but soft grin on his face, his gaze affectionate to the others.

The other picture is of the same two boys arm in arm with each other. Both of them are grinning now, with the white haired boy still smiling a little more largely than the other. It doesn’t take long for you to assume who the other boy was considering that the shade of purple sheathing his twinkling eyes is unique to only one individual in your life. 

Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldn’t do much harm, but how utterly wrong your thoughts prove when you suddenly hear the slam of a door from the floor above. The crash of it makes you yelp and breaks you out of your trance from the pictures and your gaze suddenly snaps to the open stairs above you, as well as two voices echoing aloud. 

“Y-you can’t—” an unknown voice wheezes. “I’ve been your muse for years. You possibly can’t just abandon me out of nowhere…”

“You say that as if I’m not doing that right now,” a familiar one replies back boredly. It’s Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because it’s in that moment that you remember that you can’t get caught inside of his house. “This is the last time I’m telling you, Shigemo. Get out.”

The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. “You need me,” he declares.

“Needed. Past tense,” Geto corrects as he almost forces Shigemo down the stairs with an invisible force surrounding him. You can see their figures above you, Shigemo slowly stepping backwards with each step Geto takes forward. “You’ve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.”

“I’m not a food,” Shigemo snivels. “I’m a person. Most importantly. I’m the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. We’re essentially a team.”

They’re towards the end of the staircase, towards where you are still present in plain sight. Your eyes scatter about a place to hide in the meantime, but there are seemingly no places to hide that would hide you well without the notice of Geto’s eyes.

“A team?” Geto barks out a sarcastic laugh, one that makes shivers run down your spine from both the rarity of the sound and how utterly intimidating it is. “I work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.”

“Who will you have then?” Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. “You know that I’m the only one that will tolerate you. It’s not like you can go crawling to Goj—“

“Finish that sentence and see what happens,” Geto hisses, causing the other man to fall into a forced silence.

Your eyes finally land on the small space between the fireplace and a pillar. It’s a space large enough for you to fill and efficient enough to hide you from sight. Unsticking your feet from the ground, you make a run for the small space, only for you to forget about the obstacle that was the ottoman sitting spitefully on the floor.

The thud that comes from your body almost rivals the volume of the door slamming open moments earlier and just like the door, it attracts unneeded attention. Geto and Shigemo stop their bickering for a moment to search for the cause of the sound, only to see you humiliatingly face first on the floor. Geto narrows his eyes at the sight of you, an unwanted visitor in his home. 

A pained groan slips from your lips accidentally. You silently curse yourself for not taking the time to properly break into the tantalizing loafers Yuki bought you the day prior and wince at the pain blooming from your knees and chest. When you finally get up, you can’t help but notice that everything around you seems rather… hazy.

“Who is that…” Shigemo mutters.

Geto bites back a sigh and instead, pinches the bridge of his nose. He supposes that despite your improved mannerisms, your clumsiness still has yet to dissipate. Annoyed, he grunts out, “One of my new assistants.”

Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesn’t need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. “I thought I told you to leave,” he states, shoving his bag towards him.

Shigemo’s face paints a horrified expression once again. “Geto, please rethink this,” Shigemo pleads. 

He lets out a chain of pleads and excuses for himself as Geto essentially escorts him out with just walking towards him, his face still icy. Shigemo ends up on the other side of the door to his penthouse and it’s there where his patheticness exudes the most—he falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming he’d do anything and everything just to be by his side. 

But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemo’s whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.

“I don’t think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,” Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where you’re still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. “So tell me, why are you still here?”

At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. You’re sure you looked utterly stupid and a mess right now, considering that you had just lost a fight to an ottoman out of all things, but you couldn’t let Geto see you in such a state. It didn’t take you long to realize that the reason why everything around you looked so blurry was because of your now-missing glasses that you attempted to look around for. But you pulled a Velma, and just like her, you can’t see without your glasses.

Everyone thinks it’s an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. You’ve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didn’t appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times you’d take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too big—others mentioned you looked “off” and “weird” without them. Either way, comments from the other children stuck with you like scars, and ever since then, you refused to be seen without them. 

“I a-apologize,” you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldn’t see how much of a clutter you are. You’ve humiliated yourself too much already in the office and the last thing you truly need is for you to get fired merely because your curiosity got the better of you. “I was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs and—”

Your words fall deaf on Geto’s ears. He lets out another groan while stretching the aching muscles in his neck as he closes in on your disorderedness. A hand goes to shield your face—you don’t want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didn’t bother wearing makeup today. You can’t even bear the thought of him looking at it. In a rushed state, you wander around for your glasses with your head tucked in, using the remnants of your hair to curtain your face.

A jumble of excuses tumble out of your quivering lip, but Geto is too preoccupied with the gleam of something catching his eye. Laying flat on the floor are a pair of glasses that doesn’t take Geto long to presume who they belong to. He plucks them from the ground and examines them for a brief moment before holding them above you. 

“I assume these are yours,” he asserts with a cocked brow.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice directly right above you and through your foggy field of vision is the seraphic figure of Geto holding what seems to be your glasses. Lips escaping a relieved gasp, you hurriedly scramble to your feet. Your eyes are too poor to see it properly, but Geto also shares surprise, but for an entirely different reason.

He doesn’t give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because he’s much too preoccupied studying your face. It’s so… fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. The way your eyes are wide open, pupils blown with a touch of singularity makes him even more intrigued because of how they’re uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to them—your cheekbones, perfectly rounded. The slope of your nose fell just right. Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space—wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

When his eyes stare at you in what seems to be bewilderment, you swallow thickly and look away. But you can only glance at your surroundings for less than a second before Geto takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your face toward him again. It’s then that you realize that Geto isn’t staring at you, but your face as a whole. His eyes flick with small movements, dancing about as they go from eyebrow to lips, freckle to lash, examining each and every single particle that your face has to offer.

You feel a heat creep onto your cheeks. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you can’t detect his opinions on the one thing you’ve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Geto’s thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.

“Has your face always been this open…?” he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face. 

You aren’t sure whether it’s a compliment or insult, either or neither. Geto’s tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

“My glasses…” is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Geto’s face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart. 

“Oh,” he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. “Right.”

Shaking hands go to put them back onto your face again. Sighing internally of relief of your now crystal-clear surroundings, you dust yourself off with your head once more, tucked into your chest. 

“I’m so sorry for this,” you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. “I-I’ll make sure this never happens again… good night.”

With that, you scurry yourself out before Geto has the chance to falter. All words to urge you to stay to either scold you or excuse you evaporate on his tongue. He can only watch in a strange silence as your figure rushes down the hall and out the doors, the click of them ringing out in his penthouse.

After moments of self-paralysis, an unknown feeling boils inside the pit of Geto’s stomach. He thinks he’s seen your face before with the familiarity of it unsettling him. The ghost of your face prances about in his mind as he slowly climbs the stairs to his sewing room, ignoring the shattered wine glass on the floor thrown by Shigemo. He instead, refills his own glass again with the nearby bottle of merlot wine and savoring the thickness of it running down his dry throat, embellishing in its warmth.

A single, large window faces the busy nighttime street and Geto walks and stills near it, watching carefully as the speck of your figure on the street below calls for a cab. He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it’s a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he’s picked up) before you shuffle yourself into a cab that speeds off into the night.

Geto lets out an annoyed click of his tongue. Something about your face seems haunting and he doesn’t enjoy it. The last thing that he needed for today was even more plaguing thoughts in his head after the loss of his muse not even just ten minutes ago, but now with your face staining the back of his head, his jaw grits in irritation. In a poor attempt to take his mind off the excursion of today and the future, he shuffles about his many sketchbooks to look for any designs he could pluck out for his latest collection. 

It’s an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasn’t found a single piece to begin working on that fits into his theme. Miraculously, through the vast array of what is thought to be thousands of sketches, Geto hasn’t found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. It’s an early one—he thinks it dates back to his early college days, when he was just beginning to peek into the world of fashion. A pang of nostalgia hits him all of a sudden when he flips to a specific page that was the start of his history.

It’s the very design that had the attention of many designers. The sketch featured a gold and red embellished outfit, a sheen of glittering flickers adorning it. The shirt features a mosaic of gold and small flecks of color here and there, imitating the many church mosaics he’d often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them. 

It’s not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? He’s seen it many times before. It’s been brought up over and over again—in interviews, in magazines. It’s one of the staples that made Geto the pillar that he is. He knows every detail of it, much like his other designs, so it isn’t the design of the outfit that made him appalled. It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it. 

Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model’s face that he had drawn years ago…

… somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

a/n: first jjk fic in forever! wowie it's been much too long... also if u need a refresher on who shigemo is, he's the guy with the ponytail that nanami pulled kekeke

10.2k is hefty i know but i couldn't help myself my bad lolol T_T currently just a test run of what i hope to be is a series that some may be interested in because clearly this barely scratches the surface of what i want to embed haha so please let me know how you like it so far :))

continuing, i hope you enjoyed and thank you for taking time out of your day to enjoy my craft, whether it be your first time or your hundredth! once more, likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and are always appreciated (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!!

[candylandphotos]

Glam asian beauty model drama jewelry fashion

"Unveiling Glamour: The Allure of Asian Beauty, Dramatic Model Expressions, and Exquisite Jewelry Fashion."

[theblackfemininesociety]

The Timeless Lessons from Aaliyah: A Breakdown of Her Feminine Qualities 💋

THE OG IT GIRL 💋

Key Notes: What Aaliyah taught us:

Authenticity.

Demanding Respect & Having Self respect.

The power of Softness.

Natural Beauty is Timeless.

You can be both sexy and classy.

Welcome to The Black Feminine Society, a platform where black women find a safe space to tap into their god-given superpower: femininity. Together we can create a community of women who support, motivate and empower each other on our journeys.

Today, we want to honor and deep dive into the qualities of the late singer Aaliyah and the valuable lessons she taught us. From authenticity and self-respect to the power of softness and the timeless beauty of being natural, Aaliyah's influence continues to inspire black women on their journeys to becoming their best selves.

✨Aaliyah’s Authenticity:

Aaliyah was a shining example of authenticity. She embraced her true self, unapologetically expressing her personality through her music, style, and interactions. In a world that often pressures women to conform, Aaliyah taught us the importance of staying true to ourselves and owning our uniqueness. Her authenticity continues to resonate with black women, empowering them to embrace their individuality and shine in their own right.

✨Demanding Respect & Having Self-Respect:

Aaliyah's unwavering self-respect left an indelible mark on the industry and her fans. She set boundaries and stood firm in her convictions, never compromising her values for fame or popularity. Aaliyah's example reminds us that true strength lies in respecting ourselves and demanding respect from others. Black women in the Black Feminine Society are encouraged to prioritize their self-worth and cultivate relationships that honor their dignity.

✨The Power of Softness:

Contrary to the societal expectations often placed on black women, Aaliyah showed us the power of softness. She effortlessly blended strength and vulnerability in her music and demeanor. Aaliyah's graceful presence challenged stereotypes and redefined what it means to be feminine. Through her gentle yet empowered approach, she demonstrated that softness is not a weakness but a strength that should be celebrated.

✨Natural Beauty is Timeless:

Aaliyah's natural beauty was a testament to the timeless essence of black women. With minimal makeup and a radiant smile, she captivated audiences and proved that beauty transcends trends and societal standards. Aaliyah's embrace of her natural beauty inspires black women to celebrate their own unique features and embrace their natural selves. In a world bombarded with unrealistic beauty standards, Aaliyah's legacy encourages black women to define beauty on their own terms.

✨You Can Be Both Sexy and Classy:

Aaliyah effortlessly embodied both sexiness and class, debunking the notion that black women must choose between the two. She exuded sensuality in her performances while maintaining an undeniable elegance. Aaliyah's ability to balance these qualities taught us that black women can embrace their sexuality without compromising their dignity. In the Black Feminine Society, black women are encouraged to own their sensuality and express it in a way that aligns with their values and personal style.

Aaliyah's impact on the black community, particularly black women, cannot be understated. Through her authenticity, self-respect, embodiment of softness, embrace of natural beauty, and the fusion of sexiness and class, Aaliyah taught us invaluable lessons. As members of the Black Feminine Society, let us continue to draw inspiration from Aaliyah's legacy and empower ourselves on our own journeys to becoming our best selves, embracing our femininity, and finding community among fellow black women.

[mysticstronomy]

WHAT'S A DARK STAR??

Blog#358

Saturday, December 16th, 2023

Welcome back,

Black stars may be the most influential celestial bodies in the universe that no one knows for sure ever existed.

In fact, they may be the elder stars of the cosmos, twinkling long before stars — at least as we know them now — showed up.

So why is there no evidence of them today?

They may have literally faded to black. As in, black hole.

At least that's the theory posited by University of Michigan physicist Katherine Freese in a recent interview with Astronomy.

Freese suggests dark stars are actually the seeds of the supermassive black holes that lurk in the heart of every galaxy. After all, even time-bending, light-hoovering regions of space have to grow from something. And that something may be a dark star.

But how does a bright and shiny celestial body take such a dramatically dark turn? Well, for one thing, a dark star — unlike the stars we know and occasionally wish upon — would already have darkness, literally, running through its veins.

The stars we see today all abide by the same general rule of nuclear fusion. The sheer mass of a star means it's always in a state of collapsing on itself. But that kind of constant pressure on its core also produces energy that radiates outward.

The result is a perfect balance of inward pull and outward radiation.

Our sun, for example, has reached that perfect equilibrium, parlaying gravitational pressure into the giant battery that essentially powers the solar system.

Dark stars, on the other hand, do things a little differently.

Sure, they've got hydrogen and helium running in their veins — but also, a touch of dark matter.

Yes, that's another material that no one has seen or even detected — making dark star theory even more ... theoretical.

But here's how Freese suggests it could work:

About 13 billion years ago, when dark stars were forming, the universe was a very different, and much denser, place. They likely incorporated dark matter in their DNA, in the form of Weakly Interacting Massive Particles, or WIMPs.

Even as a microscopic ingredient in a star's makeup, dark matter could keep a body huffing and puffing for a billion years thanks to a unique process called dark matter annihilation.

Essentially, dark matter gives a dark star its superpowers — it could expand and radiate energy without having to rely on that delicate dance known as nuclear fusion.

That would also unburden a dark star from its core, allowing it to sprawl outward and, despite its name, shine much brighter and bigger.

"They can keep growing as long as there is dark matter fuel," Freese tells Astronomy. "We've assumed they can get up to 10 million times the mass of the Sun and 10 billion times as bright as the Sun, but we don't really know. There is no cutoff in principle."

And, she suggests, at some point, a star with that much mass would have to collapse, becoming a black hole.

But how does a theory that hinges on theory ever end up becoming a reality? We just have to spot one on the endless haystack that is the cosmos.

And that may be a job for the James Webb Space Telescope.

Originally published on www.treehugger.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, December 20th, 2023)

"CAN A BLACKHOLE CREATE A STAR??"

[aziraphales-library]

Hi lovelies! I was wondering if y’all had any fics set in the Old West?

I saw some fanart with this concept and now I feel like I desperately need it in my bookmarks if there are some out there lol

Hello. We have some fics here, and here are more to add...

Seduction Accomplished by cassieoh_draws, HolyCatsAndRabbits (E)

In all the presentations Crowley had seen of Aziraphale in the last 6000 years, she’d never looked quite like this. Aziraphale wore a little makeup on her face, a corset around her waist, lace above her bust and on her arms— and on her legs there was practically nothing at all. Her blond curls were piled high on her head, with a few light wisps dancing around her face. Aziraphale’s corporation always had soft, generous curves. Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever been able to view every single one of them on display all at once. Crowley managed to say, “Hello.” He was rather proud of that.

Tumbleweeds and a Spot of Strip Poker by ElysiumLeo (M)

Anthony "Snake Eyes Tony" Crowley is an ex-criminal who has found his calling as a bounty hunter. Working with the man that saved him from the hangman's noose, the two have carved out a pretty comfortable existence for themselves, roaming the desert of the Old West and bringing in criminals for justice. It's a solid gig that both are happy to share with each other, but a man does have needs after all. When it comes to the end of a hard day's work, what are two men to do to unwind and pass the time? Play strip poker, of course.

Yeehaws and Yearning by sapphicshigeo (G)

...The setting sun behind them left their face in shadow, and Aziraphale pushed down her rising nerves. She spared a glance to her revolver, and exhaled. However, when the figure finally was close enough, dark spectacles and typical scowl coming into focus, Aziraphale groaned. “CROWLEY!” She yelled, out of exasperation and also to compensate for the distance, “Please tell me you are not this dastardly Marigold Marauder!”

Hell's Half Acre by Lurlur (E)

Of all the saloons that existed in Hell's Half Acre, Deputy U.S. Marshal Anthony Crowley had a strong preference for the establishment operated by old Sergeant Shadwell. He could be found propping up the bar at the Witch's Tit most afternoons, and at one of its gaming tables almost every night. Being a man of reliable habits was part of his service to the town; people could always find him when they needed him.

Be Still, My Foolish Heart by stinkybarnacles (G)

He took a breath and opened the door. It creaked just enough to get her attention. She glanced up - haloed by moonlight on one side of her face, and bleeding lamplight on the other. She smiled from where she was leaning on the banister as he let the door fall shut and joined her. "I was just thinking of you," She said. Crowley felt his throat close. He could only manage a curious hum in response. He was grateful for how much of his face was shadowed and covered in his fashions. "I'm glad you're here," She said simply. Her sentiment was lost on him. Was she glad he was in America? In this town, in this saloon? Or just here, on the secluded balcony with her? Or In 1898, the Wild West is already nearing its end, so Crowley ventures to America to soak it up while he still can. And, as has become a theme in his existence, bumps into a familiar angel in the process. A.K.A. Cowboy Crowley and Saloon Girl Aziraphale.

Oklahomens! by ranguvar82 (T)

ALL SINGING! SOME DANCING! The fic fusion that nobody asked for! Anthony Crowley is the best cowhand in the Oklahoma territory. Everyone loves him. Everyone, that is, except for Aziraphale Williams, the nephew of Mrs. Tracy. Crowley really wants to change that. But how? Well, through song, of course. Aziraphale doesn't know it, but he's about to be wooed.

- Mod D

[bachibae]

yandere!manager!alexis ness × idol!reader

long oneshot, edited from my wattpad 'cupid' fic because idk what to post here nor how to use this app #lol

You were a sucker for adoration.

That's why you shimmered under the spotlight, your (h/l) (h/c) hair cascading down, bouncing along with your movements, as you sang the final note of your latest hit. Your big, dolly shaped eyes with the help of the complex eye makeup, and red lips formed an image of perfection that your adoring fans couldn’t get enough of. Just like that, you commanded the stage with an allure not easily found on ‘commoners’. And the ending finally arrived; the applause was deafening as you bowed, smiling sweetly and waving to the crowd. How could you not, when your name was cheered from start to end?

Backstage, your manager Alexis Ness watched with a mixture of pride and longing. His perpetually calm, almost sweet demeanor. To the public, he was the perfect manager: efficient, kind, and always composed. But beneath that exterior lay a twisted devotion to you that you had no idea existed.

As you entered your dressing room, your smile vanished. You picked up a cigarette from the table and lit it, exhaling a plume of smoke as you flopped onto a plush chair. The sweet idol your fans adored was nowhere to be seen.

Ness followed you in, carrying a stack of papers. "Your schedule for tomorrow, [name]," he said, placing the folder on your vanity.

You glanced at him, your expression hardening. "Just leave it there," you muttered, “And you're late.”

Ness bowed his head slightly. "I apologize. It won't happen again."

"It better not," you snapped, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke directly at him. Ness didn't flinch; he simply stood there, enduring your disdain with a quiet, almost disturbing acceptance. You didn’t know it, but Ness’s heart ached with a twisted love for you. He adored you, every cruel word, every dismissive glance. It only fueled his obsession.

“Do you need anything else?” His voice came out gentle, despite your harsh attitude towards him.

You scoffed. "What I need is some peace and quiet. You're always hovering, Ness. It's annoying."

"Of course, [name]. I'll give you some space," Ness replied, stepping back but not leaving the room. He watched you with a mixture of pain and adoration, his love for you hidden behind his unwavering professionalism. You had no idea how deeply he cared, how much he yearned for your affection despite your constant mistreatment.

Long red nails adorned your fingers as you boredly opened the folder, reading the plans for the following month.

A hum escaped your tinted lips in satisfaction upon seeing your schedule; a collaboration between two of the most important Japanese agencies to engage in a photoshoot. And, obviously, you were chosen for it. just as expected.

Or maybe Ness was just that hardworking, working his ass off to be able to get you all these opportunities. But you weren't one to think about these possibilities, anyways.

+

The next day, the studio buzzed with activity. Your agency had arranged a high-profile collaboration with one of the world's most famous football stars, Itoshi Sae. Both would be modeling together for around two whole months for an exclusive fashion campaign, a fusion of sports and entertainment designed to captivate a broad audience.

Ness coordinated the logistics, ensuring everything was perfect- as always. He had always known about your secret admiration for Sae, so he seriously didn't understand why he helped you get that collaboration. I mean, it's not like you had never told anyone, but Ness had pieced it together from the way you watched his interviews, the way your eyes lit up when his name was mentioned.

When Sae arrived, his presence was commanding. At 180 cm, he matched Ness in height, his demeanor cool and unbothered. His piercing gaze swept the room, and you felt your stoicism falter. You approached him, your usual sweet mask firmly in place.

"Itoshi Sae," you said, extending your hand with a charming smile. "It's an honor to work with you."

Sae shook your hand briefly, his expression unreadable. "Likewise," he replied, his tone polite but detached.

+

Ness stood on the sidelines, his gaze fixed on the unfolding scene before him. A mixture of envy and bitterness churned within him as he watched you interact effortlessly with Sae, someone you had long admired. Each smile you shared with Sae felt like a stab to Ness's heart, a reminder of the growing distance between you two.

Despite his best efforts to maintain a professional demeanor, Ness struggled to conceal the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. He plastered on a practiced smile, but inside, his emotions threatened to spill over like a dam about to burst.

Two months. That's all it would take for this agonizing collaboration to come to an end. Two months until he could finally put this chapter behind him and reclaim your undivided attention. Or so he had hoped.

+

But as the days turned into weeks, Ness found himself increasingly consumed by jealousy. The chemistry between you and Sae was undeniable, their connection drawing the attention of everyone around them. With each passing moment, Ness's envy grew, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth.

The collaboration between the renowned idol and the star athlete quickly became a hot topic on social media, further fueling Ness's insecurities. He found himself obsessively scrolling through comments and mentions, seeking validation while simultaneously torturing himself with the praise lavished upon you and Sae.

Ness's hands clenched into fists as he read the countless messages extolling the pair's compatibility. It was as if the world had conspired to rub salt in his wounds, to remind him of his own inadequacies in the face of your admiration for Sae.

With each passing day, Ness's facade of professionalism began to crack, revealing the seething resentment bubbling beneath the surface. By the seventh session, his composure was hanging by a thread, his every glance at you and Sae filled with simmering anger.

It was in one of those sessions, where you and Sae were busy modeling for the last photoshoots, that Ness's professionalism finally grew from slowly cracking to threatening to burst anytime, every glance you gave to Sae, every laugh you shared, (‘what the fuck? Sae laughing?! He didn't even smile at [name] the first few days!’ Ness thought furiously), each touch on the arm or shoulder during the shoot sent him plummeting into the dark depths of his obsession.

He could feel the jealousy gnawing at his heart, whispering that he alone should be the one by your side, the one making you smile, the one you should love. Once the photoshoot finally ended, Ness was quick to find you and congratulate you for it, bubbling praising words begging to leave his throat to be directed towards you.

“[Nam—]!” He called,

But he was forced to stop right in his tracks when you ignored him completely, not even sparing a glance in his direction, darting instead towards Sae.

"Itoshi," you called, voice purring with a honey-like sweetness.

"Yes, [name]?" he calmly responded, turning his back around to hold eye contact with you.

"Today's photoshoot was nice, I really enjoyed working with you today…So, let's meet again, alright? I know this French cuisine restaurant that just opened around, and apparently their food is exquisite."

Sae was somewhat surprised. He would lie if he didn't say he thought that you were just acting nicely to him because of your job. But seeing that you made your way towards him, daring to invite him... he didn't think that a popular singer would even invite him to dinner.

But Ness? Oh, sweet little Ness wasn't believing his eyes.

"Oh?” Sae responded, “Well... My schedule still has some free spots. So I guess I could... Next Friday, is it?"

Your grin widened. "Next Friday it is."

The sight of you and Sae talking, and worst, planning on meeting again, only fueled Ness's jealousy. He watched with clenched fists, his mind racing with dark thoughts. It was supposed to be him, not Sae. Why couldn't you see that? He had sacrificed so much for you, working behind the scenes, securing opportunities and navigating the treacherous waters of the music industry. And yet, you seemed to discard him like a mere puppet.

He couldn't contain himself any longer. Interrupting your conversation, Ness inserted himself between you two, his voice dripping with false enthusiasm.

"[name], my dear, I believe we have some last-minute paperwork to sign before wrapping up today's events," he began, his words laced with an artificial warmth, hoping to divert your attention.

You barely spared him a glance, your eyes still gleaming with longing towards Sae. "Can't it wait, Ness? I'm having a conversation here.”

"Ah, it's alright." Sae spoke. "I understand if you have some stuff to deal with your manager. I'll get going now.”

Ness seethed internally, watching as Sae excused himself from the conversation and your scowl deepened. It was a small victory, but he couldn't deny the bitterness coursing through his veins.

With Sae gone, Ness turned his attention back to you, masking his simmering anger with a polite smile. "Please, [name], let's discuss those papers now. It won't take long.”

Your face twisted, clearly displeased by the interruption and the thought of dealing with paperwork. "Ugh, fine. But could you at least try to make it quick? I need to get out of this wretched makeup and onto my skincare routine."

Ness nodded, his lips stretching into a tight smile, knowing full well that he had no intention of rushing anything. He gestured for you to follow him to a secluded area away from prying eyes, a random room reserved for only the workers. As you reached a quiet corner, Ness presented the folder to you

As you flipped through the pages, Ness could barely contain his impatience. "I also have a few personal matters to discuss with you," he finally managed to say, "Regarding your schedule and upcoming collaborations."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested in any personal matters that didn't involve yourself or your career. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?" you sighed, your gaze lingering on the documents rather than on him. "I really need to get out of here.”

Ness's facade slipped, a flicker of resentment crossing his face. "No, [name]. I think it's best if we address these matters right away." His voice grew firmer, refusing to let you brush him aside. "They concern your well-being and your future... our future," he added, a possessive edge tainting his otherwise sweet words.

"Ugh," you groaned, rolling your eyes. "Fine, what do you want to discuss so urgently?" You set the documents aside, clearly wanting to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.

Ness took a deep breath, attempting to steady his shaky voice. "I have concerns about the future collaborations we discussed," he began, his tone filled with a mixture of calculated concern and veiled possessiveness. "They may not be aligned with your true artistry or your unique talents. The one with Mr. Itoshi, for example—"

Your frustration seemed to reach its boiling point. "Oh, please," you scoffed, "Here we go again with your obsessive need to control every aspect of my career. It's suffocating.”

“E-eh? I'm not controlling you at all, [name].” Ness stammered, dangerously approaching the edge.

“Seriously,” you continued, uncaring, “Can't you just trust me to handle my own decisions? If I want to work with Sae, so be it. Do you really think I could care less about my career and how it's ‘aligned with my true artistry’?”

Ness's grip tightened on the folder he was holding, struggling to keep his cool in the face of your scathing remarks. That was it. He wasn't going to, but you mentioning Sae was the worst thing you could do at the moment. "Trust you?" he snapped, his voice rising in volume. "Trust you? How can I trust you when you're spending time with people like Sae, when you're neglecting the work I've put into building this career for you?”

“...?”

"I've worked sleepless nights, poured my blood, sweat, and tears into crafting your image and securing collaborations that would catapult you to the top," he continued, his voice getting louder as he gestured frantically. "And yet, here you are, fawning over someone as insignificant as him, wasting your precious time on a worthless athlete.”

You stood in stunned silence, your eyes widening as Ness's outburst continued. You had never seen him lose his composure so visibly before, especially not over something as trivial as a simple business collaboration. His words cut deeply, revealing layers of obsession and possessiveness that you never knew he harbored.

Ness continued, his voice wavering between frustration and desperation. "Don't you understand, [name]? I've given you everything. I've done everything to make your dreams come true. And this, this is how you repay me? By drooling over some footballer like a lovestruck teenager?!”

You remained speechless, your usual feisty demeanor replaced by a bewildered expression. Ness's possessive rant shattered the image of the reliable manager you thought you knew, revealing a dark, obsessive side that chilled you to the bone.

And with each sentence, Ness's voice grew strained, his words spilling out like a pent-up floodgate. "I do everything for you, [name]. I give you the world, and all I want in return is your love. And yet, you ignore me, push me aside, and throw yourself at the feet of someone like Sae!”

"What... what the fuck do you even think you're talking about...?” you stammered in bewilderment, not believing the words that left your hardworking manager's mouth. “Have you already lost it?!”

Ness's expression darkened, his eyes gleaming with a twisted intensity. "Lost it? I've lost myself in you, [name]! My heart, my soul, my entire existence is dedicated to you. You are my muse, my light, my everything. But sometimes it feels like you don't even notice me, like I'm just a shadow in your grand performance.”

As Ness spoke, his fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turning white with the force of his emotions. You took a hesitant step backwards, your eyes wide with surprise and concern. “Seriously, I can't understand you at all…”

"Do you have any idea how many times I've heard praises about you? How people talk about your beauty, your talent, your charisma? And they always ignore me, the one who made all of this possible. They forget that without me, you would still be just another girl singing in some run-down pub!”

With each accusation, Ness's voice rose in pitch, echoing off the walls of the room. Your hands fluttered nervously at your sides, unsure of how to respond to his outburst. It's not that you felt scared, you felt confused. Something you weren't used to feeling at all. But annoyance was boiling on your skin… along with an eerie feeling of surprise. You knew Ness was weird, but this facade was truly something unexpected.

"And now, you want to spend time with Sae, acting like some lovesick schoolgirl. What do you expect from a footballer? What does he have to offer you? Fame? Money? Power? I can give you all of that and more!”

Ness took a menacing step closer, his gaze piercing into your own. You could feel your heart racing, torn between emotions you didn't know how to describe.

"I've been the one by your side all this time, supporting you, guiding you. I've given you my heart and soul. And yet, you still choose to look elsewhere. It's… unbearable! The pain, the jealousy, the fear of losing you. That's why I can't stand it, can't bear the thought of you being with anyone else but me!”

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of your breathing. You were quiet. Too quiet.

Then, with a sharp crack, something inside Ness seemed to fracture. His shoulders slumped, and he took a shaky step forward, the last one, the weight of his emotions finally overwhelming him.

"Damn it, you drive me crazy, [name]," Ness finally snapped, his control slipping. Without warning, he forcefully pulled you close, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your body tensing at the unexpected display of passion. However, Ness's determination and possessiveness were relentless. He deepened the kiss, holding you tightly against him as if you were his most cherished possession. Time seemed to stand still as Ness poured his pent-up desires and frustrations into the kiss, desperately trying to claim what he believed belonged to him alone.

As Ness kissed you, his touch grew more urgent and possessive. His hands gripped your arms, his fingertips digging into your skin, as if he feared you'd slip away from his grasp if he let go for even a moment. Each breath, each movement, held a hint of desperation, a need to claim you, to make you his, to stake his claim upon your heart and soul.

The kiss continued, Ness pouring all his unrequited emotions into every brush of your lips. It was a hungry, desperate kiss, fueled by a mixture of love and obsession. He held onto you tightly, his body pressed against yours, as if trying to merge your very being together in that moment. In his mind, there was no room for logic or reason. All his actions were guided by the overwhelming need to claim you as his own, to possess you completely.

And as it deepened, Ness's hands moved possessively down your body, tracing every curve and contour. He claimed you with his touch, seeking to possess every inch of your being. However, his sudden display of passion caught you by surprise, and you found yourself torn between desire and apprehension.

Just as quick as it started, the kiss finally broke, leaving you both gasping for breath. Your eyes widened, a mix of shock, confusion, and... perhaps something else, swirling within your gaze.

“Ne—”

“[name], please-” He interrupted you before you could even start, hands trembling on your shoulders, “Just… just accept me at your side. I'll do anything you want, I- Literally anything!”

Ness's desperation sent chills down your spine. And a really, bad idea, formed in your mind.

You knew you shouldn't take this so lightly. You liked Sae, and that's without taking into account the so painfully obvious problems Ness suffers from. Seriously, you thought people that obsessive only existed in fiction.

But still, even if you knew you should have immediately fired him, some would even fill a restraining order, you took his words slowly. Too slowly.

As the moment stretched on and Ness's confession hung in the air, a twisted smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Leaning in, you whispered, your voice dripping with honeyed poison, "Anything for me, huh?"

Ness, his heart skipping a beat, immediately responded, "Anything. Please, consider me a toy if you want...! Just don't-... don't leave me alone.”

Ness's response, tinged with desperation, seemed to bring a perverse satisfaction to your twisted heart. You leaned in closer, savoring the power you now held over him. With a mockingly sweet smile, you whispered,

"Well then, I'll make sure never to leave you alone. Because if I did..." Your voice dropped to a dangerous tone, "What would be the point of having such a devoted plaything, mhm?"

After all, you were a sucker for adoration.

[themanfrommensa]

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[barananduen-blog]

✨Luo YunXi Concert Fashion✨

A look at Luo Yunxi's outfits from his first concert - 2024-06-01 Please expand the cut to see all photos; full-view recommended to see details

✨White outfit #1 (not in any order) 3-piece suit + long, flowy cape with silver sequins in a starburst pattern

Closeup detail of the makeup

✨White outfit #2 Light blue traditional/modern fusion suit with dragon embroidery + sheer white cape with silver embroidery

✨White outfit #3 White suit with flower appliqués + sheer lace undershirt Sources: ♦ [Img 1: 肆意温柔丨罗云熙 via endlessnine09 on Twitter] ♦ [Img 2: 罗云熙的野生风暴瓶]

✨Black outfit + closeup of makeup

+ a random photo that I liked the artistry of:

From [Luo Yunxi weibo]

Unless stated, all images are from [Luo Yunxi Studio weibo]