#performative activism at its finest

[curlyfryz103]

LMAOOO

[theamazingannie]

Just a thought, but if you’re comparing people actively participating in the IDF to people just not actively speaking against them or even people who are actively pro Palestine but just not enough for you, you are no better than the people calling college students protesting against the US funding in a genocide terrorists

[shot-messenger]

happy disability awareness month!!! my entire friend group dropped me because i took a break because i was burning out and ghosted me!!!

hows ur day going :D

[sunflowersolace]

tell me why i just got a tiktok comment saying that i am personally responsible for the palestinian genocide bc my special interest is disney

[queermystic]

Instead of a useless Blackout someone with more executive function than me should organise Email Campaigns where we spam Tumblr Support with well worded complaints about Tumblr Live and the way they've fucked over disabled users with the recent Mobile Updates.

Just keep bombarding them until they Have to do something to address our complaints.

Because being Silent never got Anyone Anything.

[basset-babe]

five times: the one point five.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: none but gossip yet again

word count: 2.9k+

a/n: please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series! here is 1.5 times with ben. enjoy! thanks loves <3! (also, pls do imagine ben holding a graft rose for this one heh)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last. text divider from @heavenlayt and pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

the one point five time.

In the hours of sunlight, callers have flooded the Y/L/N drawing room. All bringing gifts and performances in hopes to win the favourable yes of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. The grand parlor, adorned with exquisite tapestries and sparkling chandeliers, buzzed with the lively hum of conversations and the tinkling laughter of society’s elite. Lavish bouquets of rare, fragrant flowers filled the room, their heady scent mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and delectable pastries arrayed on silver platters.

Gentlemen, dressed in their finest attire, lined up to present their offerings to Miss Y/L/N, each one more extravagant than the last. Some brought intricate jewelry, glittering with precious stones, while others offered rare books, hoping to appeal to her reputed love of literature. Musicians performed virtuoso pieces on the grand piano, their fingers dancing over the keys in a bid to capture her attention through the power of melody. Poets recited verses composed in her honor, their words dripping with adoration and longing.

Miss Y/L/N, the epitome of grace and poise, received each suitor with a warm smile and a gracious word. Her eyes, sparkling with intelligence and kindness, moved across the room, acknowledging the efforts and intentions of each visitor. Her charm was such that even a simple nod or a softly spoken thank you felt like a cherished treasure to the eager suitors.

The hour had struck past 1 in the afternoon when, hopefully, the last caller of the day had bid his farewells. The Y/L/N drawing room, which had been a whirlwind of activity, now began to settle into a quieter, more contemplative atmosphere. The sunlight streaming through the large windows cast a bright hue over the room, highlighting the opulent furnishings and the array of gifts that had been presented to Miss Y/N Y/L/N throughout the morning.

Servants moved gracefully, clearing away the remnants of the lavish spread of refreshments while ensuring that every detail of the room remained immaculate. The air was still fragrant with the scent of roses, lilies, and other exotic flowers that had been brought by admirers, creating a heady, almost intoxicating environment.

"As much as I do love botanicals, all these flowers have turned obnoxious to my senses, Grandmama," Y/N sighed, feeling the urge to slouch on the couch. Her frame was poised elegantly despite her weariness, a testament to her upbringing and the endless etiquette lessons she had endured.

Her grandmother, the Viscountess Y/L/N, reentered the room with a look of satisfaction mixed with maternal concern. "My dear," she said softly, "you have conducted yourself admirably. The attention you have garnered is truly remarkable, but alas, this be the trials of being the season's paragon," she said with jest. "A small price to pay for such adoration and the opportunities it presents."

Y/N allowed herself a small, rueful smile. "It has been a most eventful day. I do hope I have shown the proper appreciation to each caller." She gently plucked a stray petal from her gown, its soft texture a stark contrast to her current mood.

"Rest assured, my dear, that this too shall pass," her grandmother replied soothingly. "Soon, you will look back on these days with fondness, perhaps even in laughter."

Y/N nodded, though she wasn't entirely convinced. She admired her grandmother's ability to see the positive in any situation. Lady Y/L/N had once been the toast of her own social season, and her wisdom was hard-earned through years of navigating similar waters.

"Would it be terribly improper to open a window, Grandmama?" Y/N asked, her eyes drifting towards the heavy drapes that concealed the afternoon breeze. "I believe a bit of fresh air might revive my spirits."

The Viscountess chuckled softly. "Not at all, my dear. In fact, I think it would do us both good." She motioned to a nearby maid, who quickly moved to pull back the drapes and open the window, allowing a refreshing breeze to sweep into the room. The cool air carried with it the scents of the garden outside, a welcome contrast to the overwhelming floral arrangements within.

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling instantly more at ease. "Thank you, Grandmama. That is much better."

"Now, my dear," Mrs. Y/L/N said, her tone becoming more serious, "while you have a moment of peace, tell me—was there any caller today who truly caught your eye?"

Y/N considered the question carefully. There had been many suitors, each with their own merits. Some had been charming, others earnest, and a few rather boastful. But it was not that she minded all these suitors; it was who she looked forward to that truly occupied her thoughts. It had been this Bridgerton man she'd hoped would be calling on her the entire morning. Unfortunately, he had not been seen yet in this drawing room.

"Y/N, my dear, are you still with us?" Lady Y/L/N's gentle voice broke through her reverie.

"Yes, Grandmama," Y/N replied, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I was merely thinking."

"About anyone in particular?" her grandmother inquired with a knowing smile.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then decided there was no point in hiding her thoughts from her perceptive grandmother. "To be quite honest, I was hoping to see Mr. Bridgerton today.. well as of this morn," she admitted. "I fear he may have been otherwise engaged."

"Ah, Mr. Bridgerton," Lady Y/L/N said thoughtfully. "A fine young man, from a respected family. It is no wonder you look forward to his call. Perhaps he will still make an appearance."

Y/N nodded, though she knew the likelihood was slim as the noon wore on. She took another deep breath of the fresh air now circulating through the room, trying to shake off her disappointment. The season was long, and there would be other opportunities to see him again.

"There was Sir Nicholas Deveraeux. He was quite charming," Y/N remarked.

"He comes from a good family as well, but I've heard his uncle," Her grandmother leaned in conspiratorially, "envies the crown."

Y/N laughed at the Viscountess' antics. "Grandmama, that's quite scandalous. Wherever did you hear such a thing?" Y/N laughed.

"Deborah told me," her grandmother said, motioning to her maid. Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the notion of her grandmama indulging in gossip. "But I must tell you, I keep my options open still," she stated matter-of-factly, regaining my composure.

"Even though you are clearly captivated by Mr. Bridgerton's smile," Her grandmother teased. "It is wise to keep your options open, my dear, so as not to appear too eager for any one gentleman's attentions."

"Indeed," Y/N thought to herself, "it is prudent not to seem desperate and helpless this early in the season. After all, the season is just beginning, and there will be many more opportunities for maybe much more meaningful encounters."

The older woman patted the young lady's hand reassuringly. "You are a clever girl, my Y/N. Your charm and grace will surely attract many suitors. Just remember to enjoy the process and not to place all your hopes on one gentleman, no matter how enchanting his smile may be."

Y/N nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. The season was an adventure, and she was ready to embrace it with an open heart and mind. As her grandmama said, there would be many chances to find the right match, and she intends to savor every moment.

Just as she was about to resign herself to the wait, a soft knock sounded at the drawing room door. Both Y/N and her grandmother turned their heads in surprise as the butler entered.

"Forgive the interruption, ma'am," he said with a slight bow. "But there is one more caller who has just arrived."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as the butler stepped aside, revealing none other than Mr. Bridgerton himself. He stood at the threshold, his confident demeanor softened by a warm, sincere smile.

"Good afternoon, Lady Y/L/N, Miss Y/L/N," he greeted them, bowing respectfully. "I apologize for my tardiness. I hope I am not intruding."

Lady Y/L/N's eyes twinkled with amusement as she replied, "Not at all, Mr. Bridgerton. We are delighted to see you."

Y/N felt her spirits lift instantly, her earlier fatigue forgotten. "Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, her smile reflecting the genuine pleasure she felt. "Your timing is impeccable."

Mr. Bridgerton's eyes met hers, and for a moment, it felt as though they were the only two people in the room. "I am glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N," he said. "I have been looking forward to our meeting."

As he stepped further into the room, bringing with him an air of warmth and possibility, Y/N knew that this visit was just the beginning. The season held many uncertainties, but in that moment, with Mr. Bridgerton's presence brightening the drawing room, she felt a renewed sense of hope and excitement for what was to come.

He walked closer, offering his wrapped gift with a warm smile. "I know of your love of botanicals. Although, I wasn't sure what to get, but I opted for a grafted Rosa Falstaff from our estate's own gardens."

Y/N's eyes widened with surprise and delight as she reached out to accept the potted rose. "A Rosa Falstaff? From your family's gardens?" she exclaimed, her fingers gently tracing the leaves and delicate blooms.

"Yes," Benedict nodded, his gaze softening as he watched her reaction. "I thought it would be a fitting addition to your collection, considering your fondness for floriculture."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. This is truly truly thoughtful of you." Y/N's eyes lit up as she accepted the graft, appreciating the gesture.

Mr. Bridgerton smiled, a hint of relief and pleasure in his eyes. "I'm glad you like them, Miss Y/L/N. I thought something from home might be more personal and meaningful than the usual offerings."

Mrs. Y/L/N, observing the interaction with a pleased expression, decided to give the young couple some space. "If you'll excuse me, I have some correspondence to attend to," she said, rising gracefully. "Please, Mr. Bridgerton, make yourself comfortable."

As her grandmother left the room, Y/N gestured for Mr. Bridgerton to sit beside her on the elegant settee. "It's so refreshing to receive something so genuine," she said, placing the graft gently on the table beside them. "Tell me more about your estate's gardens. They must be quite beautiful."

Mr. Bridgerton settled into the seat, his expression brightening as he began to speak. "Our gardens are indeed a sight to behold, especially in the spring. We have a variety of flowers, from different roses to lavender, and even some more exotic species like that which my mother is particularly fond of. Each section of the garden has its own unique charm and character."

Y/N listened intently, her interest piqued not just by the subject but by the way he spoke with such genuine affection for his home. "It sounds enchanting," she said. "I would love to see it someday."

He smiled, clearly pleased by her response. "I would be honored to show you around Aubrey Hall, Miss Y/L/N. Perhaps you could offer some advice on expanding our collection of botanicals."

"I would be delighted," Y/N replied, her smile matching his. "There are always new species to discover and cultivate. It would be a pleasure to share that with someone who appreciates it as much as I do."

As they continued to talk, the conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on various topics of mutual interest. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them engrossed in their exchange. The connection they felt was palpable, a promising hint of what could be a deep and meaningful relationship.

The noon sun cast a golden glow through the open window, bathing them in warm light. It was as if the world outside had conspired to create the perfect moment, one that Y/N would cherish as the beginning of something truly special.

"Why not a change of scenery, Miss Y/N? May I enchant you to a walk with me this afternoon?" Mr. Bridgerton asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Y/N felt a flutter of excitement at his proposal, though very different from norm indeed. The thought of a leisurely walk, away from the confines of the drawing room and amidst the fresh air and beauty of the outdoors, was undeniably appealing. She glanced at her grandmother, who had discreetly lingered near the doorway.

Mrs. Y/L/N, catching her granddaughter's hopeful expression, gave a subtle nod of approval. "I think that sounds like a splendid idea, Mr. Bridgerton," she said. "A bit of fresh air through my garden will do you both good."

"Thank you, Grandmama," Y/N replied, her smile widening. She turned back to Mr. Bridgerton, her eyes meeting his with a mix of excitement and gratitude. "I would be delighted to join you for a walk."

Mr. Bridgerton offered his arm, which Y/N took with a graceful nod. Together, they made their way out of the drawing room and through the grand halls of the Y/L/N residence. The household staff, now accustomed to the comings and goings of numerous callers, discreetly stepped aside, offering polite smiles as the pair passed.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, the warmth of the afternoon embraced them. The gardens of the Y/L/N estate stretched out before them, a riot of color and fragrance that promised a delightful stroll. Birds chirped melodiously, adding a charming soundtrack to their walk.

"Your gardens are truly beautiful, Miss Y/L/N," Mr. Bridgerton remarked as they began their promenade. "It's easy to see where your love for botanicals comes from."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton," Y/N replied, her gaze sweeping over the well-tended flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges. "I find great joy in spending time here. There's something so peaceful about being surrounded by nature."

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, taking in the beauty around them. Y/N's lady's maid chaperoning behind. The gravel path crunched softly underfoot, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

"I must admit," Mr. Bridgerton said, breaking the silence, "I was quite nervous about coming here today. I wasn't sure if my gift would be well-received."

Y/N looked up at him, surprised. "You needn't have worried," she assured him. "Your gift was one of the most endearing ones I have received. It speaks volumes about your character and your genuine interest. Quite a change in the morn's most fragrant bouquets. All exquisite but a tad bit too much on my senses." I gestured towards my nose.

He smiled, clearly relieved. "I'm glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N. I hoped to make a meaningful impression."

"You certainly have," she replied warmly. "And now, here we are, enjoying a lovely walk together. It seems your efforts have been rewarded."

As they continued their walk, their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on topics both serious and lighthearted. They shared stories, laughed together, and discovered common interests. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing moment, the bond of friendship and potential courtship becoming more tangible.

"So, do tell me more about you, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Do call me Benedict, if you please. Provided, of course, that you feel comfortable and we are beyond the earshot of your lady's maid." his eyebrows raise in suggestive jest.

Y/N chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Very well, Benedict. You may address me by Y/N as well."

Benedict smiled, clearly pleased by her informal, now more familiar, address. "My days are usually spent at home, but sometimes, I spend my time in my art studio at the academy."

"Yes, you've mentioned of yourself an artist, I remember." Y/N remarked, intrigued. "That is fascinating. What sort of art do you create?"

Benedict's face lit up with enthusiasm as he began to describe his passion. "I work primarily with oils on canvas, though I do enjoy sketching as well. There's something incredibly satisfying about capturing a moment or a feeling in a piece of art. It’s a way to express myself that words sometimes fail to achieve."

Y/N listened intently, her admiration growing. "I would love to see your work someday. It must be wonderful to have such a creative outlet."

"It is," Benedict agreed, a note of pride in his voice. "And I would be honored to show you my studio and some of my pieces. Perhaps I could even paint your portrait, if you would allow me."

Y/N blushed at the thought, a mixture of shyness and excitement. "I would be delighted, Benedict. Though I must warn you, I may not be the most patient of sitters."

Benedict laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I’m sure we would manage just fine. And who knows, you might find the experience enjoyable."

"I look forward to it," Y/N said, her smile reflecting her genuine interest. "But tell me more about your family. I have heard much about the Bridgertons, but I would love to hear it from your perspective."

Benedict's expression softened as he spoke of his family. "We are a large, close-knit group. There are eight of us siblings, and we were all raised with a strong sense of duty and love seeing my late father and mother attend to our household. My mother, Violet, is the heart of our family. She has always encouraged us to pursue our passions and support each other."

"That sounds wonderful," Y/N said, touched by his words. "Family is so important. I imagine it must be lively with so many siblings."

"It certainly is," Benedict replied with a grin. "There is never a dull moment at Bridgerton House. We have our share of disagreements, of course, but we always come together in the end. All the laughter and camaraderie make it worthwhile."

Y/N felt a warm connection forming between them, their shared values and interests creating a bond that felt both natural and exciting. "I would love to meet them all someday, even so now that your brother has found himself a wife. Such exciting things!" she said.

"And they would be delighted to meet you," Benedict assured her. "I can already tell that you would fit right in."

"He thinks of me as someone who would fit with his family? I could feel my heart flutter," Y/N thought, the realization sending a warm, thrilling sensation through her.

As they continued their conversation, the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the garden. The hours had slipped away unnoticed, a testament to the ease and enjoyment they found in each other's company.

Eventually the day had struck shy of 3 at afternoon and they made their way back to the main house, the promise of future meetings and shared experiences hanging in the air. As they reached the steps, Benedict turned to Y/N, his expression earnest and hopeful.

"Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Y/N," he said. "I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I, Benedict," Y/N replied, her heart full of anticipation. "Until then."

With a final, warm smile, Benedict took his leave, leaving Y/N with a sense of happiness and a fluttering hope for the future. The day had been more than she could have imagined, and she felt a deep sense of gratitude for the connection they had begun to forge.

taglist: @novausstuff @pussyslayerhd @amoosarte

[grntaire]

good omens is an allegory for queer deconstruction from an abusive fundamentalist religious environment.

i've talked about it on here ad nauseum, probably, but i haven't fleshed my thoughts out on it fully. this has been my interpretation since season 1, and season 2 just solidified it for me. so here goes.

it's about the choice that all queer people in an environment like this have to make, and both choices suck and end with loss.

choice 1: stay with your church community, your friends, your family, the world you've always known, but never be true to yourself. because they will never fully accept you if you are true to yourself.

choice 2: embrace your queerness, live your authentic life, and leave it all behind. you're torn from everything you've ever known, everyone you've ever loved. but it's what you have to do to be happy. aziraphale is stuck between choices. crowley never had a choice. his was made for him.

heaven are the church elders. the protectors. the ones who say they have your and god's best interest in mind, always. they don't. to them, hell are the blasphemers, who are both unworthy of redemption yet can only be saved by it. they are the arbiters of what is good and right and bad and wrong.

aziraphale's story is one of both learned faith and earned faith. learned, in that he's been indoctrinated his whole life. been to church at least twice a week since birth. earned, in that he's seen the good that the church can do–they feed the hungry, shelter the unhoused. how could people who do such good be capable of cruelty? and surely, when they are cruel, there must be some greater good to come out of it?

crowley was faithful once, too. he loved god. loved church. but he knew he was queer from a young age, and asked questions about it. not because he wanted to make trouble, but because he wanted to understand. to understand why something he knew about himself to be so innately true could be wrong. but the church didn't see it as that–they saw the embodiment of sin, questioning them. their authority, their virtuosity, the fibre of what holds their organization together, and he was cast out. was kicked out of his home, alienated from his family, his friends, his community. he fell. and he now sees the church for what it truly is.

as for aziraphale, he's accepted the fact that he's queer, but had faith that his elders had his best interest at heart when they spewed homophobic ideology. he never believed the ideology, not really, but he had to believe (made himself believe) that the people who spread it meant well. that they meant it out of kindness, out of protecting queer people from damnation. he wanted to believe that not everyone in the church was like this, that not everyone in the church thought all queer people are inherently people of sin. that is, until a mentor, someone he trusts, perpetuates it too. he's had moments in his past that chipped away at his faith: he'd stayed friends, or whatever you want to call it, with crowley, and crowley had tempted him into trying new things that the church wouldn't approve of. things that aziraphale loved. but this moment with his mentor is when his faith is truly shaken. it's the beginning of his active deconstruction.

and so he leaves. he leaves and finds crowley and they build a semblance of a life together with what they have. they're happy. he's learning that he doesn't need to go to church to be holy. that he doesn't need to be holy to be happy. that he's allowed to indulge in the things he loves without guilt and shame.

that is, until that mentor shows up at his doorstep, offering him everything he's ever wanted. insinuates that he knows him and crowley aren't just friends, and assures him that they can come back to church together. that they're going to change things in the church, and that aziraphale can help. that they need aziraphale to help. (they don't. they want a pious gayboy to help repair their image. it's performative activism at its finest). aziraphale is being offered his family, his community, everything back, and crowley can come too. preying on his wants and desires, manipulating him back into their control. so of course he says yes. they'll get to be together with everything they've ever known and aziraphale doesn't have to make a choice between losses anymore. (deconstruction isn't linear, and abuse is cyclical.)

but crowley makes it for him. crowley tells him no. he doesn't want that life and doesn't want to go back to those people who hate him so much. who hate them so much. crowley knows what the church is about and sees it for what it is. they're not about god, or moral good or doing what's right. all they want is control. it's about the optics of the organization. it's about influencing what serves them and their agenda, and crowley knows that aziraphale is just a pawn to them. ("Why would we go back to them, when they think that who we are is wrong? Is vile? They think us the embodiment of sin and you want to go help them with their PR campaign?")

but aziraphale doesn't know that, can't know it, and crowley can't make him see it. (aziraphale knows that they cast crowley out, that he was kicked out of his home. crowley never shared with him about what happened after. the nights on the street, the things he'd endured to survive.)

and so crowley kisses him. he kisses him to tell him not that he loves him, because of course he does. he kisses him to tell him "This is what you leave behind. We would never be able to do this there, to be this there, even if they say we could. Our lives are here, our safety is here. this is what you're giving up."

crowley has been through it and experienced their cruelty firsthand. aziraphale won't be able to see it until he experiences it, too. he won't be able to realize he's being played if he doesn't even know that there's a game happening in the first place.

i can't recommend watching the show through this lens enough. it makes aziraphale's story that much more heartbreaking, because there's this intense duality of indoctrination vs. deconstruction that lives within him constantly. (imo it's also the main difference between book aziraphale and tv aziraphale: book aziraphale is significantly further along in his deconstruction journey. it's why he's a bit more of a bastard. tv aziraphale is set back a bit further, which sets up his deconstruction arc beautifully across three seasons.)

it's why aziraphale has the ability to peel back layers of himself and his train of thought depending on the situation at hand–he literally has two trains of thought happening at once. the indoctrinated one, and the deconstructed one.

and when crowley kisses him, it's the first time in his existence that both trains of thought have been that present simultaneously. it's both trains colliding full speed with each other. it's why we see both livid, hesitant frustration and fierce passion and longing at once. it forced him to confront something that lived so deeply within himself that he wanted to bring to light on his own terms, but crowley was desperate. the kiss wasn't i love you, please stay. it was look at what you're leaving behind. we could've been us, we could've been this.

and i think that whatever happens in season 3, whatever heaven does that makes them finally irredeemable in aziraphale's eyes, it'll be a beautiful ending to his deconstruction arc. not that deconstruction ever ends, not truly, but for the first time in his existence, he'll be able to see heaven, hell, and the system as a whole clearly for what they are: a bunch of self-righteous dicks.

[if you're curious about religious deconstruction and what it means, this video by therapist and social worker mickey atkins talking about deconstruction in reference to shiny happy people, a documentary about the duggar family, is a good place to start. cw for pretty much all types of abuse imaginable, fyi.]

[lilacxquartz]

CHASING HUMANITY • kenjaku x fem!reader

ao3 link • masterlist • next chapter >>

summary: ever since 2015, Japan has been plagued by mysterious deaths all over the country with no particular lead, until one day, you saw something you shouldn’t have.

themes: dead dove, reader insert, graphic violence, upsetting descriptions, blood/gore, reader insert, yandere elements, mundane au, no sorcerers, mixed pov

a/n: this is partially an entry for a prompt for au-gust 2024; but also is intended as a multi chapter series. reader is introduced in the next chapter.

Chapter 1. Vagabond

What was it that made someone truly human?

This was a question that had long plagued the great minds of the world for centuries and was also the subject of a self prescribed mission for Kenjaku to find the true meaning behind.

The core definition of humanity, he speculated, was technically a paradox in its own self; a delicate balance of tenderness that mingled with such devastating brutality—compassion that was lost to indifference.

So, perhaps he could say that to in order to be human was to embrace the above.

Yet, he didn’t seem all too satisfied with that answer.

There surely had to be more to it.

A deeper meaning.

And that’s exactly what his life’s mission was. To dip his hands into the murky depths of unseen waters—to navigate through the fine balance of morality and depravity combined.

Kenjaku held these thoughts in his mind as he slowly cruised through the quiet streets of the latest town he found himself in. His presence was thus far successfully unassuming with not a single soul suspecting him of anything unsavoury—at least not yet.

Each ‘session’ as he liked to call his studies, all started off on a similar note, no matter where he ended up.

He’d first begin by observing the dwelling population from a distance and mentally keep track of their behaviour as well as any notable lifestyle factors. This sort of activity doubled as a game that he played with himself; a way to gauge what lay beneath the masks that people wore. To learn more about who they truly were behind closed doors.

In a stretch, he supposed that he could call humanity a performance.

Kenjaku’s own life could fit into a similar rhetoric, after all. He travelled often and his lifestyle could be defined as nomadic, however that much was only out of necessity. He didn’t have the luxury to stick around in one place for too long before someone someone suspected something. Luckily however, Japan had many villages and towns scattered all over the country for him to hide in on a whim and the anonymity of a new environment was always an exciting factor.

It was all a challenge to him, to see just how much he could get away with and for how long.

Continuing to stroll through the streets, he couldn’t help but fantasise about the kill prior to this one. It took place in a different town not too far away. It wasn’t his finest work, but it was enough to feed him that now familiar high from taking a life, though, it was unfortunately soon wearing off. This meant that he would need to strike again soon to get back to that state of mind.

Sometimes, he wondered if the fragility to one’s existence was the answer to his question. However, that much only served as a symptom of humanity without as much of a diagnosis for the cause of being.

Kenjaku sighed to himself while his brain spiralled away; a victim of his own deep thought. He ended up turning the corner into a dark alley and simply waited around in the shadows for his next victim to make an appearance.

As a result, he couldn’t help but shudder as he felt the familiar rush of excitement wash over him; tingling waves of anticipated blood that had yet to be spilled.

Another another life to toy with—to play around with, to allow him to experiment and study the what was surely driving him into madness…! Ah, he really needed to ground himself though before he tipped over the deep end; not wanting to surrender to his fading sanity just yet.

Not before he had something that at least resembled somewhat of an answer, anyway.

Patting down the pocket of his trousers, he let out a heavy breath of relief when he felt the weight of his wallet. Inside, beyond the crumpled old receipts and compacted bills of cash, was a collection of fake identity cards (and passports tucked into an envelope, hidden deep inside his car’s glove compartment). Each printed face represented a persona that he spent time carefully crafting, serving as a lifeline in more ways than one.

Each and every single name on the card was a gateway into another life. Every single face posing as a ticket that presented him with an opportunity to craft a delicate facade, and as for what happened to the bearers of those original documents—well—let’s just say that they simply disappeared (by his own hands of course).

Besides, Kenjaku had what he described as a gift; an unwavering sense of curiosity and as such, he couldn’t help but want to explore the world through the cover of many different people, even if meant to play the part of someone he wasn’t.

From a travelling salesman hailing from Chiba to a freelance photographer who never quite settled in just once place—each fleeting role provided a glimpse into an otherwise benign existence while offering protection from being found out for who he truly was.

(Although, he kept up his make believe lives for so long now, that not even he was sure of who he was prior to setting out to find the fabled answer. He had spent so long of his time, spanning nearly a decade, searching for a solution that may as well not exist, but it was all he had—even if he lost track of who he was in the process.)

For the present time being, he adopted the identity of a former monk by the name of Suguru Geto who had initially resided in Tokyo. This was the person that he resonated with the best thus far due to a magnitude of reasons. Although, upon further examination, he might have appeared to be slightly different (but only if you’d squint). Geto was simply just the closest person he had ever matched in appearance and from what he gathered, the personality wasn’t too far off either.

In a twisted sense, Kenjaku felt even connected to the lives he stole. Specifically the ones he actively represented; the ones that he masqueraded as his own and even though he wasn’t the same person behind the name, he, in a way, considered the act as a way of carrying on their legacy.

Besides, in this entire region, not just the town alone, ‘Geto’ still had some use left to spare. Within the entire prefecture, he aimed to be a face that was just barely recognised; someone who would be able to blend into the background and remain so unremarkable and unthreatening that it could only benefit his cause.

Oh, it was all too perfect.

How sickeningly sweet almost, that not one soul had a single clue of who he was—of exactly what he was capable of.

In a way, he considered if his ability to adapt to a continuously changing environment was what made him more human than others; a sort of side thought experiment that he considered every now and then. Humanity, after all, got to where it was from rapid advancement. By evolving to its given environment.

And in his unforgiving search for an explanation, he had already walked in the shoes of countless lives; he had already adapted, even moulded his personality so many times before that he considered himself to almost be beyond human.

In a way, such a process was actually freeing because suddenly, he gained the means to travel as anybody he wanted to be.

But, at the same time, it was also imprisoning; all of these people contributing nothing in the end other being a waste of space in his kept journal. Sometimes, his search felt more like a chore, but he did suppose that someone had to do it. To figure it all out, because who else would explore the same possibilities the way that he did—who else would go to such depraved depths, if not for him?

Sighing, he paid a final flick of his gaze towards an unlucky passer-by. Finally, it was time to make a move and so he quietly dipped his tracks onto the connecting pavement, maintaining a steady pace behind his latest victim.

It was luckily raining too, so the crashing droplets concealed the sound of his advancing footsteps; the wind obscuring his breathing.

This particular person was someone that he had recognised as the town librarian. The town had a couple of those working in rotational shifts, so this must have been the evening worker. This meant good news for him, because she lived in the outskirts of the town (as he had observed in the past) which provided a cover for him to retreat to (and also because his car wasn’t parked too far away).

And just like predicted, she took a slow but steady path back home, taking her sweet, sweet time.

He knew this woman well enough by now to pick up on some facts about her from his limited time in town. For one, her shift ended at six in the afternoon, yet, she would always, no matter what, wait until it got dark to head home. This was beneficial to him of course, as it meant that he could slip away into the shadows quickly if she were to notice him.

Kenjaku speculated that her personal life therefore, must have been a lonely one. Her shift both started in the afternoon and ended in it and by the time she would finally get home, she would have just enough time to eat, bathe and then dedicate whatever remaining time she had leftover towards taking care of what he speculated to be elderly parent.

(Oh the things he could learn from just spying in the unconcealed windows just outside.)

Considering the deep set under eye bags that painted her face whenever he saw her, he suspected that this responsibility potentially stretched into the morning too.

Therefore, her social life as well as personal life was likely lacking.

This much left him wondering if there could have been a meaning behind the nothingness in life and perhaps he could bring himself closer to the answer if he explored that point. After all, a life otherwise spent in a perpetual state of limbo where nothing happened was surely numbing and bleak.

Maybe even, he could help her find that meaning…?

If only this person knew just how soon it was all going to change though. Indeed, he would help her feel whole again. Regardless of who it was that was going to be the unlucky victim, or rather, the ‘spontaneous participant’ to his plans, he carried a roll of barbed wire tucked carefully away in the folds of his robe along with a roll of duct tape for… convenience purposes.

Finally, just as she lingered around the gate that led towards her home, the librarian stood still as per her returning ritual; as though steeling herself before going inside. This particular moment opened up a prime opportunity for him to swoop in on her and bridge the gap before she slipped out of reach.

In a mere flash, Kenjaku cupped his hand over her face and stifled any potential screams by plugging her lips with his palm. His other hand hooked around her shoulder, shrouding her in the fabric of his robe and even partially concealing her. Quickly, he walked her past her home and off into the adjacent woods nearby, allowing for both of them to disappear into the uninviting darkness.

This action would likely mean that her body would get discovered as soon as tomorrow due to the nearby forest being the grounds for leisurely trail, often fully packed during the daytime.

The librarian’s eyes widened in panic, her body immediately reacting with violent thrashing in an attempt to free herself from his suffocating embrace. The underside of his hand dampened from her muffled cries—the struggle was always the most annoying part. However persevering, he continued to drag her by the heels into the trees, leaving her remaining hope behind and a discarded boot, likely to tip off her disappearance.

Personally, he didn’t mind it one bit.

In fact, he wanted for her to be found because this wasn’t one for him to simply make disappear like the victims of his many identities, no, this one was for the archives.

He wanted nothing more than for his craftsmanship to be located and appreciated and even discussed; because truth be told, he was a narcissistic old bastard. Egoistic, too. Whenever he tuned into the radio or the television and heard his nickname be mentioned on the news off of a reporter’s tongue, he couldn’t help but feel accomplished.

(And at other times, aroused, even. Such acknowledgement led him to understand that he might have had a penchant for bloodthirsty exhibitionism and even the slightest attention stirred up something exciting for him.)

Tearing him away from his fantasised release, a shrill voice managed to finally escape from the woman, “P-please.”

In response, he tightened his grip on her, pulling her slightly smaller frame closer towards him as he dipped his face towards her ear. His hot breath felt nauseating against her skin while he offered a (not so) comforting whisper.

Hushing her, he spoke, “it’ll all be over… eventually.”

Rendering her momentarily unable to reply at the heavy implication of the words, Kenjaku carried her further into the darkness, taking out the stashed away roll of tape to finally silence her cries. With nothing but the light of his barely adjusted vision—the streetlights just about spilling a dim light into the woods, he kicked the woman over to her stomach and took out the roll of barbed wire at long last.

Slowly and almost tauntingly, he unravelled the tightly packed metal cable while keeping a foot securely stamped over her upper back—forcing her to lay perfectly flat against the bristling greenery. He then looped the steel lines around her neck and down towards her crotch area before snaking it back around her torso.

Before long, he perfectly wound her in a brutally artistic display of skilful shibari. The spikes dug through the fabric she wore and cut into her supple flesh, marring the spilled blood with soil.

“I’m doing you a favour, you know,” Kenjaku murmured gently to her while fastening the remainder of the wire around her body, her choice of clothing irritating him slightly due to how forceful he had to be.

Of course however, the woman could only seethe and stammer in despair while he continued onwards with his depravity. Rather than writhing around in pleasure as he secured the knots, she instead squirmed around and groaned in violent pain.

Having taken a lot of lives during his run as an active killer though, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the euphoria would soon kick in. Pain, after all, was in one’s mind and if he was being completely truthful, he felt that it held back humanity a fair amount. To live with the idea of potential discomfort meant to take the safer choices that life had in store instead and in doing so, meant having to abandon the excitement that came with chaos and spontaneity—the very thing that made life worth living.

So, by allowing his ‘volunteers’ to experience such grand opportunities, was his way of giving back to those doomed to endure such mundane routines. What he offered to the lucky few was a break from it all while in exchange, he would manage to fill another page or two in his journal, hopefully getting closer and closer to the answer that always seemed to be ever so slightly just out of reach.

Continuing, he muttered out what he thought to be soothing words as the librarian (whose name he never even bothered to learn) would shiver in coldness and terror, forced to listen to the ramblings of a depraved man.

“Your life for a lack of better words was… shit. Wasn’t it?” he asked her. “Go on. You can at least give me a nod. You know I’m right.”

However she didn’t respond as he had hoped. Instead, she continued to toss and tremble while the spearing wire continued to dig itself further into her bloodied tissue, unintentionally prematurely shortening her own life in a futile struggle.

Kenjaku tutted in disapproval at the lack of answer, “Typical,” he sighed, “nobody will ever truly appreciate my efforts, I suppose. I thought you would be special though, but it looks like I’m wrong yet again.”

He stared at her for a little longer as she continued to violently sob into the raining mud.

“Not to worry,” he piped up in a promising tone, slipping on a pair of thick gardening gloves fished from his other pocket with the intention to carry her by the cable, “your life wasn’t taken in vain,” he said as he crouched down, “you’ll be remembered for generations all thanks to me and isn’t that much better than dying as a nobody?”

Picking himself up with her in tow, he couldn’t help but find the low guttural whine that she made to be something special. People were capable of all sorts of sounds at the verge of death and when pushed beyond their very limits, they were capable of so many interesting things.

He walked with her until he reached a small bridge just outside of the town. It was technically more of an underpass, but not too frequently used. The main road that connected into the town was more popular, so this gave him the freedom as well as enough time to perfectly hoist and suspend her body over the frame under the guidance of the warm street lights guiding his way.

The forest was small, after all. Barely a cluster of woods. Perhaps a terrible place during the night, but completely harmless during the day.

All was going perfectly well too, until he heard a noise rustling in the shrubbery surrounding the area.

It was too careful to be a surprised animal.

No, this had to be a person. A witness?

Finishing up quickly, he tracked what appeared to be the figure of someone retreating back into the woods in an hurried attempt of escape but there was absolutely no chance in hell that he was going to just let them go.

So you’d better run.

And fast.

[vampiringg]

actually the scene in glass onion where helen is destroying all the statues and then all the "disruptors" join in, despite not caring about helen or what she's saying at all?? performative activism at its finest

[stratossphere]

Fic where ville meets the lead singer of another band who’s performing at the same festival of him and he like has the biggest crush on her but whenever he tries to flirt with her it goes horribly wrong and he says the weirdest shit and she just kinda 🧍‍♀️ and he just embarrasses himself the whole time until she finally gets what he’s trying to do and goes out w him

from the band | v.v

ville has it bad for the lead singer of one of the other bands at a festival HIM is playing in, and he has a horrible way of showing it.

warnings: nervous ville, miscommunication at its finest, a tiny hint of mentioned suggestive content

word count: 4.1k

a/n: got a couple of asks kind of like this and combined them into one! also you guys are literal geniuses the plots you send are so good

tags: @asskickedbygirl @lieutenant-cinnamon-roll @kissofdawn666 @brandons-wife @valos-venus-doom @ghoulishguns @4377666 @althaiascure

— —

Ville usually didn't give a flying shit about who else was playing at any of the festivals HIM was booked for. He was just there to enjoy his gigs, get ridiculously plastered, and maybe cause a little ruckus with the band while they weren't on stage. He didn't really want to be there anyway, as he was getting more homesick for Helsinki by the day and the hot sun was making him feel a little crazy, so it's not like he was actively participating in anything besides the drinking.

Until the last act that had gone on after them came down from the stage and into the artists' area where they were all getting progressively drunker by the minute due to the fact that they'd already played their show and had nothing left to do except drown their livers for the next 16 hours or so.

And where he said he usually didn't give a flying shit about who else was playing, this band did not apply. Because he'd seen this band before, and had seen the lead singer, who was drop dead gorgeous. Ville had never seen another woman like her, and for some reason felt his heart rate picking up like he was a fucking schoolgirl every time they happened to cross paths. And they were definitely crossing paths now, because she was getting a beer from the same cooler that they'd all been drinking out of after they'd come down.

However, he stayed completely silent, only watching her and admiring the smooth way she moved until she was gone. Burton, who had been talking to him specifically while they all sat around together in a circle on empty beer buckets, snorted.

"You're going to scare her off if you keep looking at her like that." He said, pointing very obviously over to Ville's not-so-secret crush as he talked through a swig of his beer. Mige laughed right along with him, nudging Ville's arm.

"Not if she smells him first." He teased, only making Ville scowl harder than he already had been before as he relented under his friends' teasing. They were clearly not on his side here, and the hot sun was making him feel a lot more irritated than usual, so all he did was kick Burton's bucket and elbow Mige right back a lot harder.

"Go fuck yourselves. Are we not allowed to look at other people anymore?" He spoke in a hostile tone as he threw a hand in the air, finishing off the last of his beer after he spoke and then crushing the can in his hand with enough force to displace some of his irritation. Gas shrugged.

"...do you look at us like you want to shove your hand down our pants?" That triggered a completely new wave of laughing and guffawing at Ville's expense. Even Linde, who usually couldn't be bothered to do more than roll his eyes, was snickering. They were being so loud that it had drawn her attention over in their direction, and then before he knew it, she was staring right at Ville. Which was horrible timing, because at that moment all he was doing was glaring. She clearly seemed taken aback by the sight of him when their eyes connected, and Ville mentally slapped himself when she quickly looked away.

"Now look what you fucking idiots did." He grumbled, standing up from where he'd been sitting in pursuit of another beer. His nerves were swimming with irritation despite the pile of beer cans he'd ingested by this time of day, and he needed more. "All you pricks know how to do is scare women away."

"Yeah, well you're not doing much better. Bet you 15 that she wouldn't give you the time of day if your face was already in her tits." Mige guffawed crudely, and loudly, as Ville picked at the tab of his beer can and tried not to commit a homicide. He about lost his reserve when he looked up to see that she was looking at them. And she had clearly heard what was being said, because there was a disgusted pout on her face that Ville couldn't help but find deeply attractive.

He felt hopelessness sinking in due to his friends' horrible timing and the lack of interest this painfully gorgeous rockstar was giving him, and before long there was another cigarette stuck between his lips as he went in search of a beer cooler that was still cold. He had been aiming to talk to this girl at least enough to get a good dose of the addicting sound of her voice, but at this point he'd mostly given up in favor of scowling at the grass he was kicking as he walked.

Usually this wasn't hard for him, but he had always had a soft spot for musicians. And it didn't help that she had almost completely ignored him in every interaction the two of them had ever shared, which honestly only made him want her more. He'd never actually heard her speak, only sing, but today he was aiming to change that.

However, fate and its impeccable timing seemed to have other plans for him, because just as he was crouching down to grab one of the last German beers that was actually in a bottle instead of a can, his attention was drawn by a voice behind him.

"Are you the lead singer of the headliner band?" It was a woman's voice, and Ville internally slouched. Great. Security was obviously shit, because now on top of his asshole company, groupies were worming their way into the artists' grounds. His jaw clenched.

"I don't fuck groupies." Sure, he was being a little short to a person who probably didn't deserve it, but he was too sober to find it funny, and he was in a bad mood anyway. There was a disbelieving scoff in response to his curt answer, and he immediately paled and stood back up when he realized who he'd just spoken to.

It was her. Of course it was fucking her.

"I was gonna ask if you could get the staff to send out more beer." She revealed sourly, her eyes raking over his in a way that in no way matched the way his eyes had been raking over her when she hadn't been looking. She then spat in the grass, and despite the embarrassment burning down his neck, Ville somehow found it in him to feel himself getting even hotter at the sight. However, she was too busy continuing her hostile retort to notice the flame in his eyes. "Not every woman who talks to you wants to fuck you. Dick."

And boom. Now he felt even worse. She turned on the tattered heel of her sneaker and marched right off before his lips could even part to allow him to explain himself, and all he could do in that moment was let out a heavy, irritated sigh as he watched her go. Might as well get her fucking beer and drown in his sorrows bottle-style considering he had nothing else going on for another two hours.

As he walked back towards where he knew the staff would be gathered waiting for whatever prima-donna rockstar came banging on their tent with some ridiculous request, Ville hummed softly to himself, scowl on his face no doubt one to reckon with as he passed other rockstars of various bands getting trashed beyond belief in order to cope with the fact that they'd be playing with several big names as the night progressed. He was trying to ignore his own bandmates ogling at the girl he so obviously had a thing for for the sake of his own temper, but he found his eyes drawn to the scene regardless, and then his jaw was clenched even tighter before he lost sight of the infuriating scene as he continued his search for her requested beer.

—

You were not a pushover. Flourishing in a scene so deeply dominated by men who more-often-than-not would've rathered to grab your tits in a crowd surf than to ever play on the same stage as you was more than exhausting, but you'd earned your place. However, that didn't mean you'd ever stop coming in contact with the ones who had a problem with you.

And, apparently, Ville Valo really had a problem with you. It was evident in even the slightest of his movements and the way his eyes moved over you, and you were more than sick of it. You'd already heard the words 'face in her tits' thrown around whilst him and the rest of his band had been blatantly staring in your direction, and him assuming that you were a groupie begging to fuck him had solidified your distaste towards him.

But god, there was just something about him. You'd felt it only from the several times you'd found yourself making eye contact with him from however far apart the two of you were, and to be honest, before you'd picked up on his extremely hostile demeanor, you'd almost considered that he might've been checking you out. But now, as you watched him stomp his way across the grounds with his heavy Doc Martens scuffing the grass that he was glowering at, you just found him annoying. You should've known, considering you had never met a metal frontman that wasn't a raging bitch.

However, despite your sourness in the singer’s direction, you couldn’t help but feel the loss considering he was incredibly good looking. Perfect eyes, sharp features, and a voice deep enough to make any sensible person weak in the knees were not a mix of factors that were making this easy on you. You were only simply an overly-horny young adult, after all.

“I heard that he’s like, one of those prodigies where it makes your brain want to explode talking to him.” Your band mate, the guitarist, clearly noticed that you were watching Ville (who had since disappeared), and leaned in closer to you as she motioned in Ville’s previous general direction. “He was totally checking you out.”

“The only thing he said to me was that he doesn’t fuck groupies, so yeah. Brain definitely exploded.” You replied uninterestedly, choosing to brush past your bandmate’s bewildered look at your response in favor of just falling back in the grass where you were sitting. “I’m not trying it. I can’t take any more pretentious music prodigies.”

“But he’s so hot. Have you seen him preforming?” As she delved into a detailed description of Ville’s set that she’d trekked up the hill to watch, you focused your attention mostly on staring miserably towards the staff tent, where you’d watched Ville disappear a few minutes before. You weren’t totally sure as to what was causing you to focus on him for such a long period of time, but somehow your eyes just seemed to keep finding their way back.

And low and behold, when you spotted him again, he was coming out of the side of the staff tent with a six pack in each hand. Score.

“Oh my god, is he actually bringing you the beer?” The guitarist had overheard you ask Ville if he could use his main talent privileges to hook the rest of you up with some beer, and you saw her turn to watch Ville alongside you with her jaw dropped as he paused to slam one of the six packs into one of his bandmates’ lap. You rolled your eyes.

“I guess.” Okay. So maybe you were biting back a slight grin through your scowl, but she wasn’t looking at you anyway. Ville, however, was looking at you, and you felt your heart jump a little bit despite your best intentions when his startling green irises connected with yours. So he had brought you beer. Huh. You quickly looked to your bandmate. “Don’t say anything.”

“Hope English beer entices you.” Those words were uttered past Ville’s lips and through a thick cloud of smoke as he came up to where your band was sitting together, holding out the six pack with a mostly uninterested look on his face the entire time.

“Thank you.” As your hand almost brushed his, you noticed a scar on his wedding ring finger that looked shockingly similar to if someone were to use their finger as an ashtray, but you looked away as you picked out a bottle once the pack was in your lap and then held it up. “Do you have a bottle opener, by chance?”

“Fuck. There uh, there might be one in Mige’s bag over there.” Ville mentally slapped himself for having forgotten a way to open her bottle, knowing that she probably wouldn’t have appreciated his foolproof method of just smashing the neck of the bottle on the nearest solid surface. He mentally slapped himself once more when he saw her cast a wary look in the direction of his friends, quickly shooting to give her another option. “I’ll get it for you.”

However, just as he turned to walk away from where he could clearly see the rest of her band watching him with knowing, amused looks on their stupid faces, he heard shoes scuffing the grass, and he glanced back to see her right next to him. Shit.

“Are you guys going to talk about my tits while I’m right there, too?” She asked conversationally as she fell in step next to him, casting a critical look in his direction as she called him out clear as day. Ville resisted the urge to wince viscerally.

“Um, you heard that wrong. That’s not—we weren’t talking about you.” He saved himself lamely, not missing her skeptical look as she continued to side-eye him. He didn’t know why the hell he was stuttering like a fucking idiot, but it wasn’t going away no matter how many times he cleared his throat. He had a feeling that if her fingers even brushed his arm at this point, his head was going to explode.

“You don’t fuck groupies, and you were the only one not talking about my tits? You deserve a medal.” Her tone was more than sour, and Ville sighed miserably at the realization that he had probably fucked this whole thing up. Here was his dream girl, who had a metal attitude fiery enough to make him weak in the knees and the looks to go with it, and she obviously didn’t like him. His level of game was astounding.

“Yeah. Guess I do.” Okay, so maybe that wasn’t totally helping his case, but his snarky attitude was a hard habit to break. And, to give himself some credit, Ville realized what a douchey thing that was to say as soon as it was out of his mouth. Y/n’s nose wrinkled, and she stopped right then and there in the middle of the grounds between Ville’s band and her own. He stopped with her, thankful for the fact that his long hair covered where his ears were burning with embarrassment. Never once in his life had he done so badly in the flirting department. “Uh, I mean—“

“You realize you’re kind of a dick, right? Why’d you get me the beer if you’re just going to be an asshole the whole time?” Y/n was transparent in her annoyance with the way Ville was currently acting, and he had to bite on the very inside of his cheek to avoid falling right at her feet as she snapped on him. “I can open the beer without an opener. Fuck off.”

“I—what?” Despite his knowing that Y/n wasn’t at all receptive to any idea he had tried to give that he was clearly into her, it took him aback when she verbally dismissed him away from her right to his face. He stood there looking like an idiot, and she only stared right back as she lifted up her foot, held the heel of her shoe in one hand, and then slammed the edge of her bottle cap on the hard rubber so that it popped right off and into the grass. And all Ville could think about was how beautiful she was the entire time.

“I never needed an opener. I already know how to open a fucking beer.” Her tone was still scalding as she repeated herself, and as she stood there with an open beer and a disgusted look on her face, it suddenly clicked in Ville’s brain. She had just wanted to talk to him.

Jesus Christ.

He skated a hand over his messy, sweaty hair, trying to collect himself enough to be a well-spoken human being before he finally just let out a large sigh and took a long swig of his beer.

“I’m sorry. I came off like shit.” He started, letting his hand fall back to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck as he glanced to the side to see his shitty friends watching him talk to Y/n like wolves watching their prey. He knew he’d get more than enough teasing for this whole thing later, and he was trying to hold his irritation at the fact off of his features for her sake. “I’m not usually like this. I swear. I’m just fucking…overheated.”

By overheated, he meant mostly his brain and a certain…other part of his body, but she didn’t need to know that. It didn’t look like she really believed him, anyway.

“Shit excuse.” She spoke simply, and her expression had softened a little bit, but there was still a hint of heat to her voice as she did so. He stuttered out a laugh, taking a drag off of his almost-cashed cigarette in an attempt to soothe his rapidly beating heart. Fuck, he felt like a goddamn teenager right now.

“Well it’s not about you, if you’re that worried.” Not only was that a shitty thing to say, but it was also a lie. In a rush to cover himself, he instead fucked it up again, and he immediately watched her recoil slightly at his words. Why was he so fucking bad at this today?

“What does that even mean?” God, at this point Ville wished she would’ve been one of those girls that just threw a drink in his face and slapped him instead of sitting there grilling him. Obviously, he usually fell in love with the ones that grilled him only that much quicker, but that wasn’t the point. And she didn’t give him time to make a point, anyway. “Listen, I don’t know if anyone has ever told you, but you’re not all fucking that. Not every girl that talks to you does it so that she can fuck your brains out.”

In a twisted, Ville-only part of his brain, he was falling in love with her for yelling at him like she was. In the middle of both her friends and his friends, as fate would have it. If heart eyes had been a real thing, Ville never would’ve been able to look at her in the first place without revealing how bad he had it for her.

“That’s not what I—I didn’t mean to—“ God. He could just not get the words to come out like he wanted them to. He snapped his mouth shut in frustration, because he didn’t know how to say ‘I’m being a fucking dick because I want you to kiss me’, then watched with panic as she started to walk away. “Wait! Please…just hold on for a second.”

“You really like the sound of your own voice.” She grumbled, sounding more than sick of him but thankfully pausing and crossing her arms anyway. Once he was sure he had her attention, Ville caved to the swarm of thoughts in his brain. Might as well throw out a last-ditch attempt considering how bad he’d screwed all this up for himself.

“I…” His heart was pounding so hard in his chest it felt as if he couldn’t speak around it, but he knew that he had no other choice. He swallowed. “Let me take you out to dinner. Please. I’m being like this because beautiful women make me a fucking idiot.”

Once the words had all fallen out of his mouth in a shaky, unintelligent swarm, he stood there waiting. He felt as if he may throw up, and the last half-drag off of his cigarette before he dropped it into the grass under his boot only made his heart seem to beat faster against his rib cage.

And then she began to smile.

“You look a little sick.” As if she was in his head and knew that it was only going to make his condition worse, she reached out and held his wrist in her perfect hand before she pressed her fingers gently into his wrist.

She was checking his pulse. Busted.

“I feel a little sick.” He admitted loosely, a sheepish smile passing on his features as he tried to continue to see straight with her touching his hand. She laughed at that, not yet letting his hand go.

“This is cute. You really had me going.” She said lightly, her eyes moving from his pulse to his with a look that told him she was amused by his racing heartbeat. His face went crimson at her calling him cute, because who the hell saw his dark, chronically-unamused expression and call it cute, before he found himself grinning beyond his control.

“Well? Did it work?” He asked, his stomach about dropping right out of his body when she suddenly laced their fingers together and held his hand in hers. Although he was praying to gods he didn’t believe in that she would say yes, he was simultaneously wondering how the hell he was going to get through an uninterrupted dinner alone with her when he felt like his life was ending at the mercy of just the slightest of her touches. She bit her lip.

“Hmm…yeah. It worked.” You were beaming, both at the fact that you’d just earned yourself a date with one of the hottest men you’d ever seen and at the fact that the hottest man you’d ever seen was shaky and nervous like a little kid in your mere presence. You felt more than bad about snapping on him now that you knew he just had a case of being a man and trying to express his feelings aloud. “You gonna take me somewhere fancy?”

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go, love.” He seemed to ease slightly once he had your agreement to go out to dinner with him, and his voice found confidence as he shamelessly studied your features right in front of you. “I’d even cook something on the tour bus hot plate if it meant I’d get to see you.”

That made you laugh, and you thanked the fact for the time it allowed you to let your jumping heart settle. Something should’ve been said for the fact that Ville was offering dinner instead of a beer and a shitty fuck like every other rockstar you’d ever met doing the job you did, and you were trying your very hardest not to surround his name in hearts in your mind as he looked at you.

“Date’s on, Valo.” As you agreed, he made a whole dramatic show of sticking his hand out and forcing you to shake it, but you were laughing the whole time. You were mentally picturing yourself jumping his tall frame right then and there, but you instead let your hand linger in his for a suspicious amount of time before you pulled out of the handshake. “Until then, I’m going to keep checking you out across the yard, deal?”

“Deal.” Ville was relaxed and smiling now as the both of you talked, so as you made your exit, you felt no qualms about leaning up and pressing a kiss right to his warm cheek.

“See you tonight.” Your lips brushed against his cheek as you spoke quietly in his ear, as you bit back a grin as you heard him gasp just slightly. When you broke away from him, his eyes were already dragging over your figure as you turned away.

“See you tonight.” And suddenly Ville really needed some alone time in a room with a door that locked.

[nardos-primetime]

Those "reblog if you support obvious good things like if u support obvious bad things" posts lowkey suck. Not because I support the bad thing but its obviously a rhetorical question, you are asking because you know nobody who would actually support the good thing would want people to think they support the bad thing (plus people who support the bad thing are likely not your target audience anyways, they likely already hate you) but also because the push to reblog such things but not like feels like performance activism at its finest.

If it's a "reblog/like if you support this thing" thats good, you allow people to show their support overall with no questions asked. The bad group obviously won't interact like that unless they wanna pick an obvious fight, in which case block them.

Making the likes come off as a bad thing makes people feel guilt for potentially accidentally liking a post, especially because if someone reblogs with a good point and someone likes said reblog, they now look like they're a bad person when they simply agreed.

It takes something that should be for showing positive support and makes it unnecessarily stressful and complicated.

Obviously not mad or judging anyone who interacts with said posts, it's just my opinion after all.

[ultrakdramamama]

To size up the impact South Korean superstars SHINee have had on music is a difficult task. With a panorama that spans both K-pop and the world’s stage, the band’s dominance has grown exponentially since their debut 15 years ago. With their latest album, it’s also clear that SHINee’s future could only get even brighter. 

When someone goes around muttering, “Hard like a criminal, hard like the beat” under their breath for about two months straight, it’s bound to attract a few stares at the workplace. Especially when you yell, “We go HARD” when your colleagues enquire about your state of mind. But that’s SHINee’s effect for you. The lyrics from the title track of the legendary band’s eighth Korean language studio album, fittingly titled HARD, tend to imprint themselves on the listener’s temporal lobe. But this isn’t a new phenomenon for SHINee. Fifteen years since the band’s debut, it’s safe to say that they have created K-pop’s (and pop in general’s) most satisfying earworms and anthems, from Replay (2008) to Ring Ding Dong (2009), and Amigo (also 2008) to View (2015), to name a nanoparticle of songs off a daunting discography. ONEW, KEY, MINHO, TAEMIN – and the late beloved JONGHYUN – together form one of the finest, most well-rounded groups to emerge from South Korea’s competitive music industry, and their longevity speaks volumes about their talent and relevance. This includes solo projects, too – each of their individual offerings is a class apart.

So, how does one even begin to dismantle SHINee’s hypnotic hold on both their Korean and global devotees? To be honest, there is no need to divide them because once a ‘SHINee WORLD’ (the name given to the band’s beloved fanbase), always a SHINee WORLD regardless of age, gender or geographic distinction. With their vocal prowess, stage mastery, and dexterity of movement, they’ve filled stadiums worldwide through the course of a 15-year-long juggernaut. ONEW possesses one of the most iconic voices known to this oeuvre, with a dominant baritone and operatic tenor. KEY’s aura and presence is impossible to translate into words. MINHO’s a towering personality in terms of both talent and charisma. It’s also not hyperbole to state that TAEMIN is the king of movement – an unparalleled dancer, and a star. Together, they’re extraordinary. Solo, their personalities jump off the screen too. They’re each lovable matrixes of sass, humour, gravitas... clumsiness (the fans will attest to this). If one were to sum them up, ‘real’ would be the word to choose. Even though they’re revered in the industry, and active in all its different aspects – variety shows, musicals, performing on OSTs, solo projects, etc – they’re as humble as the day they started.

In this email interview, three of the band members dive into their music, providing perspective on the landscape they inhabit. ONEW, the leader of the band, is currently on hiatus for health issues. (However, he did send out a message to fans to reassure them of his rest and recovery and his imminent return.) One thing is for sure – it’s SHINee’s world, and we’re happy to be living in it.

You’ve always been completely ahead of the curve when it comes to genre, often blending several sonic elements in one album. In this album, for instance, you have wobbly drum and bass and soulful vocals on The Feeling, a really fresh take on the clear drum breaks of ’90s hip-hop on HARD, and dance-pop on Identity. Yet, you can tell a SHINee track from a mile away. How do you connect so many diverse sounds to the SHINee colour, and what – in the first place – would you say is SHINee’s colour? KEY: Rather than defining SHINee with one colour, I believe SHINee’s colour consists of all the colours each one of our fans sees us as. MINHO: SHINee is quite an interesting team because we have the ability to make any song into SHINee’s own colours. It’s our biggest weapon. We’ve built up this skill since our first album, and it only strengthened as we tried out various genres and concepts. Now, all our members know how to make any track SHINee-like. TAEMIN: SHINee’s colour is a combination of the various music styles we’ve experimented with. Without being limited to a specific genre, we capture several different colours and find SHINee’s own way of uniting everything into one.

Having said that, can you reveal the most “SHINee” song on this album for you, and explain why that would be your pick? KEY: For me, that would be the title track Hard, because it shows best all the efforts we’ve put into the visuals, performance, and recordings to demonstrate the genre of hip-hop. MINHO: It’s hard to select just one track. Many might say The Feeling but, rather than selecting one, I’d like to say this album in itself is “SHINee”, and it opens up our new chapter. TAEMIN: I’d say Satellite, because it shows the harmonious vocals of SHINee.

SHINee has a way of tapping into a collective sense of nostalgia – whether we go back to View, Married To The Music, or 1 of 1 even. Yet, you somehow manage doing this in a future-forward way with both your look and sound. How do you access and communicate a wide spectrum of emotions for people across borders and gender? KEY: Songs and melodies are very effective in expressing emotions and conveying messages to different people and genders. Though the lyrics might be interpreted differently depending on one’s culture, I believe a melody has a relatable power for everyone. MINHO: We try to convey emotions directly instead of hiding them. One of those characteristics is being upfront about how one feels and not hiding one’s emotions. TAEMIN: Even if we do not speak the same language, it’s the energy we’ve poured into this album that makes it possible for us to connect and communicate with those who listen to it.

Often, when you’re with a group of people who end up knowing you inside out, it helps you to see yourself more clearly. How would you say the close bond that exists between all of you has affected or changed you? TAEMIN: I was able to learn a lot from my (fellow band) members since they are all very talented. The bond we’ve formed through our time and experiences together is such a valuable gift to me.

People say there is always one side of the brain that’s more dominant. The left brain vs right brain – largely the analytical vs the creative. The artistes in you must make use of the right brain, but, to navigate this industry and learn from it, the left brain has to come into play. Given your successful ongoing careers, how do you balance the two sides? KEY: Balance is something I’m constantly thinking about not only as SHINee’s KEY, but also as an entertainer on variety shows so that I can continue to better myself and grow. MINHO: This is an interesting question that I’ve never thought of before. I probably use my left brain more since I’m always thinking about things that others might not have done yet or tried before. TAEMIN: When I tested myself, I found that my right brain functions better than my left!

Is it possible, as an artiste, to be happy and satisfied at the same time? MINHO: I’m not quite sure if happiness and satisfaction can be felt at the same time, though it’s different for each person. Even if I’m happy, I might not be satisfied, but I think that’s because I’m a bit of a perfectionist [laughs].

Can you talk about how the performance aspect of music has evolved for you over the years? Does it feel more poignant being on stage together again after a break? [The members of SHINee fulfilled their mandatory military enlistment duties, staggered, over the last five years.] KEY: I’m not sure if this properly explains it, but I’d like to think of our growth as ‘still strong’. As the years add on, there is a sense of pressure from wanting to show our best selves and great performances but, through this album, SHINee was able to show persistence and strength. Whenever I step on stage, it’s an overwhelming feeling. MINHO: You can see just how much we’ve grown through our performances. Compared to before, we’re more experienced so there’s a sense of ease. Yet we do feel more nervous when we return to the stage after a long time. ‘Will I be able to perform well on this stage? What if I make a mistake?’ These are the kinds of thoughts that run through my mind but that’s what brings out a perfect performance. The most important thing in all of this is to look as if you’re not nervous! [laughs] TAEMIN: The K-pop market has grown, and we’ve also benefited from that. The lifespan of K-pop idols has also increased compared to before, but I believe it’s (everyone’s) hard work that’s made this possible.

What sort of music are you gravitating towards right now? Do you connect music and movement given how proficiently you link the two? TAEMIN: I usually listen to calm music. I also enjoy humming or dancing along to whatever I’m listening to.

Fifteen years down the line, what is something you know now that you wish you had known then? KEY: That I don’t need to have any regrets because I’ve done my best throughout. MINHO: There are many things I wish I had known but, since I didn’t know anything at that time, I’d want to keep them a secret [laughs]. TAEMIN: What we’ve learned throughout holds greater value and meaning because of the process. If I were to say one thing to my past self, it would be to travel around the world more and study English.

Does the desire to experiment and the ability to actually be able to follow through with ideas become easier with time? KEY: It becomes harder with time but that’s why I make sure to put in more thought and effort to bring out the best I can.

As the world evolves at an almost breakneck speed, music evolves with it; you’ve also been witness to the shift in the influence of K-pop. How would you say the K-pop industry has also changed over these years as it has become a global phenomenon? KEY: From training to performing, everything has become very systemised and specialised. There’s also a wider variety of messages that can be delivered through performances. MINHO: K-pop has changed rapidly and, as a part of the generation that has seen that process of change, it is quite fast. The best development is the fact that the whole world can see what I’ve uploaded in seconds! TAEMIN: As a person who has been in this field for quite some time, I am amazed by K-pop. There have been a lot of changes through the years, changes that I did not realize at the time!

Looking back to when you started, would you say you are where you want to be as an artiste at this stage of your life? MINHO: I’m getting closer to where I dreamed I’d be when I debuted, but there’s still quite a way to go to get there.

How does the future look? KEY: SHINee will always remain the same. MINHO: The future will always be SHINee. TAEMIN: I’d like to live a happier life by giving back to our fans with good music and maintaining the precious relationships we have together. And I hope to perform overseas more often.

Would you please send a message to SHINee WORLD in India – any thoughts you’d like to share? KEY: I’m very much looking forward to the day we’ll get to meet our fans in person. Thank you for always showering us with love. MINHO: I’ve been to India before, but have not had the opportunity to perform. I hope that chance will come sometime soon, so please wait for us! TAEMIN: I really want to meet our fans in India and I’m sorry we haven’t been able to visit. I promise you we will create precious memories together!

[blualt]

one thing i fucking hate is when people try to pull some "Hello Jon, apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading" bullshit on tiktok to "spread awareness" about social issues when its just the same shit youve heard countless times with no information on what you can do to help

theyll say shit like "swipe for cute cats!" and then there are no cute cats, its just images of buildings destroyed by bombings and a wall of text that you have seen word for word countless times and messages telling you to "spread this as much as you can!" (which, newsflash, does not do shit to help anyone! its performative activism at its finest!)

guess what! many people, myself included, just swipe past once you pull that shit! you are achieving nothing but stressing people out! there are no positive effects to what you are doing aside from you feeling good for a couple seconds!

make actual efforts to do research and find ways to help the problems you are bringing up instead of baiting people

its even worse when its misinfo and fearmongering, like the ones that are posted whenever theres any news about kosa

i hope that this post ends up becoming one of those ones that gets posted all over tiktok by bot accounts and shit

[opera-ghosts]

Erna Sack - Una voce poco fa (The Barber of Seville,Gioacchino Rossini)

Years before Rossini thought of “The Barber of Seville,” Beaumarchais’ subject had been set to music by Paisiello and had become celebrated throughout Italy, so that there was no small stir when it became known that the young Rossini had applied to Paisiello for permission to reset it. He was accused of presumption, but had no choice in the matter, having agreed to compose music to whatever text was supplied him. Paisiello having granted permission, Sterbini wrote a new libretto, and it was as different from Paisiello’s as possible. It took Rossini but thirteen days to compose this masterpiece, during which time he never left the house of Zamboni (the original Figaro), where the work was done. As Sterbini handed him over the wet pages of the hbretto, they were wedded to the joyous music, and then passed on to the copyists. “Not even did I get shaved,” said Rossini to a friend. “It seems strange,” was the reply, “that through ‘the Barber’ you should have gone without shaving.” “If I had shaved,” explained Rossini, “I should have gone out, and if I had gone out I should not have come back in time.”

Donizetti, who wrote with even greater facility than Rossini, and is said to have composed the finest act of “La Favorita” in an evening after dinner, when told that Rossini had written “Il Barbiere” within this time, remarked, “Ah, possibly—he is so lazy!’

Every one knows the story of Rossini’s so-called laziness, though it strikes one as being really a peculiar form of activity—how one day when he was writing in bed, and having finished a duet, let it drop on the floor. Rather than get up to recover it, he wrote another in its place. A friend came in, and Rossini asked him to fish for the sheet of paper under the bed. “I’ve written another,” he said; “just listen and tell me which you think best.’”’ The composer sang the two, and as th., both agreed that the first was the best, Rossini at once turned the second into a trio, then got up, dressed, and went out to breakfast with his friend.

On the night of the first representation of ‘The Barber” the Argentina Theater was crammed with friends and foes, the latter not hesitating to declare openly what they hoped and intended should be the fate of Rossini’s “Barber.” In his “History of the Opera” Sutherland Edwards gives an account of this first performance, and says the composer was weak enough to allow Garcia to sing beneath Rosina’s balcony a Spanish melody of his own arrangement. Garcia maintained that, as the scene was in Spain, the Spanish melody would give the drama an appropriate local color; but unfortunately the artist forgot to tune his guitar before appearing on the stage as Almaviva. He began the operation in the presence of the public. A string broke. The vocalist proceeded to replace it, but before he could do so, laughter and

hisses were heard from all parts of the house. The Spanish air, when Garcia was at last ready to sing it, did not please the Italian audience, and the pit listened to it just enough to be able to give an ironical imitation of it afterward.

The introduction of Figaro’s air seemed to be liked; but when Zamboni entered also with a_ guitar in his hand, a loud laugh was set up, and not a phrase of “Largo al factotum™ was heard. When Rosina made her appearance in the balcony, the public were quite prepared to applaud Madame Giorgi-Righetti in an air which they thought they had a right to expect from her; but only hearing her utter a phrase wi‘: ‘“d to nothing, expressions of disapprobation we… shouted out. The duet between Almaviva and Figt was accompanied throughout with hissing and hoots. The fate of the work seemed now decided. At length Rosina came on, and sang the cavatina which had so long been looked for. Giorgi-Righetti was young, had a fresh, beautiful voice, and was a great favorite with the Roman public. Three long rounds of applause followed the conclusion of her air, and gave some hope that the opera might yet be saved. Rossini, who was at the orchestral piano, then turned toward the singer, and whispered his delight. This happy moment did not last, and the hisses recommenced with the duet between Figaro and Rosina. The noise increased, and it was impossible to hear a note of the finale.

When the curtain fell, Rossini turned toward the public, shrugged his shoulders, and clapped his hands. The audience were deeply offended by this open contempt for their opinion, but they made no reply at the time; the vengeance was reserved for the second act,

of which not a note passed the orchestra. The hubbub was so great that nothing like it had ever been heard at any theater. Rossini meanwhile remained perfectly calm, and afterward went home as composed as if the work, received in so insulting a manner, had been the production of some other musician, After changing their clothes, Giorgi-Righetti, Garcia, Zamboni, and Botticelli went to his house to console him in his misfortune. They found him fast asleep. But there were other troubles. Don Basilio, on entering, stumbled over a trap, which had been left open, bruising his face terribly, and appearing on the stage with his handkerchief up to his nose. The letter-duet miscarried in some way; and, to crown all, a cat appeared on the stage while the grand finale was going on, and in the attempts to drive it off, got so bewildered as to excite the laughter of the artistes themselves.

Such was the reception accorded to Rossini’s happiest work on its first hearing. A week afterward it was applauded to the skies, and it was speedily played on every operatic stage in Europe.

This same year (1816) saw the production of another grand opera, “Otello,” first brought out at Naples. Apart from its capital music, it is celebrated for Rossini’s reforms in opera seria, which it marks. Its orchestration shows what strides the “innovations” were making. Moreover, in “Otello” there were other reforms, among which was the banishment of the pianoforte as an orchestral instrument, the accompani_ ments being played instead by the orchestra, and the increased importance given to the chorus. This opera much pleased the Italians, who considered it the chef-d’wuvre of lyric tragedy.

From Great Composers A Series Of Biographical Studies by Henry T. Finck

[opinated-user]

LO's most recent post about poppy and zena is the first time ive ever seen her talk about whats happening in palestine. has she even brought it up before? or is she using the "worse things are happening!" excuse to coverup people exposing her abuse. because that is fucking disgusting. she didnt even share how to help. performative activism at its finest.

the post anon is refering to. i just want to say: it's rich from LO to complain that other people don't give the current pandemic we're going through it's due attention, when she has spend almost the entirety of it doing nothing else but assuring everyone that they should care less about it because "it's practically dead anyway". i still remember her saying the old anti mask argument that covid "it's just like a cold" at the very start of the pandemic, when millions of people were already dead from that "cold."

to answer your question: this is the only time that LO has directly spoken about the conflict between Palestine and Israel that i know of. just let everyone kill each other until someone "wins". this is pro-genocide btw.

[mysteriawrites]

hello it is me hi hello

anyway…you already know from the server…

hi, im hannah!, im obviously swedish! my oshis are shu, luca, koto, and kyo…some wosemi too.

I’ve been doing dance for a super long time and i LOVE LOVE LOVE physical touch! (giving and receiving)

uhhh im bad at this

i tend to be a super fast typer so my messages always come out looking like gibberish

uhhh i hate calling but if im calling my bff or my s/o i will never hang up i love it sm!!

uhh, i tend to be pretty extroverted (due to my meds LMAOO) and im described as more of a golden retriever (however, i look like a black cat aporently)

SORRY IF THATS NOT ENOUGH ITS ALL I CAN THINK OF 😭💔💔

Luca Kaneshiro!!!

Congratulations Hannah Chan you got ur oshi! In all seriousness I think you guys would make a good pair.

You’re both sweet and energetic. You care a lot about the people around you and love to make friends. You also both try to hide your own problems and worries from others, but i think since you’re so similar it’ll be easier to notice and break each other out of these habits.

You and Luca met on somewhat unconventional means. It was the boss’s birthday and so he was having a big birthday bash with lots of people invited family, friends, and famous people alike.

You were hired as some of the entertainment. You were a well known and highly respected dancer and only the best of the best was expected at this party.

You had meticulously planned and practiced your performance for weeks until it was flawless. You had been told that this show could be a huge stepping stone in your career.

You arrived at the party in your finest outfit and set the stage for your performance. You were a bit nervous since it was such a large crowd of important people, but as every good performer knows: the show must go on.

Your show enraptured Luca to his very core. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Your moves were so graceful and delicate yet bold and dynamic. He had to know who you were!

Sadly it was hard for him to get the time to see you given all the guests wanting to talk to you. By the time he got away from them your group had already packed up and left.

After the party Luca was on a mission to see you again and tracked down where and when your next show would be. He canceled all his plans and meetings to book a flight to your next location.

Was it an impulsive decision for someone he barely met? Yes. But something inside him was telling him he had to see you again.

You were in your dressing room one night after you last show when suddenly there was a knock at the door. You opened it to receive a delivery of chocolates and flowers with a note that said “Meet me at (insert restaurant here im too lazy)”

Sure you’ve had messages and gifts from creepy stalker fans before and you knew going was a safety risk. However something in your gut told you it was worth checking out.

And so you went. When you got there you were met with a familiar man with golden hair and amethyst hair.

Luca Kaneshiro finally found you.

Fast forward to you guys becoming fast friends and even faster lovers, you and Luca are a very active and energetic couple.

You both like moving and be being active. Him with working out and you with your dancing (which arguably is a workout in an of itself he has mad respect for you he couldn’t imagine moving like that). You guys stretch and go on runs together laughing and having so much fun it doesn’t even feel like working out.

~~and when you’re both sore afterwards you take a warm bath or shower together and give each other massages. Both activities may lead to a lot of touching 👀~~

Despite being busy with his work he always makes time for you as quality time is one of his love languages. He will always clear his schedule to go see your performances and spoil you afterwards because you deserve the fucking world.

He also uses dumb puns and pick up lines on you when you guys go on dates. Dates with you guys are usually a day out having fun and unwinding from your hectic lives. Like going to the amusement park (that he rented out for your whole trip) or going for a walk.

A couple with a lot of puppy energy that only has love to give. (I was gonna put more but this is getting too long)

Runners up: Vantacrow Bringer, Doppio Dropscythe, Yu Q Wilson