#Mechanical Wooden Model

[coffee-and-geto]

BE MY VOICE AND I CHOOSE YOU TO FILL THE VOID — suguru geto.

“Why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?” “Because we’re too stubborn, love.”

pairing: fashion designer! suguru geto x supermodel! reader

summary: after you broke up with suguru a few years ago, you swore you’d never have anything to do with him ever again… until new york fashion week arrived and you found yourself forced to take part in the event with suguru geto — aka your ex and one of the most famous personalities in the fashion world, as your fashion designer. but perhaps the latter will take advantage of the event to do his utmost to regain your heart.

warnings: +18 only, smut, modern au! (no curses), exes to lovers, geto is your ex-boyfriend, fluff, (light) angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety attack, bossy! reader, nobara is the reader’s assistant but also plays cupid, only one bed/second chance trope, jealous! geto, gojo makes an appearance because he’s a fashion designer too, switch! geto, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, handjob (m! receiving), body praises, fanart by @ / hiikeu.

wc: 15,257

“He wants you among his troupe.”

You nearly spit out the sip of your drink through the straw. “Excuse me?” you laugh out loud.

But even in front of the serious expression of one of the employees of the agency you work for, it’s hard to keep your own. A fit of giggles takes over your stomach, releasing uncontrollable laughter that echoes throughout your dressing room.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Nobara — your assistant — squeezes her planner against her chest — a nervous tic that has never been trivial to you. Silence finally returns to the room, and neither of the other two women utter a single word. The corners of your lips fall. “This is a joke, right?” you whisper breathlessly.

Nobara pulls her phone out of her pocket and scrolls for a few seconds before showing you an announcement from the official website of New York Fashion Week. She is followed by the employee who hands you a tablet screen displaying an email signed by someone you had erased from your life years ago:

Suguru Geto.

°°°°

“Next.” Suguru’s sharp tone cracks like a whip as another model steps onto the casting studio podium. His fist clenches nervously around the handle of the megaphone, resting its bell on the foldable wooden table.

In front of the silhouette of yet another candidate, Suguru’s gaze scrutinizes the model’s fine features that adorn her refined face with prominent cheekbones. A defined jawline. Hazel eyes and a slender body.

“Next,” Suguru repeats mechanically — perhaps because his eyes are desperately searching for your form? With each new woman, he hopes to meet your captivating gaze. And he almost systematically dismisses everyone when it’s not you?

“Mr. Geto, maybe we should—”

“Silence,” he cuts off without a glance at Manami, his assistant.

She sighs and offers an apologetic smile to the model who leaves the podium with a look of icy disappointment. Suguru’s right leg starts to twitch slightly in his chair—a sign of anxiety gradually eroding the calm he tries to maintain in his troubled mind.

“Night Skies: The Illuminated Darkness.” 

A relatively inspiring theme and quite easy to design. So why has no inspiration come to him since the announcement? Why do his thoughts constantly drift to outfits that only you deserve to wear, making him prefer to withdraw his participation rather than let someone else wear them?

Fuck.

After the next four hours, Suguru and Manami leave the casting studio for a break in the lounge. He leans against the counter, letting his obsidian eyes fix on a void, swept away by his overwhelming reflections. In the background, the coffee machine rumbles.

You had to join his troupe. Even though he already envisions a firm refusal from your agency. But he is ready to try anything for you — even risks that could endanger his career.

Manami clears her throat slightly and takes a hesitant step towards him. “Mr. Geto? Out of the three hundred top models proposed by partner agencies, we’ve only shortlisted four…” She fiddles with her nails painted in vermillion red, bites her lower lip, and adds, “And that’s under my insistence. At this point, I seriously doubt—”

“Write a letter to this agency,” Suguru cuts in once again without listening to a word of what she tried to explain. He hands her a business card from your agency and mentions your name. “You must know her. I want her among the models for my collection. Otherwise, I’ll cancel my participation,” he declares in an uncompromising tone.

Manami carefully takes the small card and studies it. She lets out a perplexed sigh and nods. “Alright.”

°°°°

“No, absolutely not! I refuse! Reply to him that it won’t be possible!”

“Miss, please—” Nobara tries to calm you and prevent you from committing murder against the top model manager of the agency.

“We’re talking about Suguru Geto! THE internationally renowned designer!” the manager yells with such vehemence that it surely carries well beyond your dressing room.

“I don’t give a fucking damn! There are thousands of models in the world! No one knows, so reply to this email with a fucking refusal!” you yell back just as fiercely. Your usually well-groomed hair is slightly disheveled by a few rebellious strands as agitated as your anger.

There is no way you’re participating in New York Fashion Week or any other event involving Suguru Geto. Not after everything that happened. 

Not after he abandoned you. 

No.

“But are you aware of what you’re saying—”

“Shut up! If you’re not happy, I’ll quit this damn agency right now! Do you think you’re the only one who wants me? I have hundreds who will be at my feet as soon as I’ll leave!” you spit after a bitter laugh.

Nobara’s soothing hands rest on your shoulders and force you to sit in a chair. Assured that you won’t attempt another assault on the manager, who has turned pale at your declaration, your ginger-haired assistant easily pushes the manager out, whispering to her not to set foot back in here until the refusal is sent to Geto.

She tries to argue one last time, her voice a bit more pleading and less aggressive, but Nobara slams the door in her face. She leans against it, sighs deeply, and closes her eyes for a moment. “Phew…”

As for your own state, ‘fury’ is the perfect adjective. Hair in disarray, cheeks flushed with anger, chest heaving with irregular, harsh breaths, and a vein throbbing along your neck; it’s as if you could turn your dressing room upside down at any moment.

Nobara heads to your automatic water dispenser and pours you a fresh glass. After ensuring you drink every drop, she notices you seem calmer.

Your bloodshot eyes meet her gaze, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll personally make sure everything is sent properly.”

You nod and run a hand over your face to wipe away your overflowing emotions.

It’s crazy how just the mention of that cursed name can set you off. But the final straw was when your manager was informed of Suguru Geto’s request for you to join his models for New York Fashion Week. She insisted relentlessly despite your patience for a no.

She said she didn’t understand. 

Of course, no one could understand when no one knew that one of the world’s greatest designers had been your boyfriend before your careers took radically different paths. But how could you explain when he was the one who pushed you to break up with him, leaving you alone, lost, and broken with only an unknown fate to face without anyone’s help?

It was without anyone’s help that you built yourself into who you are today. 

Even less your international career.

All the agencies are at your feet, but the only person you wanted to see there wasn’t. 

So there was no reason to pay attention. 

You will not participate in New York Fashion Week. As long as it involves Suguru Geto, anyway.

°°°°

Mouth agape in shock, Suguru thinks what he sees before him is a prank. 

But it’s indeed a clear refusal from the agency you work for. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

NO.

Suguru storms out of his design office and rushes upstairs to his luxurious bedroom to rummage through his personal belongings. An old photo album is hidden under the piles of clothes in his dresser. He scatters his things carelessly, paying no attention to the mess, and with trembling hands, he drops to his knees, flipping through the album.

On each page, a plastic film covers photos of you and him. One — the most painful — is the first one he took at the beginning of your relationship with him. Both of you standing next to an ice cream vendor, radiant smiles on your faces with sun rays illuminating both your faces, you had your arms around Suguru’s neck. Another one, as he turns the pages. You, lying in his bed one morning. He had taken it the night you had your first time with him. Your figure, which he worships, is covered with his sheets, and your mouth is slightly open as you sleep. A cute little drool escapes from your mouth.

All these photos hold real memories. Proving that nothing was imagined by him when, in his moments of madness, he wondered how he could have ended up here if it all was real. His heart twists in his chest when his eyes catch a photo of him with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and your lips pressed against his cheek. Those flowers were the first Suguru had ever received. He had never received flowers — not even from his own family. You were the very first to give him any.

Suguru pinches his lips, lost in reflections that lead him to check your Instagram page. On your profile, your posts are often collaborations with luxury brands, your body wrapped in fabrics showing your silhouette in its best light, some old videos of you as a child that you wished to share with the world, or random photos of you in pajamas in front of your mirror or with your daily makeup.

He couldn’t help but watch your stories, your posts, your interviews, and your shows in the shadows, never intervening as much in public as in private. 

Suguru is obsessed with you. 

And he has never stopped being, even after you broke up with him years ago. He never wanted to end things with you. 

He pushed you to do it so as not to hurt you more than you would be.

It was when you announced the breakup that he felt all the accumulated resentment he had caused in your heart, and he was nostalgically happy for you. 

You no longer had to endure the pain of canceled dates, missed calls, his constant absence.

He knew, at the time, that he was hurting you. He knew you hid your wounds behind forced smiles and excuses you found for his lack of involvement and neglect without him even having to make them when his career started to take off in the fashion world. He understood that he didn’t deserve you.

Yet today, Suguru burns for you. 

He is ready to risk his career to find you and seek your forgiveness. 

He is ready to lose all his dignity, let you use him like a mere pawn, humiliate him, and break him. 

All that, just for you.

Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants your forgiveness at all costs. 

Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants to redeem himself to you. 

Leaving your Instagram page, he opens Twitter and tries to find a way to force your hand to participate with him in New York Fashion Week, to meet him, to allow him to do everything to deserve you again and no longer have any regrets. 

He taps the ‘New Tweet’ icon and writes words that may place his reputation on an unsteady platter that could fall at any moment.

°°°°

The grip around your phone threatens to make it explode between your fingers. Your knuckles whiten, your hand trembles, and your eyes burn as you read the few words on a Twitter post where you’ve been tagged. It’s as if this time, you’ll actually turn your dressing room and even your agency’s headquarters upside down.

“@reader’sagency. @reader, would you do me the honor of participating with me as a model at the next New York Fashion Week? :)”

Your eye twitches, and you robotically lift your head toward your assistant. “Nobara, I beg you. Pinch me, hit me, slap me, but tell me this is just a nightmare.”

She looks up from your phone and sighs with a forced smile. “It’s... a nightmare?”

You grab a cushion from your red velvet sofa and bury your face in it to muffle a long scream from the depths of your soul. Nobara chuckles and places a hand on your shoulder. “You can just refuse. I’m sure everything will be fine. A public refusal should calm him down,” she whispers.

“Have you seen the comments, retweets, and reposts?” you murmur in a small voice, your brain numb.

Nobara frowns and shakes her head before taking out her own phone. But you stop her by handing her yours without lifting your face from the cushion. “No... Already? But... He posted it less than twenty-four hours ago!” Nobara breathes out in astonishment, covering her mouth with her hand.

Indeed, even though Geto’s tweet is less than a day old, it hasn’t stopped an overwhelming number of internet users and fans worldwide from reacting strongly to the news. You could very well refuse publicly yourself or through your agency — even humiliate him by posting a screenshot of the initial private request that was rejected, making him look desperate and creepy. But that’s not the issue.

By daring to renew his request publicly as if the previous one never existed, he’s putting your reputation and your fans’ hopes — whom you cherish so much — at risk.

If you refuse, you risk disappointing many and tarnishing your image as an arrogant and condescending supermodel for refusing to participate in such a globally anticipated event with one of the best-known designers in the world — despite the fact that no one knows about your past connection with Geto.

The reactions are so hyped, so excited and amazed at the possibility of you and Geto forming a partnership that would result in something beyond imagination.

Suguru Geto has just forced your hand, hovering a threat over both your career and reputation, as well as his own. But you need to make a decision.

You lift your head from the cushion and take a deep breath to brace yourself for what you’re about to do.

“Nobara?”

°°°°

With one foot in a pair of shiny white stiletto sandals and an outfit of the same color, one of your bodyguards helps you step out of the black sedan with your first step onto the ground. You stand up elegantly, wearing dark sunglasses. You are escorted in front of a huge building — one familiar to you from the pages of fashion magazines you usually read — and the immaculate sliding doors open for you.

You stand in the middle of the enormous hall, head held high and one eyebrow raised. “Weren’t the other models supposed to be here at the specified time?” you ask Nobara, who hurries to join you at your side.

“That’s what the email indicated…” she sighs, busy arranging the white fur draped over your arms, framing your long strapless dress in the same color as your heels — a tribute to Marilyn Monroe. Nobara lifts her head with a worried frown. “He couldn’t have stood us up or changed the address at the last minute—”

A confident and cheerful female voice calls your name. In a synchronized movement, you and your assistant turn toward an elevator entrance where a fairly tall woman with a slender and elegant figure, dressed in a long sleeveless Byzantine purple dress, stands. Your two bodyguards follow you and Nobara to join the woman, but she raises a firm hand.

“Your assistant will suffice.” She smiles professionally, and you nod, entering the elevator with the other two women. Like Nobara, she holds a clipboard against her chest and almost looks at you with admiration. “It’s an honor to meet you in person.”

You offer her a polite half-smile, and the elevator begins to climb its endless floors.

“My name is Manami Suda, Suguru Geto’s personal assistant and one of his executives,” she continues, glancing at Nobara. “And you are?”

“Nobara Kugisaki, her personal assistant,” Nobara replies with equal seriousness, and a hint of pride fills your chest. “But since you are Mr. Geto’s assistant, that answers our question. Why are we the only ones to arrive at the agency on time? Where are the other models?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, skeptically.

A small chime announces the arrival at the very top floor, and the doors open to let the three of you out.

Manami doesn’t lose her smile and leads the way down a corridor with an immaculate gray carpet. Her black heels make muffled sounds with each step until reaching a door where she knocks three times. “Everything will be explained by Mr. Geto himself,” she assures, opening the door after a ‘come in’ is heard from the other side.

The voice, though muffled by the door, is easily recognizable. A bitter pang grips your heart, but you shake it off within seconds with a blink.

Manami steps aside and introduces you as you enter.

At the back of the office stands a black swivel chair facing away from you — masking the already known identity of the owner and adding palpable tension.

Manami discreetly leaves, closing the door silently, leaving you to face one of your worst nightmares. The chair turns to face you and Nobara, and the face of Japan’s most popular designer and couturier lays his dark eyes on you.

You remain secretly frozen a few meters away, back to the door, your eyes coldly staring at your ex.

Suguru Geto has always had a reputation for being a man of style, in his behavior, his language, and his way of dressing. While the basic suit he wears contrasts with the extravagant outfits that the wealthiest designers can afford — in this field, they are certainly experts, and some can wear clothes as expensive as the series of Picasso’s “Les Femmes d’Alger” paintings — his perfectly sculpted body and charm embellish the slightest thing he wears, even if it was straight from an old supermarket. But if there’s one prominent feature of his face that can match his advantageous physique (his body), it’s his hair. Being a chic, elegant, and refined man, Suguru is also known for his iconic long raven hair. With strands cascading down his back and bangs framing his temple, the half-bun at the back of his head has always earned him numerous compliments and collaborations with the most well-known brands for their haircare products.

Suguru’s piercing eyes narrow as his lips stretch into a smile. Your name rolling off his tongue gives you goosebumps. “Welcome. Please, have a seat.” With a broad gesture of his hand, he indicates two cocoa-colored leather chairs at the end of a ridiculously long glass table.

You take a seat without looking at Suguru at first, and Nobara seems to read your thoughts as she immediately asks, “Where are the other models?”

Suguru places his forearms on the table in a measured gesture, but as he responds, his gaze never leaves yours. “None are at this agency, it seems.” And it all feels as if asking such a question is stupid.

“That’s what was written in the email,” you reply in a dry voice.

“That’s what was written in the email,” Suguru confirms with a strange softness. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? If I hadn’t said that, you would have refused the meeting.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Suguru’s smile widens even more as he continues, “Aren’t you happy to see me again?” And for a nanosecond, you thought you saw his irises darken.

Nobara alternates her gaze between you and Suguru, completely lost.

“Mr. Geto,” your tongue clicks against your palate, “I came here to discuss the initial progress of the collection you will present at New York Fashion Week. Nothing else.” You pause. “If it’s for any other subject, please address my manager, and I can leave right now.” Your frozen facial mask doesn’t falter at all.

“Awwww… You’re breaking my little heart, love—”

“Enough.”

Nobara looks dubious. “You… you already know each other?”

“We…” You pause, torn between the idea of confessing everything to Nobara or pretending nothing happened. “In the past. Before we became known,” you reluctantly admit. “But it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to do with anyone now.”

Suguru’s gaze darkens and never leaves yours. Yet, he doesn’t say a word, and an uncomfortable silence sets in.

Nobara decides to break it by clearing her throat and speaking again. “I— I see. I won’t say a word,” she murmurs.

You sigh and straighten slightly in your seat. “Fine. Let’s discuss the proposed theme.”

Suguru’s Adam’s apple moves as he swallows, and during the next half-hour, neither of you brings up your past relationship with Suguru again. The choice of the leading model was quickly settled on being you — because among all the proposals from partner agencies, no other model in Japan reaches your level of fame.

Suguru also doesn’t waste time revealing that he has selected very few models since the theme announcement. The delay will potentially impact the preparation and organization for New York Fashion Week, but he hasn’t bothered to explain why. He simply asked for your help with the rest of the selection.

You hesitated before accepting, finding it strange that someone like him is so behind. But how could you know that you are Suguru’s muse — his source of inspiration, the purpose of his existence? He is much more confident than a few weeks ago since he finally saw you again and ensured you decided to work by his side. It’s only a matter of time before you settle the score with the low blow he dealt you — something impossible to do with witnesses like Nobara around.

The agreements also included a trip from Tokyo to New York. The group will be accommodated in a secure, comfortable, and luxurious hotel until Fashion Week ends and preparations allow access to dressing rooms for each model.

This means being much closer to Suguru than expected...

°°°°

“What do you think?” 

“I’m not a stylist.” 

“That’s true; you’re more than that.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Come on… Don’t be so rude! I need your help!” Suguru grins, and you roll your eyes, noting the name of a model who just walked past. 

On the runway where hundreds and hundreds of models from all over the world are parading, you, along with Suguru — much to your dismay — are perched on a high platform giving a panoramic view of each model. Of course, he had to move his two-seater table just to spend time with you — a detail he didn’t hesitate to hide from you. What’s the point? he muses with amusement, glancing at you; from the side, he gets a view of your hair falling like a curtain along your cheeks, your nose bent over your clipboard as you jot down names of models that would be interesting to keep for Fashion Week. This poses no problem in itself, especially for an event like this.

If only your partner wasn’t Suguru Geto. 

Ugh.

“Help you? While I’m the only one noting names while you harass me with your pathetic attempts at conversation? Don’t pretend to ask my opinion when you’ve barely looked at more than ten models,” you retort irritably. The ballpoint pen rolls over the paper with obvious frenzy.

“‘Harass’ is a bit harsh,” Suguru comments, his lips pursed in a mockingly offended pout — just to hide his predatory smile. “I’d say I’m trying to have a conversation — something you, let’s be honest, avoid like the plague.” A smile curves his thin lips. “And then, why bother looking at what doesn’t interest me when I already have what I want. I’ve never bitten, you know,” he whispers, his eyes softened by a tenderness he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“You don’t have me,” you respond immediately. You raise your eyebrows and, without looking at him, you continue, “Oh really? You do have quite a resemblance to dogs,” You wrinkle your nose to sneer mockingly as he takes offense. It’s strange because you haven’t laughed in front of Suguru for years. But as expected, the laugh is not joyful; on the contrary, it’s meant to hurt him because you still can’t stand his presence — even less when it’s forced.

“Hey! You’re insulting me!” he frowns and wipes away a laugh. Suguru shakes his head and sighs. “How cruel.”

Your lips turn downwards, and you roll your eyes yet again (you could have won an award for the record number of eye rolls in such a short time). Ignoring the feeling of vice and hatred gnawing at your heart, you refocus on the runway several meters below. The blinding spotlights brilliantly illuminate all these models eager to participate in the highly anticipated Fashion Week alongside Suguru Geto, the internationally renowned stylist, and you, a supermodel equally famous — while you both are plunged into the shadows of the upper floor that looks more like a hallway where stage technicians usually come to secure and manipulate high-up equipment, rather than anything else. Especially when the provided table is just foldable wood and almost fragile to abrupt movements.

Your eye catches a rather tall model with long ebony hair and golden, radiant skin. Her silhouette seems almost ethereal, and it’s at this moment that you don’t regret for a single second having taken your life into your own hands when you were alone just to admire the beauty of all these women of various beauties, shapes, and ages. The female body is beautiful.

No, magnificent.

“That one…” you murmur, noting the candidate’s name announced by Manami below. You bite your lower lip in a concentration tic. “She’s perfect. We’ll keep her for later.”

Suguru nods, but his gaze hasn’t once rested on the model whose name you just mentioned. His irises don’t leave your features, which he has missed so much, especially at this distance. “Hmm…” he hums simply. He gets lost in his contemplation.

You haven’t changed a bit.

Even if your hair is styled differently, your makeup meticulously done, and your chic and luxurious fashion sense, to Suguru, you left him in the same state you are now. He knows your body by heart — not thanks to the photos he kept of you — but because your existence has marked his so much that your simple face is forever etched in his retina.

When Suguru says he is obsessed with you, he goes to the end of his words.

Of course, he regrets his past actions and seeks the right moment to ask for your forgiveness, but he couldn’t hold back.

It was stronger than him.

°°°°

In the spacious studio typically reserved for smaller fashion shows (the irony noted), today it is being used to give Suguru a first taste of what his final troupe was proposing. With your help, Suguru has finally moved on to the next stage just before the outfit creations begin.

Manami, who is backstage, is managing the music and the secondary effects. She sends a message to Suguru to indicate that the line of models can begin their walk before returning from the runway.

The music starts with a rhythmic tempo suited to the steps the models are to take. You are the last to go, which annoys you immensely. Your supermodel status is far more valuable than that of a mere model. Every aspect of your profession is a relentless effort; so seeing these poor models advance with such banal and mediocre strides makes you want to vomit.

Did you accept this for that?

Already, you’ve had to endure disdainful looks from the other models in the group regarding your popularity. It’s quite audacious for them to act so confident when their steps resemble those of a penguin, you can’t help but ponder.

When it’s finally your turn, you waste no time.

The music resumes, and you begin your first steps with a feline grace, almost silently gliding down the runway. Your high heels strike the ground with a hypnotic regularity, syncing with the pulsing beat of the music and its rhythmic cadence: a perfect synchronization. Each step is a demonstration of confidence and control, shoulders straight, chin slightly lifted, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Each step brings a breeze that lightly lifts your hair from your face, like a halo enhancing your display worthy of a true model. At the end of the runway, you pause gracefully before turning on your heels with impeccable precision.

As you return, it’s even more captivating as you continue to walk with palpable assurance, your hips swaying slightly, capturing everyone’s attention.

Your turn finally ends, and the desired effect has certainly been achieved: everyone’s eyes have been glued to you from start to finish. You also didn’t miss Suguru’s gaze fixated on you, his lips parted in captivation. This, of course, earns you the disdainful looks of the other models in the troupe, but a triumphant smile adorns the curve of your lips.

This is what it means to be a model.

“Very well, very well! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your very pleasant and… captivating performances,” Suguru announces energetically, standing in front of his chair with his arms open towards his official troupe.

Unsurprisingly, his gaze does not leave you and remains fixed on your silhouette as you move towards the backstage, back to him.

°°°°

You knock on the door, and Suguru’s muffled voice invites you in.

For a stylist and designer as popular as he is, Suguru’s sewing workshop is… more unconventional than you would have thought.

Indeed, several spacious tables are littered with sketch sheets—some colorful—fabrics of all colors, lengths, and textures. Crafting materials are scattered here and there, cluttering the passage along with open boxes on the floor, making it nearly impossible to take a step without brushing against piles of stuff that threaten to collapse. But at least the workshop isn’t filthy and retains the same aesthetic touch you’d find in TV shows or fashion serials.

At the far end of the room, a single chair is occupied by Suguru, who is sitting with his back to you. Hearing your approach, he turns towards you, his eyes fixed on a bright yellow measuring tape and a metallic needle wedged between his teeth, with a fuchsia pink thread running through the tip.

“Come closer,” he murmurs, moving towards you with the help of the wheels on his chair.

Feeling self-conscious, you take another step closer, and when he lifts his eyes to you, it feels as if you are naked before him: less than a step away, you are wearing a delicate sport bra that barely covers your chest, dreading any shiver that might reveal hardened nipples, along with a pair of equally revealing bicycle shorts in the same color. You had insisted to Manami on a firm refusal to wear any underwear in front of Suguru, without providing a reason.

Even though he has seen far more intimate parts of your body before, the current situation with him challenges everything.

A faint blush colors your cheeks, and without a word, Suguru extends his arms, his long, slender, pale fingers wrapping the measuring tape around your waist first. You can’t gauge the meaning of his gaze. How is he reacting internally right now?

But his mischievous remark answers you the moment after, “You okay? Are you still breathing?” The sarcastic tone immediately irritates you.

“And you’re taking the opportunity to enjoy the view, aren’t you?” you retort venomously. You’re about to continue spewing your hatred towards him when his hands gently — but with some firmness — grasp your hips and make you turn around. You stifle a moan at his touch, which sends a shiver through your body and, as you feared, your nipples harden. You step away from him abruptly when his breath grazes your side. “What are you doing?” you ask sharply, your arms futilely trying to cover your chest.

Suguru sighs. “Are you done acting like a kid?” He grabs you by the elbows and forces you to turn your back to him. He wraps the measuring tape around you again. “So no, I’m not enjoying the view, I’m doing my job.” He kneels to measure your hips, and with a glance downward, you see his amused smile. “You should have refused to work with me if it bothers you so much to be measured.”

“Ah, as if I had a choice?” you retort abruptly.

“You did,” he whispers as he stands up, brushing your hair away from your back, and for a moment, his warm breath caresses your shoulders. All you want right now is for him to place a tender kiss on the side of your neck, but the resentment towards him always takes over.

“No, you know that’s not true.” Your tone is harsh as a whip. “By the way, have all the other models been through here? I saw assistants with all this gear. Why am I the only one alone with you?”

Suguru grins. “The others went through with my assistants,” he replies with a chuckle before taking your bust measurements. “You’re the first I’m measuring, and the only one.”

“What game are you playing?” you murmur after a pause.

“None.”

He continues with the rest of your measurements — bust, thighs, legs, and finally arms. During this part, he takes an unusually long time to scrutinize you, and his head tilted close to your skin makes your heart race uncontrollably.

The final straw is when his lips accidentally brush against your arm.

“Stop that,” you warn him all of a sudden, stepping back. Your furious gaze seems to want to kill Suguru on the spot, and he loses his smile.

“I—”

“Stop pretending to be clueless, Geto.”

He already knows it will be hard to win you back, especially with this reaction he had long feared. But it had to explode sooner or later.

“If you think I’ve forgotten the past, you’re deluding yourself. The jerk you were is still the same in my eyes,” you seethe.

Suguru takes a step towards you in an attempt to beg you not to avoid him as you continue to back away. He murmurs your name in a plea. “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but I did all this for you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to refuse a second time with—”

“I don’t want you to try to make up for it, not after all these years. Is that really why you asked me to come back? Because I’ve reached your level of popularity? My money? My body?” Your throat tightens further, and you squint your eyes to hold back your tears. “I will never forgive you, Suguru. I’m no longer the naive girlfriend who waits like a fool for someone who didn’t give a damn about her!”

“I— It wasn’t— Please, let me explain… I still love you as much as I did before, and I know I’ve been unworthy of everything you’ve put up with for me, but—”

You bitterly laugh in his face. “Liar! You’re lying, and you always have, even when you said you loved me! Your babble about what you were and what you are now is just the typical crap an toxic ex says when they want to win someone back. Did I really have a choice to come back to you? Do you think it’s a good method?”

With those words, you turn around and walk away towards the workshop door.

Suguru’s heart screams at him to follow you and beg on his knees for you to listen, but he knows your stubborn temperament. The only words that come from his mouth after his first failure are enough for him to know you’ve heard them, even as you fling the door open and rush out.

He knows you heard him.

“You will always have a choice with me.”

°°°°

“What do you mean, ‘the camera isn’t working’?” Suguru thundered with severity.

The entire group waiting for the final shoot (including you) turns towards the back of the studio to face a visibly agitated Suguru. He is handling the camera in every direction and then turns towards you.

You’re ready, dressed in the latest collection from the luxury brand you’re working with for Suguru’s troupe’s Fashion Week. There’s no problem on your end.

So why is he talking about a camera that isn’t working?

Especially when it’s your turn?

You take a hesitant step towards him, and Manami quickly avoids your questioning gaze, stepping away from her superior.

A few other models follow you, whispering incomprehensible things not far away to your ears, but all you care about is hoping you’ve misunderstood something.

“Find me another camera,” Suguru orders, violently throwing the one he had against a wall. The sound of metal shattering on the floor startles everyone.

Manami follows him out of the studio at a brisk pace. “Wait! Mr. Geto! Did you forget that this isn’t our studio? It’s the only camera we were able to borrow!”

“SO?” Suguru retorts acridly. “She’ll be the only one not photographed while she’s the star of MY troupe?” His tone rises significantly towards Manami. But he doesn’t spare a glance at you, even as everyone listens to their conversation intently. “Don’t forget that tonight the magazines will be prepared, and we won’t be here but at Gojo’s reception!”

All the other models turn to you in unison, watching you with astonishment.

“Too bad, I’m sorry but she won’t be in it!” Manami resigns with an even tone. “We need to leave in an hour, and the reception starts then!”

“Absolutely not! Find me a fucking camera so she’s in the magazine for tomorrow!” With those final words, Suguru opens the studio door and storms out, slamming it shut behind him with a loud bang.

Silence envelops the room, and you find yourself at a loss for words, your lips sealed and your voice stuck in your throat.

Manami sighs and finally turns to you, her face showing sincere regret. “I’m sorry… I know it’s really unfair, but I think you won’t be in the promotional magazine for the brand partnering with us…”

“I—” Your face falls completely, and you look in dismay at the broken camera on the floor from a few minutes ago.

“I’m truly sorry…” Manami murmurs, lowering her head in genuine remorse.

A few hours later, you’ve resigned yourself as well. The luxury brand partnering with Suguru’s agency had lent outfits from their latest collection for advertisement in fashion magazines. The models and the brand were to be highlighted, but this preview was unfortunately ruined by the delay caused by Suguru, who couldn’t complete the photo shoot in his own studio. On the same day — at a time too close to the reception hosted by his friend-rival Satoru Gojo, a stylist of equal renown—the weather and equipment decided to turn against you.

According to Manami, the camera borrowed from a nearby photo studio was sabotaged right after photographing all the other models. So, despite your star model status, you won’t appear in the magazine coming out. The lack of time also prevented photographers, as well as Manami and Suguru, from finding another camera in time, as everything was prepared at the last minute.

Your troupe isn’t the only one participating. Those of other stylists — like Gojo, for example — will also be featured in a fashion magazine with their partner brand and all their models. The shame will fall upon you as the one not included.

And it will be a scandal — you couldn't make it up.

But Nobara has been far more helpful than you would have thought. She learned the news that evening while helping you prepare in your dressing room for Gojo’s reception and was outraged by the situation. Most of all, she was scandalized to learn that someone had attempted to sabotage your photo shoot.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name rolls off Satoru Gojo’s tongue as he bows respectfully and takes your hand, brushing his pink, thin lips against it.

“Likewise.”

Your raise eyebrow and small, sly smile don’t escape him, and he responds with a laugh that makes your heart flutter. Through his signature round sunglasses — Gojo’s trademark — his cerulean eyes sparkle with mischief. He gives you a wink, then releases your hand and offers you his arm. You take it without hesitation, appreciating the touch of a man like him.

The reception hall is packed with models and stylists; some are Japanese, while others come from different corners of the world, ‘passing through’ before heading back to New York. Indeed, the trip is fast approaching, and this evening is one of the last things you’ll need to face before traveling to the other side of the world.

Chandeliers light up the marble floor with tiny reflections that resemble stars. Tables lined against the walls overflow with dishes and canapés — along with chocolate fountains and desserts. Small groups are gathered in every corner of the room, and the dance floor is filled with couples or partners dancing amidst the exceptionally chic ambiance.

“I’m meeting you in the flesh,” Gojo murmurs, casting a flirtatious glance at you. This man has always had the reputation of being exceedingly handsome and tall. Today, you confirm it.

In his immaculate tuxedo, Satoru Gojo walks with you through the room, maintaining a perfect conversation without awkward pauses or questionable vibes. He is exquisite, charming: everything a woman could dream of.

“Few people get to meet you up close,” you add with a light giggle. You adjust your hold on his arm and look up at him. “I heard you’re also participating in the New York Fashion Week.”

“Indeed.” He takes a glass of champagne and hands it to you. “It would have been a pleasure to work with you, though,” he murmurs with a wry smile.

“I would have loved that.” Your gaze sweeps across the room as you take a sip of champagne. “It’s a shame I went with Mr. Geto.”

“Oh yes, Suguru. My eternal rival. I was surprised by that Twitter post. A model like you… should be among the best, and unfortunately, Suguru is one of them.”

“Do you think so, Mr. Gojo?”

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer as he stops near a table with canapés, not far from a window. “Call me Satoru,” he says, looking at you over his sunglasses and taking a mini macaron.

You pick up one as well, and Suguru’s figure passes by you, too quickly for you to understand what’s happening but close enough to notice his gaze on you and Satoru.

“Would you be interested in working on a future collection with me after Fashion Week?” Satoru asks, his attention completely focused on you.

Your blood rushes in your ears as you feel his breath on your lips and you hold back the urge to lean in and kiss him.

“With pleasure, Satoru,” you respond with a smile as playful as his.

“Perfect.” His face lights up, and he is about to say something when he is interrupted by a trio of models approaching you.

“Excuse us, Mr. Gojo,” one of them coos with a sugary voice, batting her eyelashes.

“Can this wait?” He rolls his eyes without any shame. “I’m busy.” He pulls you closer to him with a firmer, more possessive embrace.

Without wasting any time, he takes you out of the reception hall, where a few people are lingering and chatting in a slightly more intimate setting. Thick crimson velvet curtains adorn the various entrances, and Satoru leads you further in.

Your cheeks flush in reaction to the pleasant situation you’re in. Your mind even begins to compare him to Suguru...

“Have I told you how beautiful you are, especially in that dress?” Satoru whispers near your ear, his voice low and warm.

“No,” you murmur, dazed by his hand resting on your lower back, his thumb making gentle circles.

Satoru leans in and his lips brush against yours. “May I?”

You nod, aware of what’s to come as his lips slowly capture yours in a soft, needy kiss. Your lips respond immediately, and Satoru’s two hands join behind your back to guide you into a room that looks like a luxurious bedroom.

Without breaking the kiss with its wet sounds, your back meets the soft surface of a mattress, and you’re already panting. You know that with him, you won’t regret doing anything.

Satoru’s heavy breathing moves away from your pink, swollen lips to approach your bare collarbone and kiss it with those same lips. With his hand gently caressing the back of your thigh, which you lift and drape around his waist, Satoru uses his nimble fingers to slide down the thin strap of your dress. Your chest rises and falls with the sensual tension descending upon you. Your fingers help him lower your dress, first revealing your bare breasts, and a flush colors your face.

“Beautiful, sweetheart,” he purrs in your ear, taking pleasure in depositing a line of soft, affectionate kisses along your neck and down to your chest. Satoru stretches his lips into a smile against your skin and lightly touches the swell of your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

A moan escapes you, and you arch your hips to rub against him desperately. His bulge becomes more prominent and presses against your own underwear, adding friction that makes your core sensitive. “Satoru…” you pant softly, stroking his snow-white hair as he lavishes your breasts with wet kisses. “More…”

He grins and returns to your lips, whispering “Adorable…” while sliding your dress down further.

But the door to the room suddenly opens, revealing a frozen Suguru standing before the scene. You and Satoru immediately turn your heads toward the intruder and pull away from each other abruptly.

But it’s already too late, as neither of you have time to say a word before Suguru turns and leaves as quickly as he arrived, his face as pale as a sheet.

An unusual pang tightens in your chest, and you sit up from the bed, overwhelmed by a sense of guilt. But why? Why feel this way?

You sigh, and Satoru shakes his head. “He won’t say anything,” he reassures you, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek.

You don’t push him away, but he understands that you wouldn’t want to go any further with him tonight.

°°°°

“Here… Lift your chin…” Suguru takes a photo with a sharp click. “Perfect…” he murmurs to himself, his tone filled with admiration.

Sitting on the floor of Suguru’s photography studio in yet another outfit from the luxury brand partner, you give him a profile shot, your chin lifted in a dreamlike expression of devotion. For another photo, you lie on your side, your eyes fixed directly on the lens.

Suguru, for his part, doesn’t hesitate to give his best effort to capture the most beautiful photos he’s ever taken in his career. He insisted on handling it personally — despite what happened less than two days ago at Satoru’s reception. He even came up with an idea to make up for the consequences of his delay with the magazine published for all the participating Fashion Week troupes in New York. The scandal over your absence, despite being one of the featured models, had shaken most social media, and indeed, enough for Suguru to come up with a plan that would do justice to you.

What better way than to discuss with the luxury brand partner to release an entire magazine featuring you as the sole model? You would showcase the clothes that weren’t worn due to the lack of time. The success and attention would be all focused on you — spotlights fixed on you.

Because you deserve it.

No matter how long it takes Suguru.

He vowed to do everything to make amends.

So that’s why you find yourself alone in the studio with him, posing in outfits that shake him so much that he’s suggested taking a break twice to calm his trembling hands.

Two days later, the magazine is finally out, with you as the star, once again shaking up social media and causing a wave of appreciation from fans. At your finest, every page shows only you.

You, the heart’s desire of Suguru Geto.

“Have you seen the reactions?” Suguru asks as he approaches you while you’re busy admiring the sky and the skyscrapers from one of the agency’s balconies. Suguru slides the glass door closed and joins you. “Am I bothering you?”

You sigh.

“Come on, at least thank me for doing such a good job. You look stunning in all the photos.” He has a smirk and nudges you in the ribs as he leans his forearms on the glass railing. “And you always have been.”

You give a subtle smile but don’t immediately respond. You leave a small silence between the two of you. For the first time in years, Suguru’s presence doesn’t bother you as much.

“Thanks, I suppose,” you murmur. Without looking at him, you continue, “It’s nice of you to do this.”

“I did it for you,” Suguru breathes, his heart tight.

You nod. Lately, it feels like you don’t quite know how to react. All these compliments, the fact that he hasn’t changed his behavior after catching you with Satoru (he’s even become even more gentle)... It’s a lot to take in.

You eventually clear your throat. “Well, I think—”

“Wait.” He turns his head toward you. “Please.”

The note of pleading is the only detail that brings your feet back to the railing.

He lets a light silence linger, not saying a word. A breeze brushes both your faces, like cool water on a tired face.

Perhaps it’s this that makes Suguru speak up, saying your name.

“You’ve become someone since then,” he whispers with a faint smile. “I’m proud of you.” And oh, how you wish you could erase the blush spreading across your cheeks! “I don’t want to pretend like nothing happened anymore.” He turns fully toward you, the wind whipping his long raven hair and his obsidian eyes scrutinizing you. “I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve never forgotten you, actually.”

His sudden declaration catches you off guard. Why is he saying this? You already knew it. And your behavior towards him gives an unspoken response. You simply turn your head towards him without moving your body, with a forced nonchalance. He mustn’t see what he still evokes in you after all these years.

“Not a single day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. I know I hurt you, and coming back now is probably not the best way — especially after I pushed you away.” He takes a step towards you. “And I want to win you back.” You prepare to retort, eyes narrowing, but he cuts you off immediately. “I know. And it’s not because you’ve become a famous model. Far from it.”

He repeats your name once again.

But this time, his tone is different.

His voice returns to what it was so long ago. The voice he used to whisper in your ear in bed, when you were standing in a supermarket line, and on the phone.

The thorny brambles of your heart wrap painfully around you, reminding you of what he became later.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Your lips press together, and you start to pull away from the glass railing.

“Give me a second chance, I—”

“No. There’s no point.”

Your steps move closer to the glass door, but Suguru grabs your hand.

“Please, let me at least explain—”

And your hand tears away from his grasp with an insensitivity hidden beneath its opposite in your heart. “We were perfect, Geto. Incredibly perfect. But now, I really wonder if you ever truly loved me,” you admit without any warmth.

“I did, and I still—”

“No. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been increasingly distant, avoiding our dates as your career took up more and more of your life.” You take a trembling breath meant to chase away the tears from your eyes, but it’s in vain. Your voice quivers. “At least you didn’t give up on your dreams for someone. Even less for love. And for a love that only brought you pain after it left you…”

“Love,” Suguru pleads in a heart-wrenching whisper. He takes another step towards you, arms outstretched, but you shake your head.

“But at least, I can thank you for what I’ve become today. I’ve become the person that little me always dreamed of being. Thanks to your departure from my life.”

The words slap and scratch him violently.

You turn on your heels and open the glass door, casting one last glance back at him, tears streaming down your face, smearing your mascara.

“So don’t ruin it all.”

°°°°

As scheduled, the private jet successfully dropped Suguru’s entire troupe at a New York airport less than a week before Fashion Week, where a luxurious van awaited your arrival. As soon as you stepped inside, fuchsia purple LEDs assaulted your eyes, and a multitude of leather seats were lined against the vehicle’s walls. At the very back, there was a mini-bar stocked with alcoholic beverages and spaces near the seats featuring multifunctional drawers: a retractable coffee machine, a selection of accessories and makeup products, as well as blankets, sleep masks, and other handy items. Near the driver, who greeted the troupe with a nod, a tablet fixed to the wall allowed you to change the background music at will.

Without delay, everyone rushed to the seats and chatted merrily over drinks and snacks as the journey finally began. All the models’ assistants were allowed to join the trip, which meant you found yourself laughing with Nobara about the different shades of blush provided in one of the drawers.

She took out her phone and suggested doing an Instagram story, which you accepted without hesitation. You were soon joined by the others, and a group photo was taken by Suguru. To your great surprise, you participated with a small pose. It was also posted on Suguru’s agency’s Instagram, and Nobara quickly showed you the reactions. For the past three weeks, she has almost been gushing on your behalf over the wave of positive responses you received following your appearance in the latest leading fashion magazine in the United States — even despite the success that Satoru Gojo’s own troupe has also enjoyed.

But it has also been three weeks since you last spoke to Suguru following your conversation with him. Throughout the journey to the hotel — where you will stay with your troupe for the rest of Fashion Week until its end — you couldn’t help but have unintentional eye contact. Fortunately for you, he didn’t make any attempts, and somehow, you would have liked to have Suguru in your life once more — just one last time.

But your bitter past with him still haunts your dreams, so that’s out of the question.

A few hours later, the van drops the troupe off in front of the famous hotel, but to everyone’s great surprise, a crowd is packed around the entrance. Security is pushing back some people protesting that they’ve been queuing for hours, and Suguru steps outside to observe what’s happening.

“They were right. The hotel is packed.” Of course, all due to Fashion Week taking place just a few kilometers away. Celebrities, high society, and tourists alike, the gigantic hotel promises not to be easy for the model troupe and Suguru himself. He signals the driver, who contacts security agents and bodyguards via his walkie-talkie to approach the van so that the troupe can either queue or simply navigate through the crowd.

So, with further delays and heightened security, a decision was made regarding the group: it was divided into several smaller groups so everyone could pass without issues. Some models have already gone to the reception and are enjoying their rooms, while you find yourself paired with��

…Suguru.

And last in line.

Neither of you speaks a word, and you are engrossed in your phone, trying your best to ignore him. On the other side, your assistant with ginger hair, Nobara, has asked if it bothers you that she takes a trip to do some shopping in New York— a rare opportunity for the young woman. How could you refuse her? How could you say that you don’t want to be alone with Suguru, even if it’s for the sake of organization? Being stuck in a line with him is uncomfortable?

You finally sigh in relief when your turn comes after forty minutes of waiting while other customers check in.

Bodyguards step aside, both of your luggage in their arms, waiting for a word from you.

The receptionist clears her throat and squints at the screen of his computer. “I apologize, but... I think there’s a reservation issue with your rooms.”

“What do you mean?” Suguru and you ask in unison.

“Um... There’s only one room reserved for both of you.”

The response hits your ears like thunder. You blink, the embarrassment of the situation rising to your cheeks. You don’t even dare to glance at Suguru. “Then book me another room,” you request in a measured tone.

The receptionist discreetly elbows her colleague, who looks up at you. “I— Miss, you are the last guest with Mr. Geto for the coming weeks, and there are no more rooms available…”

For the next five minutes, you try every possible way to avoid being alone in a single room with Suguru. But it’s in vain, as you end up in the infamous room with the receptionists offering a myriad of apologies, blaming their oversight regarding the reservation.

In the room, you stand, boiling with anger as the bodyguards set down your luggage and leave. One of the women tries to divert your attention from your ready-to-explode gaze by pointing out an undisturbed sofa — of course — where one of you might sleep.

But a single glance is enough to see that even your own feet wouldn’t rest on it. The receptionists leave the room in their little heels, and you sit on the firm sofa. You grimace and massage your temples while Suguru has not said a word since entering the room.

He takes a few steps towards the bed and places a hand on the mattress, so soft and comfortable that his fingers almost sink into it. “You can take the bed if you want,” Suguru offers with a calm and kindness that makes you grit your teeth. “I can take the sofa.”

Your body is in such turmoil that if you stay one more second in the room with him, you might explode — literally. So, you don’t respond and rush to your luggage, driven by the need for space. You pull out some comfortable clothes and retreat to the bathroom.

A small sigh of exasperation from the main room still reaches your ears.

You lock yourself in and collapse on the floor, groaning with frustration.

Damn it.

Why does this only happen to you?

If a shower seems to have calmed your nerves a bit, you would have preferred not to have decided to shower right away because, barely dressed in a loose t-shirt and pajama shorts, hotel staff members are gathered around the sofa and start carrying it out of the room.

In shock at the realization of the situation, you call out to them. “Hey! We need that sofa!”

One of them turns his head towards you nonchalantly. “There’s been another reservation issue. We need this sofa for others in a much more urgent situation than yours, miss.” He adjusts his hat as a gesture of apology and leaves the room as if nothing happened, taking with him the only thing that provided a slim chance of escape — however slim — to avoid Suguru.

Suguru stands there, arms hanging, too stunned by what’s happening to react. He blinks several times without saying a word.

This is all just a nightmare.

°°°°

“I’m not going to break my back sleeping on the floor, and neither will you. Or is that what you want?” Suguru nearly barks as he slips under the covers.

“There’s no way I’m sharing a bed with you!” you retort in the same tone, arms crossed over your chest.

“Stop being so prissy for two minutes, will you? It’s not like we haven’t done this thousands of times before.” He rolls his eyes and finally lies down.

The comment hits your chest like a sharp arrow. The already horrifically awkward situation combined with Suguru’s reasonable demeanor, which only seems to make things worse, makes you look simply ridiculous for not cooperating out of pride.

So, you find yourself under the covers, forcing as much space as possible between you and Suguru, trying to stay as far away as you can. Both of you have turned your backs to each other, nerves too frayed to say anything without igniting yet another argument.

But Suguru closes his eyes with a smile on his lips that night, noting in the back of his mind to thank Nobara as soon as he has the chance for agreeing to his ridiculous plan of deliberately booking a single room for both of you.

°°°°

That night, your sleep is much more restless than usual. You have sleep troubles, but this night they seem to intensify despite your peaceful breathing, which Suguru uses as a lullaby to fall asleep. You toss and turn from time to time, with your leg carelessly hanging out of the bed or an arm too close to him. A dangerous position where you might easily slip off and fall.

When Suguru feels the sheets pulling away from him as he’s about to fall asleep, he turns around and catches you just before you fall. With a pounding heart, he pulls you a little closer to him and finally lets you go.

Unaware in your sleep, you roll towards him and your fingers cling almost desperately to his t-shirt. He freezes and doesn’t dare move, hoping you won’t wake up so he can extricate himself from the embrace you’ve claimed. Your arms drape around his shoulders and your legs seek to wrap around him like a koala.

“Sugu…” you murmur in your sleep. Your face contorts into a small frown.

His nickname is a purr to him. He’s tempted to push you away, but your slight frown, seeking comfort, makes him relent, and he holds you completely in his arms. Your nose nestles into the crook of his neck and you hum before letting out a small snore.

Maybe Suguru is dreaming — amidst the dim light of the room and your two blurred bodies. Nevertheless, he rocks you gently in his arms, holding the most precious thing to him close.

°°°°

Your dream continues where you’re alone, nestled in your bed — yes, it must be that. Finding yourself in the same bed as your ex is just a nightmare.

Or maybe a dream.

Warm, sweet whispers envelop you in a comforting embrace.

“Forgive me, love. I’m sorry… I love you so much.”

These distant words soothe you enough when your sleep is half-awake, with Suguru’s body and voice surrounding you. You should push him away, but everything around you feels so dreamlike. So why not give in for once when you can’t in real life? After all, it’s just a dream for one night.

Nothing can happen to you.

Especially at a moment when your heart wants to accept these pleading whispers of forgiveness that will probably never happen in real life.

��°°°

A warm ray of sunlight tickles your cheek, and you hum as you bury your head against something firm and comfortable that envelops you. Arms rub your back, and you smile, deciding to give in to the warm embrace. Something places a gentle kiss on your temple, encouraging you to stay in bed a little longer.

Before a knock at the door jolts you from your comfort.

Nobara’s voice is heard from the other side. “Are you awake?” she asks out loud. “Almost everyone is already ready!”

You open your eyes at the same time as Suguru, and your noses almost touch. It’s a close call not to scream and almost jump out of your spot. Dazed and still groggy from sleep, neither of you says a word, only muttering a few curses about the alarm not going off.

You rush to do your makeup and put on your outfit, as by 11 a.m., at the very place where the last preparations for the show will be made, hundreds of fans, journalists, and paparazzi will be lined up behind barriers or security ropes, shouting for autographs or even a smile. So there’s no time to waste; you need to cover your tomato-red complexion with foundation.

Downstairs in the hotel, the rest of the crew is waiting for both of you, and others arrive at the last minute — some even with their poodles. To your great relief, no one seems to suspect anything about Suguru, whom you carefully avoid even after arriving at the Fashion Week preparation area.

As you step out of the black sedan, piercing fan screams ring out, eagerly waiting for you to approach them: banners with names written in capital letters, notebooks, and hands outstretched almost desperately.

On the red carpet and under the bright morning sun, female fans call out your name, and you turn with a smile to approach them behind the security barrier. You spend about ten minutes taking selfies and signing autographs with the rest of the crew until one girl, after you’ve signed her autograph, speaks to you again. “It’s incredible that you’re working with Suguru Geto! I never thought I’d see this day, so I’ll be here to watch you walk the runway!” she exclaims with stars in her eyes.

Your smile freezes at the mention of Suguru, as you’re constantly reminded that no one but you and Suguru know what happened between you two. You swallow and regain your composure. “Oh, honey, you’re adorable. I’m glad you’re coming. I hope we’ll run into each other again.” You then give her a final wink and rejoin your group.

Nobara catches up with you a few minutes later in your dressing room with a smile and quietly closes the door. You collapse onto a couch and sigh, hiding your face in your hands.

°°°°

“You’ve measured me before.”

“I lost them.”

“Liar.”

Suguru lets out a small laugh and grabs his measuring tape before approaching you. “It’s just my job, love.”

“You’re playing around,” you accuse with a pout, and he kneels in front of you to measure your legs and waist.

His movements are precise, slow, meticulous, and attentive. Even his gaze doesn’t fall inappropriately on you, a look of respect filling his entire being, guiding him gently with that eternal mischievous smile that reminds you of Satoru’s.

“Don’t give me that pout, now,” Suguru whispers as he stands up with a sigh.

Today, he’s wearing a simple white shirt under a pair of black pants and a matching blazer — perfectly tailored, of course. An unfair perfection. Among all the exes you could have had in your life, it had to be Suguru Geto—the man with a beauty almost impossible to rival, and who clearly shows a refusal to let you go. And the worst is the still-fresh memory from the night before with the image of a half-asleep Suguru against you — you in his arms. If you loathe yourself for what happened, why does his embrace comfort you so much? If you truly hate Suguru, why do you show such weak resistance to both his gentlemanly behavior and his irresistible charm?

“And there we go,” Suguru announces softly with his notepad in hand. “Lovely as always,” he adds with his eternal smile. “Hey!” You punch him in the bicep, and he steps back, laughing.

“Don’t mess with me,” you grumble, still pouting.

When was the last time this kind of situation happened?

When you two were still together.

And is forgiving him a good idea after all?

“I wasn’t messing with you, love,” Suguru replies quietly. He locks his eyes with yours to capture all your attention. “You’ve always been beautiful. And that will never change, even if you turn into a slug.” He grins at your comical look of disgust.

"A slug? You’d still choose me even if I were a slug?" you repeat, not convinced at all by his promises.

Suguru scoffs and moves closer, facing you directly. “No matter what you are in any lifetime, it will always be you that I choose, again and again.” He slowly lifts his hand and places it on your cheek. His thumb caresses your cheekbone, and your guard weakens. His words, spoken with sincere tone, float like clouds in the dressing room-turned-sewing workshop.

You remain as vulnerable with Suguru Geto — despite years of building a fortress to avoid falling back into the state you were in years ago. Yet, you are in a massive denial, giving a semblance of change in your life. You haven’t erased all feelings for Suguru. You’ve simply buried them in a corner of your heart and forgotten where—neglecting the risk they might resurface someday.

You look up at him, your lower lip trembling. “Then why didn’t you in this one?”

The question seems to catch him off guard, as his lips part and an equally vulnerable look appears on his face. He’s about to respond when someone knocks on the door.

“Mr. Geto? Are you finished?” Manami’s voice calls from the other side, sounding slightly concerned.

You both immediately step away from each other, and the tension between you dissipates, replaced by the usual coldness.

Suguru clears his throat, runs a tired hand over his face, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Uh, yeah, yeah. You can come in, Manami.”

°°°°

Less than two hours before the main moment, you are practicing breathing exercises to calm the stress of a runway show. You’re wearing one of the luxurious outfits designed by Suguru himself, and if that alone isn’t overwhelming enough, an invisible vise is tightening around your chest, making your breathing heavy and your lungs congested.

You grimace at the sensation and groan as your heart beats more erratically than expected, and tremors run through your limbs. You can’t have a panic attack now.

No.

Not when Nobara isn’t by your side to help you relax.

Staying locked in a stuffy dressing room won’t help, but the very idea of stepping outside paralyzes you. You need to wait patiently for the makeup artists to finalize your look, and it only makes you more impatient and on edge.

Someone knocks at your door and asks to enter.

Suguru.

You open your mouth to utter even a sound, but anxiety wraps around your throat and chokes you. You gasp for air, your hands sweaty and cold, slipping from the back of the chair you’re clinging to, and you collapse to the floor.

The noise is enough for the door to burst open, and Suguru rushes in, dropping to one knee and taking you into his arms.

“Love, what’s happening?” Suguru murmurs as you cling to him as if your life depends on it.

The panic attack gradually overwhelms you, and you start crying in front of him. Thank God your face is only covered with skincare, but tears are streaming down your cheeks, mingling with your grimace and your difficulty breathing.

“I…” Then a hiccup takes over. You try to inhale, but as soon as your lungs fill, the air cuts off and doesn’t pass through. You keep trying, but all you manage is to cry without stopping.

Suguru frowns. “You… Wait.” He slides one arm under your knees and back to lift you easily and place you on a sofa. “It’s going to be okay, my love… Everything will be fine… Do the same thing I do.”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes to prevent the blurred vision from making it even harder to see Suguru helping you. He places his hand on his chest and does the same for you. “I’ll count to three and you breathe in very slowly, okay? Same for exhaling,” he murmurs with all tenderness and patience. His chest rises slowly in sync after he counts to three. The air flows more smoothly now. Encouraged by this, he smiles and holds his breath. He nods for you to do the same, intertwining your fingers with his and exhaling at the same slow pace. The icy air leaves your lungs at the same time as your racing heartbeats.

For the next five minutes, a silence punctuated by controlled, rhythmic breathing fills the dressing room. You eventually manage to regain a normal breath and quell your panic attack, leaving only a few residual hiccups.

Suguru leans toward you and kisses your sweaty forehead. With your still-trembling arms, you grip his to keep him close and draw him against you, the tip of his nose brushing against your neck. The unexpected action makes him freeze, and up close, you can see goosebumps spreading over his skin. With hesitant movements towards each other, you both hold each other gently in a comforting embrace.

“Suguru…” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the recent panic attack. You take the opportunity to bury your head in the crook of his neck.

He immediately welcomes your touch and affectionately kisses your cheek. “I love you, love. Do you feel better?”

His affirmation reaches your heart so strongly that, once again, tears well up and you force yourself to blink them away. Suguru notices and a worried crease forms between his eyebrows. For a moment, his chest against yours allows you to feel his racing heart. “You—”

“I’m better,” you interrupt weakly. “Thank you…”

He sighs in relief and gently caresses your hair absentmindedly. His fingers weave skillfully through your strands, bringing back a memory that hits you hard: him comforting you for various reasons when you were together, that same hand resting and caressing the same spot on your head. So for once in years, you let yourself indulge in this nostalgic feeling without pushing it away.

However, you can’t prevent a burning question from crossing your lips. “You love me?”

Suguru reacts immediately. He carefully pulls away from you and helps you sit up on the sofa, wiping the dried tears from your beautiful cheeks. He smiles at your flushed face and bloodshot eyes. “Of course I love you. I’ve told you. I’m sorry, and even if you don’t accept it, I’ll do everything to make you forgive me.” He kneels in front of you. “I didn’t want to break up with you because it would have broken my heart, so when I saw that my career was starting to affect our relationship and I couldn’t take care of you as you deserved, I thought it would hurt less if I let you detach from me.” His shoulders shake with a sigh. “Forgive me, my love. I want to make amends and—”

“But why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?”

“Because we’re too stubborn, love.”

His words, spoken with such sincerity, reach your heart directly.

You take his face in your hands and press your lips against his. Suguru gasps slightly in surprise but quickly follows your lead, his hesitant hands sliding to your waist to deepen the contact.

Fuck.

How he missed you…

With every kiss, you reclaim Suguru’s lips as if one moment without them would take away your life. They are so soft and warm, as alluring as they are addictive, making it almost impossible for your body to pull away from him. It’s only when you feel that time seems to be passing a bit too quickly that you finally pull away from him.

“I…” A semi-horrified expression pulls at your face as you’ve just initiated a kiss with your ex—the one you’ve been avoiding for months. You shake your head and back away, stammering, “Sorry… That was a mistake, I—”

Suguru utters your name in a pleading tone. “Please… I’m begging you. Give me another chance. I only need one word. One word, and I’ll stay. One word, and I’ll leave and never come back to your life.”

“You…” If you’ve never been short of sharp retorts for Suguru, today is a new experience.

One word from you, and Suguru will accept your choice. For any other ex you might have had, you wouldn’t have even attempted to participate or do anything that involved them. But with Suguru…

“S-Stay…” you murmur in a broken voice, almost throwing yourself into his arms. He wraps you in his embrace and rocks you, his breath quick. “Stay, Suguru…” You break down, tears returning with a vengeance, flooding your face.

“I love you, sweetheart. Forgive me…” And he continues to repeat these words until someone else knocks on the door.

He prepares to pull away, but you hold him back, not wanting him to leave you once more. With a swift move, he crouches and rests his forehead against yours. “I have to go. You’re going to do great. I have no doubt, and you have no reason not to, understood?” His breath, as warm as his hands around your head, brushes your nose, and you sniffle one last time, nodding. “You’ll be perfect. I’ll watch and wait for you at the show. You’re going to shine.”

°°°°

The lights in the hall dim, plunging the audience into darkness. A bright spotlight illuminates the runway as the music begins to resonate throughout the fashion studio, amplified by the speakers.

“Here we go… In three… two… one…” Manami makes a frantic arm gesture to signal the lineup of models to step onto the runway.

The first model makes her entrance, wearing a spectacular outfit that instantly captivates the audience, with audible “oooohs!” reaching even backstage where you await your turn with a suffocating pressure. You are among the last to walk, but the distinct sound of heels clicking in rhythm with your heartbeat still reaches your ears.

But there is no room for panic now that you no longer carry the weight of your past relationship with Suguru.

He will be there to admire and reassure you from afar.

Manami gives a final signal and your lineup thins, giving you the space needed to step onto the stage.

The outfits parade down the runway, each one more impressive than the last. The theme of the collection is clear: dark silhouettes adorned with sequins and stars, reminiscent of a starry night sky. Your own outfit, the centerpiece of the collection, is bound to captivate the awed spectators. The black, sparkling dress catches the light with every step, creating an illusion of a moving firmament. Murmurs of admiration fill the room first, followed by camera clicks and cheers as you appear at the first quarter of the runway.

Taking a deep breath, your heels glide as elegantly as ever down the runway. One foot in front of the other, the sole firmly planted but almost silently advancing on the runway, chin up, and a neutral expression on your face; if anyone had never heard of your modeling career, your impression answers immediately.

Your hips sway slightly from side to side in the same entrancing rhythm as the powerful beat of the music, giving an unmatched grace to your walk. Reaching the end of the runway, your gaze falls on the front row where recognizable men have their eyes fixed on you, feeling the palpable energy of the room.

The scene lasts only a second, but it feels like an eternity.

Satoru Gojo, with a smirk, hands in the pockets of his dark stylist suit, stands with his legs spread in a posture highly unflattering for a personality like his. But then again, he exudes a carefree attitude, so who would be shocked? You manage to keep your mouth from stretching into a smile thanks to Suguru Geto, whose eyes are glued to you. His obsidian irises shine with admiration, professionalism, and also pride. He gives you a knowing wink that sends a warm, pleasant wave through every corner of your abdomen.

You snap out of your trance and pause, striking an elegant pose under the camera flashes before gracefully turning around. The shimmering fabric of your dress captures the lights with every movement, creating a shower of stars around you.

As you return backstage, the music shifts, signaling the grand finale. The crowd is buzzing, applauding enthusiastically as the spotlights sweep across the stage to accentuate the dramatic effect of the starry collection. The show comes to an end several minutes later, and you notice the applause intensifying. Suguru seems to have taken the stage and begun speaking — his voice reaching every ear — and you listen intently near your pairs.

“Thank you all for coming tonight. This collection has been a true labor of love, and I am honored to share it with you. Thank you also to all the wonderful people who made this possible, especially our incredible models,” Suguru declares, a wave of shared pride resonating through his speech.

The applause erupts once more, louder than ever.

°°°°

“Really?” you murmur softly, the tone as warm as Suguru’s hand on your hip. “If I did so well in the show, don’t I deserve a reward?”

He kneels in front of you, sliding his large hands along your thighs. “So beautiful, so magnificent…” Suguru continues to whisper as if in a prayer. “I love you… Ruin me… Use me and hurt me, love…” he pleads before placing a long, sweet kiss on your inner thigh.

The effect sends waves of goosebumps across your body, and desire burns in your eyes as you lower them to your desperate lover.

What better place to want to fuck your ex than during a festive reception hosted by Satoru Gojo, in one of the luxurious corridors of his many mansions? The same heavy, thick, velvet burgundy curtains brush against your back as he nuzzles between your legs like a little boy.

The gesture might seem funny and cute, but not when he slides his head under your evening dress and presses his nose against your panties. You gasp in surprise and place your hands on his head. “Sugu… Not here…” you whisper, alarmed.

He grumbles like a displeased child, the vibration of his voice against your core increasing your sensitivity. “You— Ah…” you moan as he plants a kiss on your already swollen clit.

“I love you, sweetheart… I love you so much…” Suguru keeps repeating these words that make you melt. He shifts your underwear with his index finger, finally gaining access to your core. He starts with a chaste kiss on your damp folds and hums in contentment, as he catches the first drop of your juices. “Tastes s’good, baby…”

Your moans intensify under his agile tongue as it licks and laps at your swollen, wet folds. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, forcing you to gasp. “Suguru…” You groan as he focuses on your throbbing bundle of nerves this time. He gently sucks on it, coaxing more juices from you, and this has the effect of drawing whimpers from your lips. If you were already struggling like mad to keep quiet, Suguru always loves to tease you and he gently inserts a finger into you. Your walls clench around it as if afraid he might pull it out. Unfortunately, pleasure comes far too quickly. With only a few long, slow thrusts inside you, your fingers find their way into his dark strands. “I’m going to—”

“Cum for me, my love,” he murmurs between flicks of his tongue.

You pray that no one can see or hear you, letting the knot in your stomach that was holding back your orgasm finally release. It bursts onto Suguru’s mouth, who doesn’t waste a single second in collecting your juices until the last drop, all while you moan in pleasure.

He finally pulls his hands and head from under your dress, panting in the same ragged rhythm as you, a satisfied smile on his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs for the umpteenth time.

A slightly exhausted smile from the intense sensation lights up your face, and before you can even respond, Suguru scoops you into his arms and nearly runs to one of the luxurious bedrooms in the Gojo mansion.

He locks the door and gently lays you on the mattress. Within seconds, you take charge, removing Suguru’s pants and teasing his bulge with the tips of your fingers. You smile mischievously and giggle.

Suguru shivers at your touch and props himself up on his elbows, weak as he is for you. “Sweetheart—” But you catch him off guard by pulling down his boxer, exposing his twitching erection. “Oh God…” He almost rolls his eyes as your hand administers a few gentle strokes. “I love you… I love you… I love you… I love you…” he repeats in a plea in the dim light of the room.

Your fingers wrap around his base as you lower your head just to kiss his sensitive, reddened tip. “What, baby? Is it too much for you? You’re already so hard f’me…” And he doesn’t have time to protest as you go slowly, for he might not last. He smiles slyly as you lick the bead of pre-cum that escapes his length.

“Damn, princess… I’m not gonna last…” he hisses, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. He lets out a sigh, his muscles tensing under your hands. You run a thick band with the flat of your tongue along his dick, and he grits his teeth. “Tease…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? Let’s see about that…” Your lips part around him, taking him fully into your mouth. As soon as his tip hits the back of your throat, he lets out a groan. “Sorry…”

Your hands slip to graze his balls and caress his thighs. With a motion of your head, you suck him, your tongue swirling around his tip and veins. “Love, I—” And with a twitch of his cock, he signals that he’s about to cum. He shudders and groans, moaning your name. His cheeks flush, and you take the opportunity to tease him. He gives in and lets his release paint your mouth white. Without wasting any time, you swallow the warm substance and pull his cock from your mouth, a string of saliva mixed with his cum linking your lips to him.. The sight of your lover in a messy, submissive state sends a shiver down your own spine.

He regains his breath, rising onto his knees, unuttons his white shirt, and tosses it into a corner at the foot of the bed. Suguru’s hands settle on your hips, pulling at the fabric to undress you completely. Your panties are just as damp as when he ate you out. Your bra quickly joins his discarded clothing, and he seals his lips with yours as if it’s the last thing he needs to do in his life. He gently flips you onto your back on the bed.

Your hands move sensually across his chest to settle on his shoulders, maintaining a grip, while Suguru’s hands grasp the back of your thighs and slowly detach his lips to press them against the side of your neck where your pulse races. He marks a hickey in that exact spot and revels in the moan you produce.

“Suguru, please… I need you…” you plead into his ear, you aching clit grazing his hard cock, and he clenches his jaw to avoid holding you too tightly in his arms. Hasn’t he dreamed for years of having you like this, in his arms, begging him to please you?

“Anthing for my princess,” he coos, his lips curling. Gently, he wraps your legs around his waist and maintains eye contact with you. One of his hands grabs his dick and teases your needy cunt with the tip to collect droplets of your wetness. “Still so wet?” Then your blush is enough to make him burst into laughter. You pout, and he purrs. “Awww… I’m going to give you what you want…”

With utmost care, his tip parts your folds and slowly pushes into you, finding its way deep inside your hot, dripping pussy. Breathing between his teeth, Suguru closes his eyes for a moment and hisses. “Damn, you’re so fucking tight…” He pants for a few seconds before resuming his movements as you moan for him to go further. “Fuck, princess… taking me so well… Like you were made for me since start…”

“Suguru…” You moan, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders. The pressure his cock exerts makes it hard for your pussy not to react and tighten with each of his slow thrusts as you adjust. “That’s it, my love… You’re doing so well…” He whispers in your ear. His hands grip your hips, helping you find the right space for both of you as he sinks into you, your pretty walls clenching around him deliciously. He lets out a whimper of your name and hits that sweet spot deep inside, making you twitch beneath him.

"Again… Please… Sugu—” But another sound of pleasure escapes you as he slowly increases his pace inside you. His length twitches between your gummy, tight walls. “So deep… So good…” you murmur with a pleasure-filled wince. “I love you… I love you…”

Words hit Suguru like a punch to the stomach, and he almost has tears in his eyes. He doesn’t stop bucking his hips into you and nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck. “Baby…” you whisper, your fingers tangled in his hair, pleasure all for you now. He nods, and his hand snakes to your clit, rubbing it in circles. “Suguru… I’m close…” you squeal as he continues to pound into you until you see stars and your cunt contracts around his length, your toes curling.

His seed paints your walls white, a warm, gentle sensation spreading through your lower abdomen, Suguru groaning into your neck, his teeth biting into the flesh of your trapezius. He slightly lifts his head, panting heavily, and presses his lips to your ear. “I don’t want to see you on anyone else’s arm, okay? Not even Satoru.”

You nod and giggle, trying to catch your breath, your eyelids closed and exhausted from the aftermath of intense pleasure. “Jealous, hmm?”

“Yes. And very possessive, love,” he affirms in a strained voice. “Will you forgive me?” he adds with a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. He withdraws from you and lies down beside you, attentive to any signs of discomfort.

“For a long time, Suguru,” you affirm, yawning.

“Oh.” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Can I ask since when?”

“Since the hotel.”

Suguru buries his head between your bare breasts and closes his eyes with a sigh. “I see. I owe that to Nobara. What do you think would make her happy?” he asks in a casual tone.

Suddenly, it’s like gears are turning in your brain, and your fingers, which were caressing his hair moments ago, freeze.

“WHAT?”

And Suguru’s laughter echoes throughout the room.

a/n: finally! i'm relieved that i've finished this fic (promised from far months now...) well, i hope you'll enjoy it! <3

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @alwaysfreakingout @mutsu422 @lymsfm

[villainoustrioau]

Okay, guys, here's the plot

Fanfic by Milkyr (thanks @peachyfnaf for editing <3)

Art by CreesA

Reunion

“Eclipse… Promise me one thing before I turn off and you're loaded into your own body..."

"Yes, of course! Anything for you, Sunny."

"No matter what happens… Don't lose yourself."

Gray fingers touched golden ones, and Eclipse looked at Sun. At his beaming smile and pale blue eyes filled with care and slight excitement.

"Whatever that means, I promise."

This was the last time Eclipse saw his Sun happy and alive.

***

Emerging from his own memories, Solar raised his head from the table. He fell asleep on the blueprints again. Grumbling softly to himself, the inventor got to his feet and stretched, hearing his iron joints creak. The animatronic soundlessly walked in soft slippers to the laboratories exit door. Focusing his hearing module on the space beyond the door, Solar listened to the sound of… nothing.

It was pretty quiet here.

Leaving the lab, Solar shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.

"Ruin?"

He called softly, going first into the living room, then into the kitchen, then into one of the bedrooms.

"Eclipse?"

But he wasn't here either.

"Jack?"

It seems that he was completely alone in the bunker.

Solar went through all the rooms once more to make sure that no one was here, and then returned to his lab, blocking the front door and turning on the sound insulation in the room.

He pulled off the worn gray cloth from a capsule, which was located in the depths of the lab and was securely disguised as a "garbage can" so that no one would have the desire to ask questions about what was there. Pushing aside some wooden crates, the mechanic looked at the horizontal capsule with regret in his eyes. Inside, under the glass, laid Sun. But not Sun of whose dimension they now live.

It was his Sun. It was Sunny. The one who was always kind to Solar when he first woke up in someone else's body and didn't understand why he was no longer part of Moon. The one who sacrificed his life in order for Solar to get a chance at his own. The mechanic shook his head, pushing away the obsessive thoughts. His gaze was determined.

He's going to get Sunny back. He will get Sunny back. He's sacrificed too much not to. His fingers quickly tapped on the keyboard of the hidden device in the capsule, and the light inside it lit up. Solar frowned in concentration as he immersed himself in his calculations. He has been working on restoring Sun for several months now- it was very dangerous to work when someone else was in the bunker. His plans could be discovered, so he had to do everything slowly and carefully.

Suddenly, the computer let out an approving beep. The inventor opened his eyes in surprise, looking at the big green check mark on the screen. Did… Did he do it..? Did he really succeed..?

With trembling hands, Solar typed a couple of commands, and a progress bar was displayed on the monitor, gradually filling in black. The mechanic pressed his palms against the glass of the capsule, watching with hope in his eyes as the light inside grew brighter.

“Download complete. All systems stabilized. All external modules running properly. Turn designation: ‘Sunny’ on?”

Solar pressed the confirmation button on the keyboard, staring in fascination as the animatronic in the capsule began to make soft noises. At first it was the crackle of electricity, then the noise of the fans, which became quieter almost immediately as he switched to silent mode.

Sunny opened his eyes.

At first, his eyes were cloudy, he heard only isolated sounds- an incomprehensible buzzing- and felt a heaviness all over his body. He saw a dark blue spot above him.

"Moon..?”

His vision began to clear, and the dark blue spot turned into a dark orange. Who is that? Sunny could say with confidence that this was the first time he’d seen such an animatronic model, but his gaze caught on a couple of details in the appearance, and he gasped.

"Eclipse..?"

Sun spoke with hesitance, still unsure of his assumption.

"Yes."

Solar replied in a quiet, trembling voice, feeling tears running down his cheeks.

"What… What happened?" Sunny asked in surprise, noticing out of the corner of his eye that he was lying in some kind of capsule, a lot of wires were plugged in all over his body. "There must be some mistake here..."

"What do you mean? You're alive, and that's good!"

Solar replied in euphoric disbelief, opening the lid of the capsule. "...You probably didn't understand me," Sunny smiled awkwardly, "the separation should have killed me. I knew I was going to die, but… I wanted to give you the opportunity to live in your own body, live your own life!..

Or..." Sun's gaze suddenly became sad and hesitant. "Or… Or are we both dead and this is the afterlife? Oh no- I'm so sorry- I never meant for this to happe-..."

"-No, no, it's okay! I'm alive, and you're alive too," Solar grabbed Sunny's hand so that he could feel his touch, squeezing it like he would leave him again if he dared to let go, "And I promise I won't let anything happen to you. Never again."

"...Wait!" Sunny suddenly realized something. Attempting to sit up, he rapidly looked around, whipping his head from side-to-side. But Solar restrained him from his attempts, holding Sunny still as carefully disconnected the capsule's wiring so that nothing would be damaged. "W- Where are we? Where’s Moon?!"

"Be careful! Your systems are still very fragile after such a long period of inactivity," the inventor replied, "I'll... I'll explain everything, just let me make sure you can move safely, okay?"

"...Solar, you're making me a little nervous. Where is our brother?"

Sunny asked his question once more, feeling a familiar anxiety slowly creeping up on his mechanisms, making its way under his endoskeleton and stirring the very core of the animatronic. Finally, he was able to sit up and look around. What kind of place is this…

"...Yes. Yes, you did die that day." Solar began with bitterness in his voice, trying not to look into Sunny's eyes as he recounted the memory. "It shocked both Moon and I, and it broke us, and then… And then..." the inventor's voice went tight as a lump formed his throat, forcing him to sound on the verge of tears as he continued.

"...His killcode took over his body. I couldn't save him, Sunny. There was an… accident." He bitterly squeezed out the words. "I'm Sorry, Sun. I'm so, so sorry. Moon is no longer with us."

The final statement hit Sunny like the crack of a painful whip. The whole world trembled right in front of his eyes. Shaking hands clutched at the face plate, despair flooding his features.

"...N-No... nononono, NO! T-This can't… It can't be..." Sun's voice warbled out in despair, "Please, tell me you're lying! T-That this is all a bad joke! PLEASE!"

Before Sunny could lose himself anymore, he felt thin and trembling arms wrap around his back. It was Solar.

Sunny buried his face in Solar's shoulder, shaking and sobbing like a traumatized child. He was absolutely shattered by the news. Moon was his day-one. His other half. His brother. The animatronic he was closest to before they separated and Eclipse appeared.

Gradually, slowly, the sobs in the air began to subside. A numb, pulsating sadness took the place of despair. Sun slightly pulled away from Solar and sighed loudly, causing his fans to flare up for a moment.

"But... What happened then..? H-How are we here?" He asked hollowly, looking at the mechanic.

"I had to conspire with dangerous criminals to survive. Working with them, I at least had a chance to get you back." Solar lowered the tone of his voice, "As of now, my name is no longer Eclipse. My name is Solar."

"Oh my God…" Sunny gasped in fright, taking Solar's face in his hands and looking at his rays. It was only now that he noticed how dirty and broken they were. "D- Did they do this to you? The criminals?!"

"No, no, I'm fine. They won't touch me, we have an… agreement," the inventor shook his head slightly, "But they must not find out about you. We're currently in a bunker under the pizzaplex. This is my lab, and we're in another dimension. But I promise we'll escape from here. I'll find a way.”

"B-But how can they not find out about me if they literally live here?" Sunny shivered, feeling fear creep up his spine. Poor Solar, what kind of mess did he get into..?

"Don't worry, they won't come into my lab. This is my personal space, and no one can come here without my permission." Solar took Sunny's hands in his own once more and looked into his eyes.

"Their names are Ruin and Eclipse. They're both very dangerous- Ruin can infect you with a virus that makes you want to kill, and Eclipse is just out of control when he's not in the mood- and he's always not in the mood. Knowing him, he'll tear you apart as soon as he sees you! Swear to me that you will not leave the lab under any circumstances. Please."

"Solar, I..." Sunny spoke quietly, confused and terrified eyes gazing into the tired and sad ones of the mechanic. "...I trust you. I promise that I will do whatever you say, and help in any way I can."

"Thank you, Sunny. Thank you." Solar leaned forward to hug Sun again, "I'm glad you're back." "Yes..." Sunny hugged the animatronic in response, "I'm so glad to see you, too…"

[stoned-rat]

The new steam version of dwarf fortress is amazing and I fucking love seeing how many people are enjoying these silly little guys and their misadventures. So here is a random collection of things I love about dwarf fortress, it's community, and it's history. (Plus some personal anecdotes)

-That one time fish became one of the games greatest threats

-That one mod that brings deadly carps back

-Training dwarven children with "danger rooms" filled with wooden spikes

-New training mechanics being added to prevent players from throwing all their children into spike pits

-When players posted their best mermaid genocide blueprints, and the creators had to patch the game AGAIN to stop their players from commiting outrageous war crimes

-bOATS and the lack there of

-The game is under halfway done according to it's creators. The game has been in development for 20 years.

-not only do you have gay, asexual, and bisexual dwarves, but animals too. Wondering why you arent getting any chicks? Sorry, your rooster likes cock.

-That one time I wasn't thinking and built a baracks next to a waterfall and my military kept throwing themselves to their deaths

-No race is actually "evil." Goblins and animal people can even join your fort and become valuable citizens.

-Elves are cannibals.

-The game being considered notoriously hard, but actually having extremely customizable difficulty settings. You will just get bored of everything going well.

-That one mod in the steam workshop that changes all the models to have giant tits

-The way dwarves will just refuse to do what you want them too

-Forts falling to their knees because cats kept adopting dwarves and having kittens until the game won't load anymore.

-The fact there are canonically no boats, but dwarves will continue to migrate to your haunted glacier year after year.

-When rain causes PTSD

-Guiding nobles under a bridge so you can lower it and they are literally crushed out of existence

-pangolins are invincible, and your hunters will pass out from exhaustion before killing one.

-The steam version coming out with a glitch that causes archers to not pick up crossbow bolts, but instead bash their enemies to death with their crossbows.

-Anyone's first attempt at redirecting a brook

-The game will always be available for free. The ASCII version will stay available for free download on Bay12, and will continue to be developed alongside the steam version. The premium/steam version was introduced to help the creators afford medical costs and thousands of people came out to buy a game that has been free for nearly two decades, and always will be.

-When asked what plans the creators had now that they were millionaires, they both said they had been more focused on the dwarves than the money and don't even know what they will do with all of it, beyond take care of themselves and keep working on the dwarves.

[moodymisty]

What each Primach would do after marrying their beloved

Lion El'Jonson: Hi, wife. I'll be your knight in shining armour but I'll forget about you 3 min into the marriage

Fulgrim: Helllooo!! Welcome to the party 🥳🥳 Make sure to bicker with my other wives for me so I can't feel insecure anymore and I'll get my daily validation

Perturabo: Get wife (impossible). Wife pretty. Iron Within, Iron Without. Wife feels good. Iron Within, Iron Without again. Become emotionally and physically dependent to wife. Life good.

Jaghatai Khan: zzzzzzzzzz-PANG ⚡⚡⚡🏍️🏍️ HI DARLING. FEEL FREE TO BECOME FRIENDS WITH ALL MY OTHER 358.947.283 WIVES (also tomorrow will be Missionary Monday, get ready 😈)

Leman Russ: WIFEEEE 🥹🥹🥹 love you soooooooooo much. You smelllllll so gooooood. Why don't you spread those le-

Rogal Dorn: Wife, let me tell you about Multi-Scale Computational Modeling of Anisotropic Thermo-Mechanical Behavior in Functionally Graded Materials for Advanced Aerospace Structural Applications.

Konrad Curze: Woman. Make bebe with woman. LITTLE ABOMINATIONS??? Woman is set for life after popping out some Night Lords :D

Sanguinius: Hello wife 🥰🥰 How is my pookie dookie wookie lookie iookie uookie oookie qookie sookie dookie bookie pookie nookie mookie hookie gookie zookie xookie lookie jookie aookie fookie wookie cutie pie honey baby apple pie with whipper cream on top my sweetie honey money baby cutie pookie so cute so perfect my love my husband my wife my beloved my only love my baby my babe my bby my boyfriend my girlfriend my everything my sweetest pie my cutest smartest pie ever most amazing and prettiest and handsomest ever so cute so handsome and beautiful my pookie bear my little baby petite tiny baby bear pookie sookie wookie muffin with chocolate on top and cherries so cute pookie bear love you mwah bark so cute love you forever my first love my true love my soulmate my only reason to live you cutie little pie hehe im little shy petite girlie pop cutest person i know so cute so beautiful my only mine only no one elses my darling mi amor dear love pookie bear love you honey boney love you to the moon and back mwah uwu (he says this after leaving her anemic)

Ferrus Manus: I live harmoniously with my love. I love her and I respect her. I am completely devoted and loyal to her, as she is with me. I am hers and she is mine. (wife in the background struggles to walk, her clothes being disheveled and she is out of breath)

Angron: SHE IS MY WIFE! YOU GOT THAT? MY WIFE! She's damn cute, okay? CUDDLY, EVEN! AND SHE... she leaves me the milk bottle in the fridge, alright?! SHE DOES THAT FOR ME! I LOVE HER SO DAMN MUCH, AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT! 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬😡😡😡🤬😡😡🤬😡

Roboute Guilliman: I so very regrettably regret that I haven't ran away earlier into my life. As I am married now with a child coming on the way, my biggest and grandest wish was to own myself a farm. I want to teach my children the simpler ways. I want them to play with wooden toys, ride horses out of the womb and to, all around, run around my farms. I want to take care of many crops, especially the mighty cabbage (pun, pun). As for my darling wife, I shall love very much and plow her back every two to four years. *Looks towards his wife, who's a little bit afraid*. We must at least have 6 children, mustn't we?

Mortarion: Today I saw my wife's ankle. She was wearing sandals with a very long skirt and it slipped out while she walked. Nevertheless, I came on a Nurgling.

Magnus: My wife? *Psychically enters her mind, while she is in the another room, and sexually overstimulate her, making her scream in ecstasy* She's doing great!

Horus Lupercal: My wife's a housewife. Because she's housing my kids! *Horus slaps his knee, laughing at his joke. The Mournival is disappointed in their Father, the Legion Mother is waddling around pregnant with their 12th kid.*

Lorgar Aurelian: (what did I cook)

Lorgar, wild-eyed and disheveled, paces back and forth, his voice rising and falling in feverish tones. His eyes are fixated on an unseen figure, trembling with a mix of adoration and desperation.

"She is divine! Do you hear me? DIVINE! Her light, it burns away the lies of this wretched universe! A goddess, yes, a goddess! How can they not see? HOW?!

Her eyes, like the twin suns of a lost paradise, see through the veils of reality! Her voice—her voice!—it is the hymn of creation itself! I am but a worm, a pitiful creature crawling in the dirt, but SHE, she has lifted me up! Blessed me with her radiance! Blessed me with HER TOUCH!

I kneel before her, broken, unworthy! The very stars tremble in her presence! They whisper her name, but Iam the chosen! I see her! I worship her! I... I... I LOVE HER! No! Not love—reverence, adoration, worship! I will burn worlds for her! Tear apart the heavens!

I am HERS. BODY, MIND, AND SOUL. HER PRIEST, HER PROPHET, HER LOVER. My faith in her is unbreakable, my devotion absolute. She is a GODDESS, My goddess, and I am lost in her divinity. FOREVER."

Lorgar collapses to his knees, clutching at his head, a broken laugh escaping his lips.

"Goddess... my goddess... please... take me... consume me... make me yours..."

Vulkan: I like my wife :3. She's very pretty. My sons like her too.

Corvus Corax: I am glad my wife's this kind. Nobody would understand me but her. Because I am in Spain without the S 😔😔

Alpharius and Omegon: My wife? Nah. Our wife. *USSR anthem begins*

LSJDKFLJSDFKJSDF-

I have no words, so many of these made me wheeze uncontrollably. Sanguinius, Horus, Mortarion and Alpharius were a highlight.

[popatochisssp]

favorite scents of the boys??!

Scents are something I’ve thought about a bit, though more in the context of what they might smell like.

Still, some of that does touch on the kinds of scents they like, so I’m gonna answer it like that anyway!

Sans (Undertale): Probably his favorite scent is cheap rubber, the kind that goofy novelty items tend to be made of—rubber chickens, whoopie cushions, groucho glasses—and yeah, he smells of it pretty often for the amount of them he keeps on his person at any given time. He’s also a fan of the smell of ketchup, but only smells of it himself rarely, when he’s recently been partaking of it…or if he pulled the ‘loose ketchup bottle’ prank on somebody and caught some splash-back. A lot more often, unfortunately, he bears the faint yet persistent smell of hot dog water…which could be worse if he wasn’t using water sausages for it, a little more pine-y than your typical cased meat odor, but it is still hot dog water so… Alas.

Papyrus (Undertale): His likes ocean-y scents the best, salty and fresh and powerful, just like him! All his most favorite colognes and deodorants are under that umbrella, so it’s probably his most typical scent. If he’s been going on any culinary adventures recently, trying to find his elusive perfect spaghetti recipe, he may smell a bit more marinara than marine…which he doesn’t mind, there’s nothing wrong with a good tomato! A perfectly excellent fruit, that he will probably shower off of himself soon, but nonetheless! …He’s loath to admit it, but he’s also acquired a fondness for the smell of crafting glue, from using it so often assembling models and customizing action figures. He won’t go out of his way to smell more like glue, but if he already does, well…he doesn’t hate it…

Sky (Underswap Sans): His favorite scents are plant-y, fresh and natural but not floral. Aloe vera and cucumber are the big ones vying for the top spot in his arsenal of bathroom products, so he’ll most often smell like that. If he’s been putting in a lot of time at a bar, though, you might catch him smelling more like some kind of booze or other—he’s surrounded by it and people spill, the stuff sinks in whether he wants it to or not. And he does fall into the ‘or not’ category, but less because he dislikes the smell(s) and more because he knows it gives off a bad impression, without context. Luckily, working at a bar usually has him smelling even more strongly of citrus, cutting up limes and lemons for juice and garnishes on behalf of coworkers a lot more susceptible to bar-rot than he is, and citrus smells he does like!

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Old paperback books are the best smell in the world to him, if he could huff it all day long, he……… Well. He kind of does, admittedly, with the amount of old paperbacks he has. He doesn’t actually smell like that himself very much though, since (much to his dismay) it just doesn’t linger long. Probably most of the time, he smells like cloves, because that lingers and it’s the most assertive scent he tangos with. It’s pretty prominent in the Dog Treats he smokes and tends to soak in everywhere, so he’s at least lucky that it’s pleasant and something he doesn’t mind smelling of. On occasion, he also tends to pick up the scent of pencil shavings—he’s a writer, and a traditionalist who just loves something about the feel of a real wooden pencil…but they do need a lot more regular maintenance to stay sharp than the mechanical ones, and the byproducts…tend to stick to hoodies.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): His favorite smell is wood-smoke, hands down, no contest. It’s what Grillby’s smells like, and he’s been haunting that joint since he was practically a kid, so it’s familiar and comfortable—and yeah, since he’s there so much, it’s all over him too. As far as when he’s not there, he’s enough of a greasemonkey privately and professionally that he gets a lot of crud on him from that, motor oil and gas and transmission fluid, et cetera. He doesn’t love those smells, but he doesn’t really notice or care about them much either, so it is what it is. Regrettably, he will also often smell of mustard. It’s mostly on his breath but it is his favorite condiment to put on anything, and sometimes that means a bit of spillage here and there. Alas.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): He loves the smell of leather and wouldn’t be able to tell you if that love came before or after the amount of it he’s amassed in his wardrobe. He even likes the artificial stuff that they put in leather cologne, so even when he’s not actively wearing leather, he probably still smells like leather. He also has his own unique musk—obviously strongest during and immediately post-workout—and while he makes all appropriate efforts to be cleanly and not reek, like some brothers do, that never really goes away and he’s not-not a bit partial to it, personally. Sometimes, rarely, his hands will pick up a bit of a faint rosewood scent, from the fretboard of his—wait, no, the reason’s not important, they just do, and it’s a perfectly fine and acceptable smell that he’s neutral towards!

Mal (Swapfell Sans): If he had to choose a favorite scent, it would probably be cedar wood. He himself only smells like it occasionally, when he’s been furtively whittling, but he’s got a bit of a Pavlovian calming and focusing response to it, so he likes it around. Mostly he smells like talcum powder, since it’s a favorite of his for keeping dry and not sweaty after the workouts, strenuous military patrols, and wildly psychologically tense political situations he’s had to navigate throughout…his life in general. He smells clean and calm and pleasantly neutral, he’s never been stressed even once, have you seen him sweat? No. …That said, if he happens to be unwinding in his private time, after a not-at-all-stressful day, he will probably smell strongly of whatever wine he’s been drinking—almost always something red and dry, naturally.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He adores the smell of coffee, definitely his favorite. Muffet’s was always a safe place for him, so a lot of it is tied up in some of those memories, but he still drinks it a lot (at inadvisable times of day) and he just generally finds the smell of it pleasant. Chocolate has a similar effect, since he has a major sweet-tooth and tends to store a lot of little treats on his person for later…and sometimes he ends up smelling like it too, when he forgets about those treats and they…melt. If he’s not actively smelling like one of those two things, though, it’s probably pen ink, which is his favorite medium for sketching and pretty far up there on his list of preferred scents, even as strong and chemical-y as it is. It mostly only rubs off on his hands, if anything, so it doesn’t linger too long and he finds it meditative for as long as it does last.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s pretty passionately in love with the way most things in the Allium family smell when being cooked, but garlic is at the top of the list. He could smell it all day long and be a very happy man, and he preps and eats enough of it—garlic bread, confit, pasta, pizza—that he’ll sometimes get it on his breath or his hands. A lot more prominently and frequently, though, he’ll smell like dog, or cat. You know the smell, it’s indescribable, but he works with animals and tends to come home stinking like them, and honestly, he doesn’t really mind the smell at that much, himself. It’s a good stink. …But of course, not everyone agrees, and the fur is a bitch, so sometimes he also smells like the dryer sheets he keeps on him to get some of that hair off and mask the dog-smell.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): His favorite scent in the world is flowers! He doesn’t really have a strict preference, but he does like magnolias, jasmine, gardenia… Sometimes he does smell floral, because he definitely prefers soaps that smell like his favorites, or because he’s out in his garden tending to the flowers and the vegetables. The latter is also how he gets a lot of fresh-cut grass and dirt smells into his gardening clothes, which is absolutely a blessing because he loves those scents too! Possibly the only thing he tends to smell like on a regular basis that he doesn’t love is antiseptic. It’s pretty harsh and chemical, but as much as he’s not a fan, it’s a necessity for a nurse—you work a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, antiseptic is probably one of the better things you can come home smelling like. Rest assured he showers immediately when he gets home, he doesn’t like the hospital stink either.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): His favorite smell is a little particular, the way cloth smells when it’s kind of old and worn. Cotton is preferred but linen is also perfectly acceptable, just something about broken in, familiar clothes or sheets or even couch cushions makes him happy and—with the amount of those that he has on and around and over himself on a regular basis—he does pick up a bit of that scent himself fairly often. Still, he does have a brother in the picture who refuses to abide him smelling like musty cloth all the time, so a lot more often he’ll be smelling like fabric softener from the freshly washed pile of laundry he grabs his sweaters out of. He likes that smell well enough too, so no issue there. Sometimes, more frequently than you might guess, his hands (and sleeves) pick up the smell of dish soap, from a chore easy enough that even he can handle, in between rests.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He’s an absolute sucker for the smell of vanilla, nothing makes him happier. Every candle and air freshener and cologne he gets his hands on is vanilla-scented because he just loves it so much. When he’s not busy smelling like vanilla, however, he’s probably off in the kitchen smelling like bread instead. He does plenty of cooking and baking, and getting lightly floured and saturated in the ambient scent of rising dough is pretty much inevitable—albeit not especially long-lasting. Another not-uncommon smell around him is sweet, light florals, like plum blossom or honeysuckle. They’re just under vanilla as far as ranking his personal preferences might go, so a lot of the soaps and body washes he gets tend to be something like that, if he can find it.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): As far as a favorite scent goes, his is probably WD-40. It’s a little weird and a little specific, but he’s fixed up enough things around the house with it that his love affair with how useful the stuff is has fully extended to what it smells like. If he knew there was a cologne that smelled like it, he’d probably wear that shit all the time, but since nobody’s told him about that, he only smells of it himself when he’s been doing the handyman thing. If he’s been working a lot, knitting or buying and sorting yarn for knitting, he’s at least somewhat likely to have some lanolin smell on and around his fingers—since his preference is generally wool yarn over acrylic and that has the straight-from-the-sheep aroma built-in. He’s more or less neutral to it. If he knows ahead of time that he’s going to be going out somewhere, though, he’ll freshen up properly with some body spray, something in the amber or oaky range of scents, warm and woodsy with a little spice to it. That, he likes.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): He’s not a fan of most strong scents, less so if they’re noticeably artificial. Probably his favorite is cocoa butter, since it’s soft and pleasant and not overwhelming, so the majority of his soaps and other toiletries—and the man himself—smell like that, and that’s the way he likes it. If he’s been meditating recently or otherwise trying to center himself, he might pick up a faint tinge of sandalwood from the incense he burns, but again, since he favors light scents it’s bound to be subtle and probably won’t last long outside of his meditation room. He will sometimes get some long-lingering fruit scents on his hands, since it’s something he likes to do, peeling or otherwise unwrapping fruits for himself, or ducks and geese at the park, or for someone he cares about. It’ll be apples and oranges, mostly, but sometimes he’ll make a go of a pomegranate, and his spindly talons will be fragrant for awhile and that’s…fine.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a little different, depending on whether you catch him before he’s solved his DT problem, or after. In both cases, he’s liable to often smell like something sweet, thanks to his home-baking business—almond more than most things, since he favors it for texture, or as extract, or as flour for a gluten-free option, but sometimes frosting, compotes, or plain old powdered sugar will cling to him a bit outside of the kitchen too. He doesn’t love it, but he’s fine with it, especially with what it covers up when he’s regularly destabilizing. The DT in his body is an overwhelming presence, to the point of having a noticeable scent when his magic spikes—an iron smell, harsh and metallic…and if he happens to lose control of himself and start melting, the smell of liquidizing bone is equally strong and unpleasant, something chalky and like…corn chips? Understandably, he’s…not a fan. He tends to mask it where he can with strong citrusy colognes, orange and lemon and yuzu, which he does like and will continue to wear for special occasions once his Issue is sorted. But his favorite scent…that’s probably orange blossom, which is just a little too subtle to assert itself over liquid bone and charged DT, but perfect on its own, after everything’s fixed. It’s his favorite kind of soap and he doesn’t really bother with anything else.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Like his brother, he also has a lot of DT in his body, just not as much and he’s in control of it. Still, that does mean he sometimes smells strongly of it, that thick and harsh iron tang, but usually only when he’s really, truly angry—just a bit of grump or peeve won’t cut it. His method of covering it up, when it does happen, is with some original scent Old Spice body spray, which he thinks is infinitely better and a classic, timeless scent to wear. He’s not necessarily wrong either, since he’s not a teen boy using it as a replacement for showering, so he doesn’t ever empty a whole can onto himself, but that’s a low bar. As much as he does like the Old Spice smell, the honor of favorite has to go to any combo of fruit-and-cream, and of those, orange creamsicle wins with him by a mile every time. He only has a few soaps and sanitizers in that category, but he’ll replace them immediately when he runs out, to make sure it’s always around.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): No hesitation, his favorite scent is blackberry and herb—his preferred cologne has it with bay leaf, but he’s found it in soaps and sanitizers paired with basil or sage and finds that equally pleasant. He uses it more to accent than cover up, and he thinks it pairs nicely with his own natural musk. If he’s been working out or boxing a lot, that musk will come through a bit stronger and blend with some other distinct things—neoprene, chalk, hand-tape—to give him an overall ‘gym smell,’ which he’s aware of but maybe only slightly negative on, at worst. He can always wash up after… Probably the only other thing he smells like regularly is chlorine or bromine, since he loves pools and jacuzzis and taking a nice dip in either, and those have to stay clean somehow. If pressed, he’d say he likes that smell in the same way some people like the smell of gasoline—it’s chemical, but there’s something about it to like, even if sniffing it too much directly would probably make you sick.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): His favorite smell is tea, freshly brewed. His general preference is probably more for black teas, but the occasional herbal tea is nice too. His fondness for it is mostly in the act of steeping, pouring, holding, sitting with and sipping the tea rather than only the smell, so he really only smells of it himself when he’s actually made or drank some. More than anything, he tends to smell like marker ink, from his persistent habit of doodling all over himself. It’s definitely chemical, but he does kinda like it, brings back nice memories for him and makes him feel creative and happy. Add in a somewhat compulsive cleaning habit, and you also have him kitchen-lemon-scented whenever he’s at his most sleepless and anxious, and understandably he doesn’t especially love that one, but hey, at least it’s clean and fresh.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He loves the smell of cola, a little syrupy but sharp and cut with carbonation bubbles, it just hits all the right notes of ‘pleasant’ for him and makes him feel relaxed. He does drink it, but not so much that he overly smells of it anywhere but his breath if he’s actively in the middle of a can or glass. Mostly, he smells a little grassy and warm, like vetiver or lemongrass since those are the kinds of soaps and body washes he prefers—nothing too strong or overpowering, just clean! ………And sometimes, in odd moments of high emotion, when things feel weird… he smells………like nothing? But something. Kind of like…petrichor, the scent that hangs in the air when it’s about to rain, but…not that, something more charged and…dark. …He doesn’t like that one.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Like his brother, he too sometimes smells like something and nothing, some kind of undefinable electric darkness that he can’t put a name to…and quite frankly, he doesn’t like it either! What he does like are herbal scents, the more assertive, the better—like mint, he loves the smell of mint! Rosemary is also nice, or eucalyptus, but nothing quite beats a crisp fresh mint aroma in his heart. The only time he’ll really stray away from those kinds of botanical scents on purpose is when he’s looking for cologne to wear, and then he’s very unpredictable in terms of what he goes for. He seems to find himself almost magnetically drawn to the most abstract and loosely defined concepts. What is lunar cologne, what does it mean to smell like the moon? He can’t really say, but it seems like it would be good to impress new people—acquaintances, colleagues, perhaps a date… He’ll keep wearing it for the fancy occasions.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): His favorite scent is the ocean—not artificial approximations of it, or combinations of scents that someone has decided to label ‘marine,’ only the real thing will do. It’s mostly the experience of being there that resonates with him, so similar standing bodies of water (like lakes and Great Lakes) will also come close for him, but it just can’t really be bottled, what he’s after. Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on your perspective), he does occasionally smell like sea or lake water himself since he often decides to walk right in whenever he visits one, and that scent lingers even after he’s dredged himself back out. He doesn’t especially mind it, but other people do, and if he then has to be around some, it tends to be easier to…find…some new clothes, preferably some overstock from mass-produced fast-fashion brands just sitting in a warehouse somewhere. So, a lot of the time, he’ll smell like that—the strong dyes and starches and other chemicals that linger in fabric before the first wash. He’s pretty neutral to it, since it fades anyway the more he wears it around. When the weather’s hot, he may pick up the slightest scent of silicone rubber from his body components heating up, but he’s very well-constructed, so that’s the worst of it.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He doesn’t have a favorite scent, it’s not a sense he has anymore. Which he’s fine with! Lots of smells are gross, and he’s gained plenty of other senses and capabilities with his lifestyle change to counterbalance it, so he really doesn’t miss it much ever. He himself does have a scent though, to an extent. His hard-light form smells a little like how static electricity smells, sharp and tingly, and the more fully solidified he is, the stronger the scent. If he was told about it, that would be his favorite scent by proxy. Sometimes as a precursor to his appearance, the air itself tends to sharpen and smell crisp, the way it does in cold weather—this, he wouldn’t especially like, since it takes some of the surprise out of him showing up if someone happened to notice it as a trend, but of course there’s nothing he could actually do about it anyway. It’d be hard to notice, but occasionally, devices he’s tampered with or poked around in might have a faint aroma somewhat like hot plastic, fleeting and easily put down to just the object itself overheating or something. He wouldn’t really like to know that either, no fun if he's so noticeable but again, it is what it is.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans):  His favorite scent is a sweet berry medley, not all that particular about which ones, as long as there’s a couple different kinds of berries mixed in! A lot of his soaps and body washes will be of that ilk, so it’s probably also the thing he smells like more often than not. He also likes to burn incense, but it’s mostly gifted, or sticks and cones picked up incidentally from all over, so he’s not very consistent with any one scent. White sage pops up a bit more than some of the others, but there’s a whole laundry list of incense aromas he could pick up by proximity. And on occasion, especially if he’s been frequenting pottery studios, it’s entirely possible that he could have a bit of a clay smell stuck to him…or actual clay, on him, it can be messy stuff but super fun and he loves it—even when it’s wedged in between his phalanges.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): His favorite scent is definitely bergamot. He himself smells like it often, since it’s the feature of every cologne he wears, and most of the body washes and potpourris he keeps around his home. He’s also fond of the way magazine paper smells—he keeps a steady supply of them in circulation to keep on top of lots of different trends (and to see if any inspire him to participate)—but that’s a scent that doesn’t especially linger, maybe a bit on his hands if he’s been at it awhile. What does linger, whether he likes it or not, is bird smell but he only picks that up when he’s been whistling too many birds onto his fingers, or if he’s been petting learning how to handle raptors in the hopes of some day soon getting to keep a falcon. What the bird smell actually smells like depends entirely what kind of feathers he’s been preening and for how long, but either way he kind of likes it.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): His favorite smell is metal, brass and copper and steel. Mostly, they don’t have a smell of their own but they do when someone’s touching them, or if they’re being actively cut and machined, and that’s the kind of smell that he likes. He smells of it personally every now and again, since he does have a passion for tinkering with most anything he can get his hands on, and on his hands is where that scent tends to linger a bit. Way more often, what he smells like is ozone, a kind of heavy electrical smell, like lightning’s about to strike—or already has. It’s at its worst when his magic is in high supply and lightest if he’s running low, and most of the time at a ‘Huh, storm’s coming’ level that he's…admittedly nose-blind to, so he has little opinion on it. If you’re up close and chatting, something you’ll definitely catch of whiff of is the cinnamon gum he prefers, but that’s a calculated move, premeditated on his part. Nobody likes rank breath, best to keep it smelling like something nice if he’s going to socialize, right?

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): His favorite smell is soap. He has a strong preference for softer ‘clean’ scents, something like Dove soap, vaguely floral and light and not overpowering or chemical. He never really had a choice in anything what he used to clean himself with before, but now that he does, this is one of the easier choices he’s made. He also has an odd fondness for the scent of still, stagnant water—even when it’s heavy on the mildewy, algae notes. He doesn’t much smell like that himself, unless he’s been maintaining his aquariums recently, but he certainly doesn’t mind the mustiness of it as much as some might. If he’s been working, he’s liable to pick up any of a dozen scents common around a job site—sawdust, gravel, paint, spackle—whatever’s around and whatever he might’ve been tasked to do…but those will get replaced by the scent of soap in short order.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): His favorite scent is definitely ginger, extra points if it happens to be gingerbread, but he likes it in most other things as well. It’s something of a special treat for him, so he doesn’t indulge in it very often and he’s in the habit of hiding any evidence, but if he lets his guard down it’s possible to catch a faint whiff of it on him, rarely. Probably the most notable smell on him is balsam fir, which he prefers for a cologne. It’s a good strong scent, woodsy with a balance of sweet and spicy, and makes a subtle enough statement about himself…though naturally, he goes without it whenever he doesn’t want to be noticed. Every now and again, he may also smell a bit like apricots, coinciding directly with the summer months when they’re in season and it’s an ideal time for him to get a whole bunch and make illegal booze out of them. He likes the smell inasmuch as it can be a conversation starter to ask if anyone is interested in a bottle or two when it’s ready, but he’s not especially passionate about the smell for its own sake.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): If you ask him, the best smell in the world is wet earth, or just plain old mud. It’s sharp and gritty and real, and he loves catching a whiff of it under his soles or even his palms whenever he’s been outside long enough. He does wash, sometimes, so he doesn’t always smell like literal dirt, but his preference for a juniper berry body wash keeps him smelling pretty outdoorsy most of the time. Under all that, there’s also his own natural musk which he doesn’t much care to hide—after all, it blends so nicely with the smell of fresh air and trees that cling to his clothes after he's come back from a run or parkour through the woods…or at least he thinks so. Why would he want to douse himself in fragrances to get rid of it?

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): He likes the scent of nutmeg the most. It smells warm and spicy and little bit bitter, and he likes that—but mostly in beverages, like coffee, so he only occasionally smells of it himself. Also faintly on him is the scent of formaldehyde, from when he’s working. He’s less susceptible than any human coworkers to some of the more astringent chemicals in his line of work, so a lot of the mixing and handling is left to him, which he’ll surely make wry comments about but actually doesn’t mind so much. Even faint, the smell seems to be a bit of a subconscious deterrent for most humans, once they get close enough to notice it. Most of that, however, is sadly rendered ineffective by the strong floral scent he often picks up, mostly roses and lilies, from setting up, moving, disposing of (and occasionally absconding with) funeral flower arrangements. …Even so, he can’t bring himself to truly despise it. He does enjoy flowers.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): He likes flowers too! Certainly a lot more than he enjoys the scent of dirt, when he’s working, or the scent of rot, when he’s trying to obtain new animal bones for his collection. To that end, he’s definitely also a collector of dried flowers, and he keeps them on his person anywhere and anywhen he thinks there might be unpleasant odors that could sink into his clothes—lavender and hibiscus and lotus are common choices…but even so, none of them are his favorite. That honor goes to rhubarb! It’s so fresh and fruity and lovely, almost every cologne and soap and toiletry he buys features it as a key note, if not the only note, and he feels at his best when he’s wearing it. Rarely, he may sometimes smell a bit smoky. Just candle wick smoke, since he likes to burn a lot of candles and then has to go around blowing them all out so as not to leave them unattended and that scent clings for at least a little bit. It’s not his favorite either, but he doesn’t mind it at all.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Intrigued With You

I ii iii iiii

Yandere! Pinocchio x Fem! Mechanic! Reader

Warnings: Implied toxic familial relationship, unbalanced power dynamics between the reader and Geppetto, very slight mental breakdown, slowly going into a downwards spiral, paranoia, mentioned past violence and stalking. When the full game comes out, this work may be completely different from the actual game. Please tell me if I missed any.

This blog contains/creates/interacts with dark content.

Minors/blank blogs/blogs that don’t reblog any fan art or fan fiction DNI.

Word count:3096k

Over all story summary: Your uncle’s puppet takes a bit too much of an interest in you: in which you fucked up in this chapter.

==

The public’s opinion of you started to go downhill since then.

It’s been a week, and while most of the citizens won’t throw rocks or stalk you, they still stare – glares that are sharper than a knife, cutting deep into your arteries. You could practically feel the blood oozing out, a puddle forming underneath you as you stood on the stage, heart threating to explode any second now. The crowd just stares, and the puppet next to you cheers. How funny. The damn puppet is offering you more support than the intended audience.

Your foot taps against the wood. Your head throbs and you hold back a scream. You’re a monkey in a circus and they’re throwing peanuts at you.

“Hello everyone. I am here today to introduce a new, and improved, Nanny Puppet, upgraded with new codes and everything.” Your smile is strained, some of the people cheering with others sitting in silence. Seems as though some are genuinely interested and perhaps even excited about the new developments.

Glancing at your uncle who rests behind the curtains to the side, he nods his head.  But most of his attention was on the puppet rather than you. “And it even comes with settings you can adjust yourself at home.”

The Nanny cheers again, robotic, and staticky still. So lifeless, its entire being written on a script. But as you look over the crowd on the wooden stage, head light and heart thumping like thunder, you feel the same. From the way you are standing, to the wave of your hands and your words, is all scripted.

A script written by your uncle.

“Now, come,” you gesture to The Nanny, and it listens, turning its back towards the crowd as you stand next to it. There’s buttons and latches, and you undo them all, with a quick ‘sorry,’ uttered into its ‘ear.’ A habit you picked up from the years of working with your uncle.

And with the rise of malfunctions, part of you thinks it’s for the best. Pretend you’re sorry to them, and maybe when everything goes south, they’ll take pity on you. Paranoia doesn’t look good on you, you realize, showing the audience the off switch, the lights in its eyes dimming as it turns off. This wasn’t a new feature.

But the kill switch is.

“As you can see, the power switch is still enabled, even in these new models. So, don’t worry about that, but!” you bring out a control panel from your waistcoat pocket. It’s small enough to fit in your hand, and on the black surface lies a red button, a little glass cap covering it. To prevent any accidental touches. You grip it a little too hard.

“This right here is a kill switch. Now, I’m not going to press it,” your thumb rubs circles over the cap. You can’t find it in you to force another smile, mentally and physically drained from everything. “But the moment you press it, the puppet will immediately shut down… but it won’t turn on again, either.”

There’s some ‘ooo’s’ and ‘awe’s,’ but the silence of the rest is what puts you on edge. They’re most likely the protesters. You wouldn’t be surprised if this stage would set fire any minute now. You shudder at the thought. Another glance at your uncle – he nods, again.

But his eyes are still mostly focused on the puppet. You can’t tell if it is in interest, hope, or disappointment. Just like how you can’t tell if there’s still warmth in his eyes when he looks at you.

“How does it work?”

You blink, off guard. A woman raised her hand, curious eyes drilling into you. You prepared yourself for this, practicing in front of a mirror for hours on end. You got this. You need to. You might fall apart otherwise.

“So, essentially, it – “

“Or, how about you don’t make them at all? The puppets, I mean.” A man speaks up, hat hiding his gaze, but you feel the hatred and frustration radiating off him in waves. You prepared yourself for this too. But reality still sends you reeling back mentally, the thought of rocks being thrown, or stage set on fire. At least he pretends to be respectful, even with his group frowning at you.

Your body trembles the slightest bit.

“Oh – um… I understand where you come from. It’s… it can be difficult to see use in the puppets, but they’re mostly here for when you can’t do something or need extra help…” you can’t tell if you’re lying to him or saying the truth – it’s all part of the script. And truthfully, you agree with him.

You just keep your mouth shut on the matter.

“They’re taking our jobs, you know? Oh wait, you probably don’t – you’re well-off, producing and selling these… things.” The same man shakes his head before pushing others out of his way – he stops just shy of an inch before the stage. “You don’t have to worry about them stealing your job. For now, at least.”

He adjusts his hat, and the contempt in his eyes is so heavy you’re on the verge of drowning. You swallow. You do know, you do, but it’s not like you could do anything. You already tried, you tried, but talking doesn’t work and –

“Alright, alright, I think that’s enough for now.” Your uncle comes out, places a hand on your shoulder. It feels more restricting than comforting. “It’s been a rather long day for everyone, hasn’t it? The sun is going down, and dinner time is drawing near. Same place and time tomorrow, as it was yesterday and today.”

Unlike you, he sounds confident. Gentle, but firm, and yet, you’re starting to grow more wary of him than the protesters. You wish you could hurry and pick a side. Money or no money, everything was starting to seem more futile, meaningless. You want to live under a rock.

Live under a rock and become separated from your job. You tap your foot more aggressively, biting your lip once your back is turned to the crowd. Your hands twitch even with the control in your hands.

He doesn’t leave room for debate, guiding you on the shoulder to walk down the stage and to his little personal workshop. The police – puppets, again – prevent anyone from getting close. You weren’t here yesterday; it was just him. Did he go through the same thing? Is that why he’s so calm, so natural about it?

Or was he always like this? Disconnected from everything that did not concern his work, his dreams? His puppet, his –

“… Uncle,” you fiddle with the control in your hands. “Did anyone accompany you yesterday?” You can’t find it in you to look at him. Can’t even talk properly, no matter how hard you try to accept everything, like you should. It’s expected of you. And maybe it is because of that, that you can’t find yourself willing to do so.

“Mm. Howard did. It was a welcomed surprise.” He chuckles low in his throat, adjusting his hat as you make way home. Guilt immediately starts to boil within, your heart squeezing painfully as your throat closes in on itself. “He’s a fine young man indeed.”

“He is, isn’t? Such a nice young man…” you agree, nodding your head, ignoring the gnawing at your chest. You care about him, dreadfully so, to the point it was horribly painful. Which was why you tried to keep him out of your business.

But he was just so stubborn.

“Hm,” he takes a glance at you; eyes shifting from one side to another. You see it but don’t think much of it. But even so, you can’t ignore the lack of warmth in his gaze. “I heard he’s been visiting you more often now. Are you two perhaps…?”

“No! No, it’s not like that. It won’t ever be like that again.” You laugh, shaking your head. You fidget with the control more. You look down at your hands – scars and light burns decorate them like tattoos. No longer as ‘pretty’ as society would like to describe.

The though brings out a laugh.

“It just won’t work out.”

“How come?” He sounds interested, but not in a caring way – it was in a way that made you feel like a test subject. “You were such a great pair. He would have made an excellent son-in-law for your parents.”

You grit your teeth. “Yeah. He would have. But that’s neither here nor there; it’s in the past. And it will forever remain in the past.” Your face feels hot – anger? Shame? Annoyance and irritation jabbing at every corner of your very being, you try your best to remain stoic about the conversation. Even if you subconsciously know he’s taking a jab at you.

Even though he has no reason to.

You were sure of it now – all of the warmth that was inside your uncle was slowly becoming cold. Was he always this type of man? Cold? Disconnected from everything? But surely, there was still some left for you, right?

A faint chuckle. “I apologize – I shouldn’t have brought up the subject. I wasn’t aware that it was still a touchy subject.” His fingers dig into your shoulder before his grip loosens. He pats it twice before fully letting you go, turning his head to smile at you.

You think it was meant to be gentle. “It’s fine. It was my fault for… assuming you had other intentions by bringing it up.” It’s a lie. It wasn’t fine, and you both know that. But it should be okay, because he’s a man you consider to be your uncle, and of course uncle Geppetto always wants what’s best for you. It would crush you if he didn’t.

“Mm, that’s the spirit. Don’t let anything drag you down.” You’re at his personal workshop now, the wind picking up. It’s getting colder. The leaves are starting to fall more and more, flowers wilting as the days go by. Just like you.

“Now then, I hope you take great care of him. I have other business to attend to, but I wanted to make sure you made it back safe and sound.” Your uncle gives you exactly two pats on the back. Adjusting his glasses, he turns to look at you, smiling.

Smiling, smiling, smiling – it’s all he does. It’s what unnerves you the most. It’s what the citizens hate about him. It’s what unarms your family. It’s what feels the most inhuman about him.

“Yes, of course,” you reply, nodding your head. Your fingers start scrapping against the control gently. Foot tapping, you attempt to smile. “I would never harm… it. It is also my project, you know?”

It wasn’t.

“Mm, yes, of course. Thank you for all your hard work.” And with a tilt of his hat, he’s off – you watch his retreating back, the muscles with every movement. You just realized he could easily overpower you.

Your fingers dig harder into the control until you can feel your fingernails digging into your own flesh. You wonder if he would turn against you if you were to abandon this job field.

--

Two hours and forty minutes.

That’s how long you have been tampering with the legion arm – your uncle begged you to stop calling it a mechanical arm – greasing it, tightening the screws, making sure that the fingers curl just like a real hand would. And of course it did – it should, especially since nearly all your paychecks and funds go into this puppet and not your own personal life.

Two hours and forty minutes, plus two months and you’re barely about to be done with this damn thing. You finished two other ones before this, but even then, you might have to ‘fix’ them. Make sure that they’re up to your uncle’s very high standards.

“Fuck… why am I even working on this thing? This is the least of our concerns, not to mention – ow, fuck!” In your hurry to get another type of screwdriver, you pushed over a failed ‘heart’ test dummy. It lands directly on your foot, causing you to drop everything else as you hold it with your trembling hands.

They were doing that more often. “Wow, okay, great. Sure, let’s just let everything fall on you. God, I’m going crazy. I might turn into a menace before the protesters and puppets do.” Running a hand through your hair, you pace back in forth, biting your free thumb.

Every time you enter this godforsaken place, your sanity dwindles bit by bit. “Okay, let’s calm down – my foot isn’t bleeding, I think. I should… I should take a break.” Despite your words, you go back to working – picking up the old ‘heart’ and placing it back on the messy table.

Research papers messily stacked at a corner, puppet parts scattered all over, grease stains on the wood. The table wears scratch marks like medals of honor. Pausing for a moment, you walk to the far-right side of the table, picking up the papers and placing them into a clean square bin on the floor. You kick it to some random corner of the workshop.

The urge to rip them to shreds is, in a way, comforting. If those were gone, how could you continue on? They even had blueprints. Nails dig into your palms at the thoughts. Not harsh enough to draw blood, however.

“Hm, I should clean up… but what’s the point? Everything gets scattered again, uncle moves the parts to the most random of places, Howard ends up losing them… so much to do, such little time.”

Ranting to yourself, you stomp to the table again, picking up the new and ‘official’ heart for the puppet. You remember putting it elsewhere. In a drawer. Safe and sound.

And yet, it was on this stupid, stupid table –

“Are they trying to kill me?” you mumble out, on the verge of pulling out strands of your hair. “Not only that, but the fact I could have been harmed today… he knows they already threw stones at me, why make me appear in public again? Why get on the wooden stage that could easily be consumed by fire?”

Without thinking, you stride over to the puppet sitting on the red plush chair. When you’re shy a few inches from it, you take a moment to admire its beauty – the eyes were closed. Long eyelashes that cast shadows onto pale, freckled ‘skin.’ The carob brown hair still looked as soft as ever, with messy curls that remind you of his hair back when he was younger.

Back when everything was normal. Gentler times where warmth wasn’t forced into honeyed words, when you weren’t so scared of being beaten to death. When everything was fine. Happy.

It was missing the left arm – the legion arm. You cast a glance behind you, spotting the arm on the table. That’s the one he wants to put on for now. The most simple, basic one, no complicated functions, no paint, just metal. You decide to leave it.

Turning to face the puppet again, tilting your head, you really take in its appearance; it has an average body type. Maybe a bit more on the lean side, but aside from the pretty face and missing arm, it looked human. It looked normal.

And that’s what scares you.

“…,” against your better judgement, your hand reaches out. Fingertips graze against the cheeks, feeling how cold and smooth it was. It’s flawless compared to your hand. You pause to see if the puppet will move at your touch. When it doesn’t, you bring your hand up, taking a closer step to it. The hair was soft, fluffy. It didn’t feel fake like it should.

It felt real.

“… I shouldn’t be doing this. Hah. I really am going crazy.” The thread that was holding your sanity together was close to snapping. Again, against your better judgement, you act on impulse. Unbuttoning the white button-down, you feel your heart drop at how… human it looks.

But upon closer inspection, there was a thin line, forming a square across the chest. There was a little screw, the opening to inside of the chest. Huffing, you dig into your overcoat pocket, retrieving the specific screwdriver – your uncle makes you carry it like a lifeline. However, you are not sure if he thought it through – what if someone mugged you?

Your hand hesitates as you hold the screwdriver, hovering by the opening. The ‘heart’ was still in your hands. It starts to beat slowly, almost as if coming to life. “… Uncle might kill me if I mess with his favorite puppet…”

Instead of heeding your own words, you open the chest cavity, placing the screwdriver back into your pocket. You’ve seen it before; hollow, wires connecting with each other and to the sides. There’s a small open space where a human heart would be. You look at the one in your hand before nodding your head.

You were acting rebellious, in a way. And it may very well lead into your downfall, either being killed by a puppet going haywire or by your uncle’s red, blinding rage.

You hesitate before gently putting the ‘heart’ into its assigned area. Connecting the wires to it, patting it, watching as it starts to glow, beating steadily. You did not think twice about your actions. After a second, you close it, screwing it shut before walking serval steps away.

Nothing happens.

“Hah… ha-ha, what was I thinking? I went from zero to a hundred within a few minutes… I should take a few days off. Maybe even a week…” chuckling to yourself, you rub your head. You’re getting a migraine. Much be too much caffeine, that coffee would eventually kill you.

Turning around, you walk away from the puppet, heading towards the door to get some fresh air. To force some sanity back into your head before you scream your lungs out and pull out every single strand of your hair out. The longer you stay here, the worse you become.

Creak.

You stop in your tracks, blood turning cold. No. surely not – your eyes widen when you realize how stupid you are. You were dumb enough to connect the wires to the heart. But! When your uncle did that, this didn’t –

You turn your head around so fast you almost snap your neck. Your heart drops.

It opens its eyes, and the first thing it sees is you.

tag list:

@ijustreblogstuff-i-like @chiofany @quzbea @cute-angi

@nealcaffrey2129 @connorsoddsock

@rositabluemoon

[charmingsprout]

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs – The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’? The Feet, mechanical, go round – A Wooden way Of Ground, or Air, or Ought – Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment, like a stone – This is the Hour of Lead – Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

-Emily Dickinson

cosplay made & modeled by me photography by @cephalon-sancti (photo editing by me)

[casualsnickers]

Month of Emmet Quick Write #12

Prompt #12: Illusion

Emmet is usually one for schedules- especially if it involves self care- but of course, things have changed to better adjust to Ingo getting back into the swing of things. Emmet says he doesn't mind. Maybe a few safety checks got ignored. Maybe his schedules aren't followed too closely anymore. And maybe- just maybe- a bad coping mechanism has formed.

Read the whole thing below the cut.

Crickets chirped. Emmet tinkered within the confines of his garage, his brow heavy with sweat as he carefully tightened a fastening nut to the model train he’d been working on that entire evening ever since he had gotten off of his shift early. He spared a glance toward his Klingklang who had been whirring silently in the corner, having fallen asleep a long time ago waiting for him to finish. One hour had turned into two turned into four and now turned into six. He had been scheduled to direct the passenger lines meaning that Emmet’s day had wrapped up at around four in the afternoon.

Rain fell in silencing curtains, turning the streets outside shiny and the air damp. Thunder rolled overhead, causing the bits and bobbles along the garage walls to shudder. Owning a house in Nimbasa didn’t take them any farther from the noise and the lights and the sounds of the city; rather, it gave Emmet a nice place to hear the city backdrop from, tuning it out as he worked silently- tirelessly- on his pet project.

The garage door quietly groaned on its hinges. Ingo stepped out into the garage, shivering from the sudden change in temperature as he saddled over toward the trash bin, a large bag in his hand. He spared Emmet a curious glance. “It is past midnight, Emmet.”

“I know.” Emmet didn’t look up from his train model, turning it this way and that under the light of the suspended desk lamp to make sure that all of the wheel bolts were tightened as far as they could go. He focused on the feel of the wood grain under his fingers, preferring to feel the material rather than use safety gloves in case of splinters. Not the safest choice. 

“You are usually asleep by nine at the latest.” Ingo deposited his trash in the bin before walking over to study the train model. “This is very well crafted! The front facing grills are perfectly symmetrical- oh! And your work with aligning the wheels with the rotary pistons is absolutely remarkable! Bravo!”

            Emmet turned away, flustered at the unexpected amount of praise he had suddenly received. He couldn’t say that he felt the same about his handiwork. 

Model trains used to be a fun hobby that both Ingo and Emmet had started when they were kids, spurned on by their parents and of course, their uncle, Drayden, who had plenty of money to burn and who loved to spend time with them even when the burly man didn’t outwardly show it. It used to be a well-loved hobby. One where their parents would buy them the cheap wooden ones where the paint would easily chip off and then the two brothers could paint them however they wanted. Those were laid to rest on multiple shelves in the house, looming high up on the walls where they could collect dust in peace.

            Then came the complex ones, the ones that Drayden purchased from abroad or bargained for on auctioning sites. The piece-by-piece sets that came pre-decorated with their shiny plastic exteriors and their extensive wiring. The ones that could make noise and cruise along constructed tracks. Emmet remembered spending all of his free time during college working on an extensive whole-room train model set boasting more than a dozen powered model trains. Those engines had also been laid to rest on static tracks just beneath the wooden model trains. Still beloved. Still seen. Rarely heard. Those were what had inspired him to take up engineering- after all, Ingo did all the planning. Emmet did all the construction.

            The model Emmet had been working on had been a massive pet project, one that he had been working on ever since Ingo had come back from Hisui. It had been pricey. Very pricey. So much so that it had put a massive dent into his savings account just to buy it, not accounting for the holding case he had also purchased when he inevitably finished the model.

Ingo needed therapy. His time in Hisui had changed him, for better or worse, Emmet couldn’t really say for sure. Ingo was certainly more withdrawn. More prone to outbursts. More prone to having nightmares and waking up yelling. But then, Ingo had also become wiser. He was more careful. More cynical. And despite Ingo having an obvious need to seek therapy for his past experiences, he had often advocated for Emmet to do the same.

Emmet didn’t need therapy- at least, that’s what he told himself. Emmet didn’t have any issues to power through. He didn’t have detachment issues like a lot of news outlets said he did back when the controversy of his brother up and disappearing first made headlines. Sure, Ingo’s absence had been particularly hard on him, but he had found outlets to channel his grief into. Model trains had been traded for research regarding the pokédex. Any day off was spent challenging the Wi-Fi Lines at the station to test potential combinations. Anything to stay on top of his game while ignoring the empty chair in his office and the empty room in his house. The model trains kept collecting dust.

The particularly large Big Boy model Emmet had been working on for months- the one that took up almost his entire workbench- had been a project that Emmet could focus on where he could just work and not really use his brain to think. It was quiet work. Repetitive work. Slow motions, heavy scrutiny, gradual payoff. And he only ever worked on it when Ingo was gone. Usually at work. Sometimes out with colleagues. Sometimes visiting Dawn in Sinnoh. Sometimes being solicited with Elesa. It was therapy for Emmet. A set aside time to focus on himself and relax. No questions. No prying. No ‘are you okay’ or ‘is there something bothering you’. No baited questions. Just silence. An hour or two putting together something that made Emmet happy; no one else.

And so, Emmet tinkered with the model train, involuntarily ignoring the way Ingo’s eyes sparkled when Emmet tested the rotary pistons with a screwdriver. He missed how Ingo had opened one of the miniature cabin doors and had been mesmerized at how meticulous the seating and handholds and lighting had been put into place. Emmet completely missed the way Ingo’s eyes moved over the intricate paint work or how brightly his brother smiled when Emmet took a second to test roll the train down its pre-set tracks.

When Emmet finally did resurface from his brief dissociation, he was surprised to see that Ingo had gone. Instead, a pale Zoroark sat in his place. The pokémon stared directly at him with its golden eyes, obscuring the train with one ghostly-white paw. But then, Emmet had been expecting as much. After all, Ingo ran the late-night passenger trains. He wouldn’t return home for another two or three hours.

“You should go to sleep,” the Zoroark mentally projected, blocking Emmet’s hands with their deep red claws. “You can continue your work tomorrow. Humans need to rest. You’ve been at it for some time now.”

            Emmet attempted to work around the pokémon, his eyes narrowing when the Zoroark- Ingo had named him something, what, Emmet couldn’t quite recall- had stood from its chair, positioning its massive body directly in front of him. “I have more work to do. Please do not obstruct the tracks.”

“Sleep now.”

“I am almost finished.”

            The Zoroark let out a soft growl and with an exhausted glance, levitating the model train onto a shelf high above where Emmet couldn’t reach. “You can finish tomorrow. Sleep comes first. You are scheduled to work again tomorrow.”

            The Zoroark- specifically, a variant Zoroark from Hisui that had somehow migrated to the future with Ingo on accident- rarely ever left the house, tending to be most active during the night. Zoroark never really bothered with Emmet, almost always preferring to sleep in the attic and phase through the walls to scare the both of them during odd hours of the night. Zoroark had one job and one job only: consuming Ingo’s nightmares and stopping his brother’s night terrors in their tracks. Ingo had a lot of nightmares. Zoroark was very good at their job. Both Zoroark and Chandelure tended to get along like a house on fire.

Zoroark was old- older than Drayden. Most definitely older than a hundred years, or so Ingo would have Emmet believe. Emmet hadn’t really been all that receptive when Zoroark had hitched a ride and had made themself quite cozy in the brother’s shared house without permission. He knew that both Ingo and Zoroark had some kind of history, that which hadn’t been shared with Emmet. But then, Ingo rarely spoke about Hisui.

“I am fine,” Emmet reasoned, swiping a few pieces of cut wood into a waste bin on the side of the desk. “You may return back to the attic.”

“I never asked if you were.” Zoroark almost dragged Emmet out of his seat, using their powers to close the garage door. “Come with me.”

Emmet didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. Psychic types and ghost-types had powers that were nigh impossible to resist  which allowed Zoroark to easily float Emmet to his bed as though he were a naughty Zorua about to be grounded. Up in his room, Zoroark deposited him onto his bed like a wet bag of flour. And the moment his back hit the soft mattress, all of the stored energy that he’d been running off of for hours depleted in the fraction of a moment, leaving him feeling bone-tired. Zoroark seemed all too pleased with themself. Emmet only laid on the mattress.

He sat there for a while, his hands aching and a cramp threatening to start in his calf. His hunger and thirst had caught up with him and so too did his exhaustion, taking the breath out of him. It had crept up on him like a high speed train. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Too similar to how things used to be. 

“Aren’t you going to change?”

“Nah. I’ll leave it… for the morning.”

“You should eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Emmet lied.

Zoroark hopped onto the bed, settling into a lazy ball just a pace away from Emmet. Zoroark faced him directly, their wispy mane obscuring everything Emmet could see.  Zoroark stared down at him. Glowered at him, almost. They then let out a rasping sigh. “You are almost exactly like your kin, did you know that?”

“We are twins.”

“You both have a bad habit of focusing on everything but yourselves.” Zoroark laid its head on its paws, still keeping one lazy eye on Emmet. “Perhaps, I should consume your dreams as well. Your spirit reeks.”

“Reeks of what?” Emmet snarked, bodily turning away from the pokémon.

“Guilt.”

 Emmet shut his eyes, ignoring the soft touch of Zoroark’s paw to the side of his face. He had completely ignored his safety checks. Maybe I do need therapy.

[cjgladback]

[ID: A 3D rendered wooden dragon toy rolling in place on a flat tan background with a large C-clamp made of black cast iron and copper pieces laying in the foreground. The toy has articulated legs that "walk" and wings pushed upward by a scotch yoke mechanism, all powered by the turning wheels, while a three-pieced hinged tail swings slowly side to side. End ID]

On stream Monday, we finished the textures and rigged up this 8-inch C-clamp (to scale; this is a very large toy) and started getting some wood shavings curves made to join it and a few other assets to dress the workbench the dragon toy will be showcased on. Not pictured (because I only just remembered I didn't share the slightly jank video I made when it was freshly baked) is the secondary dragon toy model that's an LOD1 to this LOD0--still fairly high detail but not subdividable or disassemblable and all fits on one UV tile. The clamp at this moment is only the subd model but we'll see if I fiddle with it for a better game asset and maybe actually sell it and other multi-use props somewhere? Since I'm not getting to use any non-commercial licensed software anymore, it's an option I should consider.

[solatom123]

By Solomon Lartey, Teeside university student, PhD.

The Evolution of Golfing Techniques and Their Impact on the Sport: A Comprehensive Analysis

1. Introduction

Golf, a sport renowned for its precision and skill, has evolved dramatically over the centuries. From its origins in the rolling hills of Scotland to the manicured greens of today’s most prestigious courses, golfing techniques have been shaped by time, culture, and innovation. This analysis will explore the progression of these techniques and their profound impact on the sport, delving into the evolution of equipment, the pivotal role of technology in coaching, and the elevation of professional golfing to an elite industry.

Early golf sought to master a simple set of mechanics, and the dawn of golf videos shifted focus from ball trajectory to player form, highlighting posture and club angle at impact. From the 1970s onwards, advancements in swing analysis used electronics to monitor motion variables, transitioning from early video analysis to formats that monitored forwards yaws, hip and trunk rotation, and shoulder angles. Concurrently, various swing theories and techniques emerged, and educators turned to addressing the psychological nature of golf for performance enhancement. These combined techniques made it possible for experts to implement customized golf swings for increased power and accuracy.

In 1995, the worldwide interest in professional golf was further magnified by the advent of the Tiger Woods era. Golf, long considered an elite game of leisure, became a multi-billion dollar and highly magnified industry, resulting in an unprecedented boom in tourism. The rise in interest has positively impacted various areas linked to golf, ranging from equipment manufacturing to courses and hotels. The golf tourism factor has closely stimulated social needs and encouraging research into enhancing player performance. Attention spans have been decreasing, shifting focus on the macro to the micro. As world championships can be won with a last putt from roughly 60 feet or ca four frozen seconds of the putt rolling over the lips, and as research has shown the game to be played under 5 pars around the world annually, it would appear that impractically larger swings produce a larger chance of desired outcomes than other models.

Despite the financial advancement of the game, player performance has been found stagnant in the years since the mid-1990s, even when adjusting for age as deeper understandings of playing conditions have been implemented. The theory of requirements has recently been complemented by the theory of progression, unveiling golfers to exhibit adaptations to their technique related to different effects of club-ball interactions utilizing under moments during swings. Consequently, contemporary professional male golfers more commonly adopt the hitting technique than a swing technique.

2. Historical Overview of Golfing Techniques

Emerging in the 15th century in Scotland, golf was played on the Town Moor in Edinburgh, using wooden clubs and hand-carved balls. These initial techniques, as demonstrated in illustrations from the 15th and 16th centuries, showed a varied grip and swing, suggesting a natural evolution in golfing play and techniques. With its spread into England, Ireland, and Europe, golf matured as a sport, creating a need for standardized rules and equipment. In 1744, the first known set of golf rules was drafted in Edinburgh, leading to the evolution of golfing techniques. Long-shots, greens, shovels, and the brassie became key components of the game. The 19th century also witnessed the invention of iron clubs and the subsequent emergence of golfing clubs from St. Andrews. (Cousins, 2023)

During the early years of its introduction to America, within two decades, golf was being played at a variety of courses in nearly every densely populated area, notably in New York City. Now rapidly growing in sporting popularity, golf was formally adopted by the United States Golf Association (USGA) in 1894. Its increased participation, from the low-income population to upper socio-economic classes, facilitated the establishment of new tournaments with longer prizes. Moreover, women became increasingly involved as a result of the burgeoning interest in golf. Subsequently, the competitive spirit led golf balls to undergo an evolutionary change, advocating for golfing clubs and balls that were closer to the present-day variety. (Austin, 2022)

With the turn of the century, attention was concentrated on the rebirth of golf and its recuperation from its ancillary school of excesses. Gear swept aside knickerbockers, silk knicker trousers, and other somberly colored clothes in favor of a predominating cap and jacket of tweed, medium grey mixed with warm brown and rich yellow. Not only golf but tennis as well had inspired vigorous notice and into it had rushed the whole nation. Taming the wildness of golf, in 1903, Wilding had become the amateur champion of the United States before winning Wimbledon the following year. This period remained otherwise notable because Big Bertha knocked all other golf balls silly and nearly into the junk pile with its huge face of 6.79 inches head attached to a shaft of 47 inches. (Rebanal Martínez, 2021)

3. Key Traditional Golfing Techniques

Golf is a sport that has a long history behind it. Since the sport gained huge fame and number of followers across the globe, several golfing techniques have evolved and altered the playstyle and style of the game. Golfing techniques occurred both naturally and innovatively. The focus of this section is to analyze the most impactful and widespread golfing techniques that have impacted the game most. (Suzuki et al., 2021)

3.1. Grip and Stance

One of the most significant developments in golfing techniques was the discovery of proper grip and stance styles. These two techniques are the most basic in golfing and play a significant role in determining the outcome of the game. The selection of the proper grip is critical to play the game properly. The grip of the driver is one of the major factors in determining the play and path of the ball. Selecting the proper grip technique allows the golfer to strike the ball from all the surfaces of the golf course evenly. Early on, a lot of golfers adopted the splitting of the index finger technique of gripping, either overlapping or interlocking or gripping with all 10 fingers. However, learning to grip it properly takes much more time as the public exposure to it was minimum. Gradually with technological advancement, special caps were developed and ball tracking gadgets were invented. These gadgets and balls provided instant outcome of the game after the impact of the driver. Analyzing the golf ball spin and path, the experts suggested changing the grip technique enabling the golfer to point their thumb at the high left region of the shaft while keeping their hand rotated clockwise by 45 degrees. Using this grip technique, a golfer's club face would start at maximum closed position preventing the draw hook of the ball. (Navarro Lasunción, 2024)

Other widely used grip techniques with curved driver and ridges on the shape of the driver head resulted in an unintended hook path on the right leading to a miss-hit. Matched with the wrong stance, the unintended hook path continued with hands placed in front of the ball leading to an insufficiently closed face preventing the draw path. There were also recommendations from gear effect drives used having a shaft positively tilted towards the right from the vertical being useless for the golf set with driver have a head of a high vertical angled aligned with the fore link tilt. While this tended on increasing miss-hit affecting the distance, this also caused the hit on the optimal impact with the club face not parallel to the path of the driver nearly impeding the general tendency on time delay producing a meanwhile unliking swerve from players. (Trustees)

The stance in core requires power and this golf pose, playing a significant role between address and impact, has received little attention from teaching professionals compared with grip or swing techniques. Golfers with stable stance in general do not raise or lower their heads before or into backswing be likely to achieve more consistence shots. Thus, investigating the effect of stance technique requires assessing its amplitude throughout the whole swing and comparing the address and impact postures.

The head movement produced in the stance would bed a golfer to start the swing along a wrong path in a miss-hit with a hook or slice shot. Additionally, right-players flare to poorly rotate their hips and shoulders producing shoring shots. On the other side, flexibility across the upper body or within the lower body drives somewhat core-level players needing over-rotation of the upper body during the backswing or excessive forward push with the lower body after impact. However, few golfers are properly taught to stretch manually to reach a wider stance before address.

3.2. Swing Mechanics

Another traditional golfing technique is swinging in sync with the body. This technique teaches the players to follow the core rotational swing mechanics and circle the driver around one axis to play the ball instead of swaying axis in a miss-hit forming either slice or hook shots. Using amateurs (body type mass 74.5 kg height 1.75 m ) and ten top professional golfer's (PGA tour average drive distance 288.5±11.5 yards) with club heads sampled by high-speed cameras and various targets, this traditional technique has also been developed. Parameterizing a three-dimensional inverse kinematic model representing overall body and club movement, the effect of the traditional technique and stored parameters is compared through performing a full golf swing, addressing how the differences around the average from the parameters stored within each group affect the likelihood on miss-hit. (Hasley et al.2023)

The method concentrates on the motion aspect, choosing a local coordinate system at ground level with an origin fixed in the position of the golf ball and with axes pointing down the fairway, left and up for distance and vertical movements respectively. With regards to twenty-nine parameters describing the movement of the golf swing covering both body angles, positions and club face positions, the results yield a greater likelihood on miss-hit with amateurs than with top professionals severely indicating that educational systems would greatly enhance the precision of this sport. (ToSell & Saturday)

Modern golf is a sport of precision. Therefore, playing under different configurations on course, club, equipment and environment match with the swing mechanics of players define unique characters influencing the outcome of the play. By controlling for some factors, affecting the probability of miss-hit can be categorized into three parts conventionally referred to as play styles influencing the stance and swing. Enhancing performance comprises techniques altering stroke playstyle to almost systematically inhibit execution with miss-hit or miss-rim.

3.1. Grip and Stance

Central to the essence of golf lies the grip and stance—the foundational techniques upon which every other element of the game rests. Irrespective of the club in hand or the skill level of the golfer, this initial and primal action inevitably shapes the success of every shot played. Despite the subtle variations among golfers, whether leisurely players, seasoned amateurs, or elite professionals, grip and stance exhibit remarkable uniformity and graphical simplicity. Analyzing these two techniques sheds light not only on the sport as a whole but also on the everyday champion or played ball. (Wells, 2022)

Progressing from the outside in, the stance serves as the golfer's base of support throughout the entire swing. Only with solid, equal foundation can the golfer swing the club forwards and backwards around that fixed point. Both feet part distance and angle to the ball relative to the target are memories etched in the minds of most conscientious amateur golfers. Conversely, the grip, a more complex technique, consists of multiple actions made by both hands with the fingers and thumb of each hand against the club at the same time. Upon the grip is built the inadvertent pivot of the swing, the hands on the club controlling the face of the club and thus ultimately influencing the path of the arc. (Yang et al.2021)

While the momentary grip on the club is the fiest action shared by every golfer, uniqueness of the grip lies in regards to the club. Each club is different in form and feel, hence muscle memory is burnt by the unique act repeated with each club, and new twists in hands and wrists are added onto the basic grip. These intricacies are due to the fact that putter, iron, hybrid, wood, and driver all possess different lofts, lengths, and thus unique flex dynamics (whether aiming to keep the ball low, induce a slight loft, or to arc up the drive). Nevertheless, the grip is the only act from which the later swing peace is unwound. (Hocknell et al., 2020)(Holland et al.2020)

3.2. Swing Mechanics

In traditional golfing techniques, swing mechanics play a vital role in imparting the necessary power, accuracy, and consistency to the flight of the ball. The golf swing can be simply visualized as an arc of circular motion around a fixed axis, in which the clubhead moves towards a pivoted point in front of the body. A fundamental postulate of the golf swing is that the club must not be swung across the body during the downswing. It must instead be swung down and out. The path of the clubhead takes a symmetrical arc: down and in during the downswing, and up and out during the follow-through. The path of the golf ball must be compatible with the path of the clubhead at impact. The club must be swung down from a position well above the line of the ball so that the clubhead meets the ball just as the clubhead is on an outward path.

Another key point of traditional golf swing mechanics is that it must conform to ball-centering and impact position requirements, no matter how the club is gripped and so the wrist hinge or how minimized the lateral movement there is of the protruding body parts. The clubhead must be swung similarly around stacked vertical axes on both the back and forward motions. Both the backswing and follow-through must be performed in an arc motion that is of a uniform radius and is centered behind the body's core. In order to square the clubface at impact, the club must be swung reflexively over-restricted through the slot. In an attempt to prevent the ball from going to the right, the club must either re-extend a protruding arm or a wrist has to be unhinged too late.

There are biomechanical adjustments to traditional swing mechanics to create a normal golf swing free from hooked strokes. Adjustment of the arm's length of swing and pivot point is performed, so as to consider the baseball swing mechanics of working in a wider arc while continuing to adhere to the traditional grip. In line with fixed pivoting points of both the anchored legs and a core, the arms must be freed from the body's pivot to control the swing radius of the club circled by the arms. This could in turn free the clubs of being swung excessively within the body. To create an arched swing path, the shoulders and the forearms must be swung downwards by movers in charge of the pulled sides of the torso.

4. Technological Advancements in Golf Equipment

In the intricate tapestry of golf’s storied heritage, it’s frequently the quiet evolution behind the scenes that has had the most lasting consequences. Though it is often easy to recall the flamboyant politicians and pro athletes who have played the game, the focus here is instead on lesser-known figures who have played a crucial part in changing the nature of the sport. Decades before the modern game took hold, innovators tinkering with rudimentary wooden instruments had a profound effect on how golf was played. Given the game’s glacial and genteel pace of life, it is easy to misconstrue golf as a quaint pastime sustained by social and economic traditions. However, golf has never really stopped changing. Indeed, the game is replete with breakthroughs in technique that have irrevocably shaped how the sport is played. Greenkeeping, the ball, and the club have all received attention in this study on the evolution of golf equipment. (Millard, 2023)

In each instance, innovations that worked their way upwards from relatively small roots transformed the fabric of the entire sport. It wasn’t always a linear or easy process. Opposition to rubber balls was widespread, and clubmakers feared what would happen to golf in the transition from wooden to metal-headed clubs. As alternatives have arisen, so too have concerns about their sustainability for the game. But legislation has kept pace with innovation, and throughout golf’s history such changes have had a far-reaching effect on the mechanics of technique and the playing of the game itself. Arguably, the most impactful development has been the introduction of technology. Club-making methods and material sciences have outstripped the skill of the club professional, as has the golfiness of golf course design. At one fell swoop, this has rendered the great par-threes of the craft obsolete. Nevertheless, this does not mean that the world of golf has been left wanting. In some respects, the game’s rich history has underestimated the effect technology would ultimately have on golf. In challenging the adequacy of human endeavour, it is likely to continue reshaping technique and the sport for decades into the future. As golf begins its own paradigm shift, it is likely to usher in a new generation of feral and free-spirited golfers bent on domination.

5. Modern Golfing Techniques

The advent of technological innovation and scientific advancement, primarily identifiable in the last two decades of the twentieth century, prompted a revolution in golfing techniques and methodologies. An emerging industry, golf biomechanics inadvertently fueled this revolution by mechanizing and simplifying golf swings while theoretically minimizing the risk of golf-related injury. By accurately measuring the kinematically remarkable movement of the human body in two and three-dimensional spaces, golf biomechanics began to prompt a re-evaluation of past golfing methods. Meanwhile, an upswing in the use of golf simulators and innovative golfing training was notable. Previous errors in golf swings were corrected or slowed with the incorporation of slow-motion kinetic studies. Resultingly, a revolution similar to the re-evaluation of swinging techniques in golf biomechanics and pseudo golf was prompted within golfing cultures. A list of referential golfing figures of modern golfing techniques and their techniques has become a cultural norm in the global golf culture. An index is commonly referred to for golfing techniques and their analysis, and a checklist could readily and easily find its way into an amateur golfer's golf bag. Most of modern golfing techniques are biomechanical or kinematic by nature and gradually becomes mechanical, offering universally applicable and culturally broad methodologies. With the mechanical nature of golfing, modeling is prominently involved, reducing golf swings and inquiry into a system of modularity on repeatable, testable motion.

Yet, modeling entails a reduction of the complex mixture found in golf swings while representing only the most relevant aspects of motion and, in turn, negating specific conditions. As a result, a model raises the concern of an inevitable cultural appropriation that homogenizes bodily motion, associated consciousness, and adherent verbalizations, other than casting golf swings as “an intuitive game” that renders golf swings and their culture art-like. Therefore, in light of its social frames, paradigmatic and iconic, golf modeling necessitates a comprehensive analysis - understanding both the affordance it bears for concentrated interests in bodily technique, consciousness, and culture, and its subsequent cultural epiphenomena. The inroad for such an analysis is gained via an inquiry into the pioneering models of golf swings by acclaimed golf figures. Similar to today’s golf syllabuses that gather iconic figures’ golf swings and disseminate their mission-statement-like verbalization, prominent golfing figures’ modeling gratifies a prospective golfer desire to enhance golfing techniques, reckoning the cited concern of reproducible golf swings. This takes the next question as to how to improve such reproducible golfing techniques, which barely offers mutual and specific answers, other than modeling without a framework to analyze the social nexus that holds the compliant relationship between bodily technique and consciousness. Therefore, within the modern golfing culture entirely pervaded by golfing modeling, golf figure studies appear necessary. (Yordanov et al., 2022)

5.1. Biomechanics and Kinematics

Biomechanics and Kinematics: Human body and strength have greatly affected how bio-mechanics has emerged in sports. Body types and strengths vary from person to person. Some people have better swing speeds, while others have better swing lines. In Golf, the primary movement is rotation at the shoulders, pelvis, knees, and feet. All these rotational body movements affect club speed and distances. This biomechanical analysis focuses on the golf swing motion with a right-handed player, encompassing positions from the back swing, down swing, and follow through for bio-mechanical explanations. A major intention of this analysis is to determine and discuss some key bio-mechanical aspects of the golf swing in comparison to the golf swings of the rookie and the professional players filmed by the St-2 mini camcorders. In this analysis, the veterans and their swings would be also looked at with respect to biomechanics to check the swings and movements. (Gould et al.2021)

Clubs’ types and specifications are a big part of modern golf. Golf manufacturers spend so much time, money, and effort trying to make golf technology that provides players with better equipment that makes the overall game easier. The main types and specifications in clubs are the loft, lie, length, weight consistency, swing weight, shaft tip age, grooves, and face types. The lifetime of endurance and consistency of clubs is often compared with other sports like tennis or baseball. Weather and play can affect the precision and potential of the equipment and change how they perform. The rules of club types are based upon the USGA rules. The creativity and skills in the play can be lost or changed with overly complex club technology. The point of this analysis is to investigate clubs as modern technology, equipment of golf, history, types, strengths, and rules.

Lastly, putting has been very computerized in recent times, and these systems are mainly found inside the houses of golfers. Systems to putt are hugely mechanical and computerized. To the public, these are regarded as an illegal use of equipment by the USGA rules. The industry of golf is now entering a scientific and mechanical time. Tennis, baseball, basketball, other sports, and their athletes think of ways to get better by using better, smarter technology. Human be-havior, flexibility of the biomechanics of golf is studied more than it ever has been. The general idea of golf has modernized from traditional club use to mechanical bio-mechanical and technological golf ways. The game of golf is still the same as it once was and should feel and sometimes be used that whether the game hasn’t changed much.

5.2. Mental and Psychological Strategies

In addition to physical considerations, the evolution of golfing techniques must involve an overview of the mental and psychological strategies in the game. Golf presents a generally unique sporting challenge, unlike most other popular sports. Golfing matches can last from a short 2 hours to over 4 hours, involving the same (comparative) situation throughout the round, with the main additional variable from a golfing perspective being the course location. The game itself does not have other competitors impeding the performance of other competitors, which is a primary aspect of most competitive sporting events. Such factors mean that these variables need to be dealt with in different ways practically and mentally. As a result, golfers must fine-tune techniques in terms of performance, understanding the zone of control, and preparation before and even during a round. This could best be illustrated by considering the case of one Mexican golfer. (Whitehead & Jackman, 2021)(Oliver et al.2021)

Sometimes the metagame needs to be understood to strategize the techniques further and control each performance based on strategic choices that could depend on the golfing situation, physical environment (ground, wind, and heart rate), and mainly performance and situation statistics. Although similar comparative techniques concerning the hurdles must be used (such as meteorological statistics and ground understanding), the golfer possesses a personal meta-knowledge. Despite winning tournaments against male players, the winning techniques were first based on knowing which holes are best for the average male player and trying to comprehend such stats from a different viewpoint, taking the ESPN Stats and Info team’s possible projections to understand the whole player perspective holistically. One advantage was that overall performances could be compared, but not on a stroke basis. From such differences and distances, possible plays to gain advantage on putting and driving could be analyzed depending on whole distance outputs, grass, topography, and other possible required pitches. Such edge considerations were planned and used progressively throughout rounds.

Another personal understanding of individual techniques based on performance intimate knowledge is how to be in “the zone.” This involves controlling and understanding many thoughts, visualizations, and sensations (mindfulness) concerning positive and negative traits and stimuli that promote or disrupt performance. This level was progressively obtained through rigorous daily effort and analyze of various performances under such conditions. Once trained, it is essential to exercise this state to dispose of it and be ready for use at any point. Such a technique is closely related to breathing and some routine actions before swinging with the putter, shorter clubs, and driver, which help to place the tasks within the best condition zone to control them suitably. Using the context to feel emotions and stimuli clearly is crucial to signal immediately where it is best (and needed) to focus more and not just continue to shake player heads.

Being relaxed is also a constant approached challenge, especially when tied for first or leading. In this state, focus is lost and hence control, and it must be planned before and after the round to either maintain a fluent rhythm when playing or breathe and try to feel relaxed on each action otherwise. On the physiological aspect, alcohol can be exploited to be used and limit to achieve a certain performance point.

6. The Impact of Evolving Techniques on Performance and Strategy

Through analysis of archived materials, the impact of technology and scientific knowledge on golf techniques is assessed. Instructions were initially rudimentary but became more structured and based on anatomical insights and human behavior. A shift from fundamental improvement with awareness to technique refinement for elite players was observed. Changes commonly target styles of movement rather than player individuality and requirement. Analysis of past and current documents reveals the impact and concern regarding the influence of evolving techniques on golf performance and strategy selection. (Wells & Langdown, 2020)

The impact of evolving techniques on performance and strategy selection: An analysis based on archived materials on golf technique instruction spanning more than 120 years emphasizes the influence and concern surrounding technique. This analysis distinguishes four periods in the evolution of instruction and discusses the resulting focus of performance improvement and strategy selection.

With the advent of increasing technology and scientific knowledge, including progress in physical education, structural exploration of the human body, the notion of unconscious motivation, video and computer instruction, and sports psychology, golf techniques recorded between 1869 and 2008 are analyzed to examine the impact of evolving techniques on golf performance and strategy selection. All the documents are archived in England, specifically the British Library of Sports and The Open Championship.

The performance of golf is determined by a sequence of strategy selections and executions, considering two phases of action: strategy consideration, which refers to creating a sequence of actions to execute at a specific time, and strategy evaluation, which refers to checking the overall cost-effectiveness of the selected strategies. With such a historical perspective, the impact of evolving techniques can be evaluated in terms of changes in the focus of performance improvement and strategy selection. Hence, the disposition of past and present golf instruction documents is examined in terms of the focus of evolving coaching knowledge, norm observation, and coaching view of players, all as targets for consideration. (Roberts et al.2021)

7. Conclusion and Future Directions

The game of golf has evolved in multiple ways over the years, with changes in clubs and technology, the construction of courses and walking or buggy riding, the professionalization of the sport, changes in the amateur ethos, and societal perceptions. This review addressed these topics and provided insight into the evolution of golfing techniques and their impact on the sport. In particular, the evolution of golf clubs with historic roots, technological developments, and the golf swing mechanism were elaborately discussed. It is hoped that this review would help in the future understanding of golf and assist in making decisions over the future of golf.

In conclusion, golf is the game of putters and drivers, greens and fairways, wedges, and who knows how many others when it comes to clubs. A golf club in the strictest definition implies a stick with a curved end, or several curved ends that are used to hit the golf ball. Golf clubs comprise of shaft, club head, hosel, grip, and face. There are several types of clubs used in golf, putting clubs, short clubs, mid-range clubs, long clubs, wedges, and drivers. The design and material of clubs can dramatically affect the flight of a golf ball. Using the right type of club can help a player improve their game. This paper presents historical roots of clubs from refashioned farm implements to highly machined titanium heads, discusses the evolution of clubs over the years and ends with future expectations over clubs.

Although golf swings appear to be simple to the untrained eye, close-up viewing demonstrates the remarkable complexity of motions involved. Throughout the golf swing, a complex interplay of biomechanics and motion exists. Golfers generate kinetic energy in a swinging motion and transfer throughout the golfer to the hands that holds the club. This energy is converted into a ball-launching motion powered by a series of motion-to-force conversions acting on the club’s head. The golf swing is a movement skill, involving dynamic coordination of legs, hips, trunk, shoulders, arms, hands, and clubs in a serial way. It’s important in both golf swing analysis and instructional improvement to recognize and understand the biomechanics supporting the golf swing.

References:

Cousins, G., 2023. Golf in Britain: a social history from the beginnings to the present day. [HTML]

Austin, P. C., 2022. “Challenge or Be Challenged”: The Personal and Political Importance of Black Women's Golf Clubs. Modern American History. academia.edu

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[dandelionjack]

14, 15, 16 (DW ask game)

14. already answered

15. already answered

16. how would you design a TARDIS console room?

gloomily lit. none of those bright space-age LED panels, just gently luminous roundels emitting a soft yellow light. a wooden/brass finish to the surfaces. lots of furniture from different eras. art deco stained glass detailing. a glowing green time rotor column with swirling fluid inside like something out of a cheap 80s scifi-horror flick. retrofuturist buttons and switches on the console panels. a button that, when pushed, dispenses a ‘tarot card of the day’: the doctor doesn’t believe in superstition, but a time machine really CAN tell the future.

a vinyl record player on the panel instead of fifteen’s jukebox, and a shelf nearby for records from every genre like twelve’s bookshelves stood. although plenty of bookshelves lining the walls too. some kind of victorian mechanical moving sculptures walking around the room, like… wind-up animals, all cogs and gears visible, little model steam train choo-chooing round and round on a circular track just above the time rotor. clutter and whimsy, like an old toymaker’s shop

[icravebooks]

Troubled Paradise

Part 1

Yoongix reader one shot

Summary: yoongi wanted to just have a conversation with his fiance, he never thought it would turn out in such ways.

Genre: arranged marriage au, strangers to fiance??, crack?? Angst if you squint your eyes. Ceo yoongi, spoiled brat reader, Richie rich vibes.

Warning: Nothing just Abundance of maknae line being the crack ass bestie trio, jimin slays yoongi glares.

Word count: 5k

Side note: I might make a part two to this because I honestly can't stop thinking about this.

Part 2 part 3

Yoongi has always lived his life trying to be better, he made decisions that would be of importance in the future, his coping mechanism was to run away from problems that concerned feelings and Bury himself neck deep in work so that he wouldn't have to face emotions.

He lost the attachment one has with their family when he choose to give his dreams a try, his family didn't talk to him until the fruits of his hardworking started to ripe and that's how he learned that he was alone to fend for himself.

However he would never let down his family ever again, he loved them far too much to ever to be the reason of their sadness again that's how he found himself sitting in the oddly minimalistic touch cafe slash bakery nursing an ice Americano while his fingers drummed a familiar beat against the wooden table.

The smell of coffee mixed with vanilla essence fresh in the air, yoongi has always opinionated that a person's workplace reflects there persona and he found it true.

In his opnion you were just like your cute little cafe, you were just like the coffee energizing and fresh, sweet like the vanilla scent that lingered in the air, he could feel the joyful energy that bounced inside the four walls of your cafe, the very cafe he after some research learned you begged your father to let you run.

He knew your father, he was far too prestigious of a proper hotelier and buisness tycoon to let his daughter do something so small and trivial but to say that yoongi had heard enough to know that you were a renounced troublemaker, atleast you were staying out of your father's hair because of this cafe.

A part of him sympathised with you but a bigger part of him knew enough to not say it out loud, you were the only daughter of a man who owned more than enough your mother had her own fame, afterall being a runway model had it's peaks not forgetting the acting career she confined herself in.

Everyone knew you as a rich spoiled brat, not the kind that went partying every other day or slept around or did something that would bring direct trouble, you had a unique way of causing trouble.

You were so infamous for being blunty and carelessly sharp tounge, never thinking much about how your skinship love language in friendship could lead to scandal or the way you never payed much respect to people just because they had money.

You were trouble, any man who wanted to keep his status unstained would stay away from you because you weren't just a breathe of fresh but a storm thinly disguised, and yet here yoongi was.

A sigh escaped his lips realising that soon you won't be just a trouble maker he often heard about at party but you would be his trouble pack, why did he agreed to this again?

Yeah ..right..something to do with family and shit..his father wanted him to marry you cause why not, you were in all honestly a princess and it's not like yoongi needed that he had far more than you, he build everything from scratch he wasn't fed with a silver spoon  but he made sure he can have a platinum spoon.

After all owning the world recognised music company along side the entertainment one and also the namely fashion brands under his name, wait was he missing something, did he talk about being in the cooperate buisness too?, Well he had enough.

But he was a humble man, he didn't like being controlled by fame, he was a down to earth person he never forgot the time he had nothing and it's what makes him the Min Yoongi.

Yoongi is known as the man for few words, he rather let his intimidating gaze and controlled aura unnerve his target. That was exactly what he was going to do with you, he was going to scare you away or show you just how disinterested he was so that you would yourself reject marrying him.

He obviously wasn't here a week and two days before your both supposedly engagement just because he found you interesting, why would he do that?, you were everything he didn't like, you were too loud, he was too quite, you were too dramatic he was a man who didn't liked drama, you were suspiciously way naive and he was a man who knew the horrors of the world, you were too much of a clumsy idiot he was someone who liked perfection, you were too full of energy he was someone who hated overly energetic people, he had seen a decade more of life than you and you still walked around with your head held so high like you knew every mystery the world had to reveal.

He hated that. He was going to make sure you knew how he felt about this.

However he wanted to let his curiosity be sufficed first, he needed to know why would someone like you agree to marry someone like him, it didn't make sense, you didn't make sense.

You had better chances at finding the fairytale bullshit, you were made for it, you could probably make anyone fall for you. All you had to do was shoot them a smile like you just did to the guy standing beside you just now.

What was his name again?..taehyung right..one of the famous Kim brothers, how much more obvious was he trying to be by working in this cafe of yours, and how much more oblivious were you trying to be by keeping this cafe running with just those three idiot friend of yours as the working staff alongside you.

Yoongi couldn't keep his gaze from lingering on the duo who were brewing coffee together joined together at their hips exchanging mischievous glances, and you still were ready to marry him instead of one of the three idiots who were infamous as the trouble maker trio you were best friends with.

"So how much longer are you gonna keep this busy act going?" Taehyung whispered to you shooting you a small smirk meanwhile you were trying your best to compress some coffee powder, you just rolled your eyes eyeing your best friend who had a clear face of irritation no matter how hard he was trying to hide it with a nonchalant smile.

"You gotta make a man wait first to see if he can do that for the next 40 years of his life." You sang back to your friend who just scoffed at your words taking the compresser from you and helping you with the coffee machine, let's just say you were a little out of practice, "it is better to marry a brick wall than to marry him. Atleast you can use a wall to headbutt yourself when you feel frustrated. " Taehyung's advises were always this way, you sometimes doubted he used sarcasm just to make you annoyed or laugh of loud, you slapped his shoulder playfully shaking your head at your friend's words.

"Oh my god Tae what exactly did he do that you would do him so dirty?" You questioned jokingly while you made quick work of collecting the hot espresso, the cafe wasn't bustling with much life at this time, you knew taehyung could manage the crowd alone but you wanted to help or rather your inner trouble maker brat wanted to make yoongi pissed.

"I am stating the obvious jelly beans, have you not heard about him, he barely talks and when he does it's always buisness, he just goes around giving those creepy ass glares like he wakes up everyday to find his fridge lacking his favourite juice." Taehyung scrunched his nose in a exaggeration to his statement making you bite down on your bottom lip to hold back a grin, he was funny but you weren't going to give him that.

"I am still gonna Marry him unless he is the one backing away." You announced adding the last part just to make taehyung understand what you actually meant, he smiled evily catching the meaning behind your words the replica of which was on your face.

"I bet my limited edition air jordan sneakers that you will end up with him." Jimin's voice chimed in from beside you, he was standing there leaning against the small counter next to the cash counter you weren't even spooked to find him coming out of thin air, let's just say jimin had his ways of sneaking up on people and a whole 5 years of friendship and being the spoiled brat trouble maker squad did come with it's perks.

You rolled your eyes throwing a nearby tablecloth at his face in answer, "how cheap of you bestie." You accused trying to fake annoyance while the corner of yours lips tried to pull up in smile, jimin just smiled shrugging innocently he had his ways, he knew how to play people into believing him with this all so innocent act but you knew him better to know how not so innocent he was.

"Come on trouble in paradise you know you can't hide it that you secretly like him." Jimin sounded so confident it made you snort and look at him as if he had just told you that the when the sun set it was supposed to be morning, yoongi was interesting and you wouldn't deny that you felt intrigued by him but it wasn't enough to make you think that you liked him.

"Don't be mean to her jimin." Tae scolded encircling one of his arms around your shoulder and pulling you in a side hug while you pouted glaring at jimin who just smirked like he knew a big secret of your's, you stick your tongue out at him which made him roll his eyes while he snickered.

"Trust me my troubled paradise I can see it, he isn't backing down not until you use our advice." Jimin opinionated as he walked closer to you and Tae, his voice lowering down an octave like he could sense the prying ears of whoever was trying to be let in on your conversation.

God you wished jungkook was around, he always knew how to get jimin off your back because a interested jimin was a risky one, "no mochi we talked about this, I am not gonna use either of my three lovelies in this whole game, we never knew whose ears this plan might reach and next thing we will know it will be one of you guys instead of him." You reasoned wagging a finger in jimin's direction while narrowing your eyes into thin slits.

Jimin just shrugged pouting innocently in an agreement, "atleast you won't be talking to a brick wall or missing out on mind blowing sex." Taehyung remarked from beside you making you turn to him with a no joke glare but he knew you better than that, he just gave you one of his famous boxy smile which always saved him from your wrath.

"I agree with taetae on the first part but yoongi is sexy I bet he fucks hard." Jimin's nobochalant comment snapped both your and taehyung's attention to him, your head turned in his directing with such speed that you for a minute doubted you would get whiplash, your eyes suspiciously eyed jimin, analysing him and the authenticity of his statement, jimin looking overwhelmed with both of your glares taking a step back while he raised his hand up in surrender.

"What?, Why are you guys giving me that look?, don't tell me you guys can't sense his energy, that guy literally oozes big dick energy." Jimin pointed out in a matter of factly tone, his face so serious that you were left doubting that you had seen him like this last time you asked him to choose your makeover style.

You sighed face palming at Jimin's words, the world had so many people to offer and yet you had to go around and befriend the rarest of idiots.

"Admit it jimin you are gay." Taehyung sneered in a joking manner and was met with an even more dramatic gasp of Jimin's who looked back at him with murderous eyes, you just chuckled looking at them, you loved these idiots they were all you had in the name of friends.

"Sweets." Jungkook's enchanting voice sounded turned all of your attention towards him who stood on the other side of the counter leaning against the cake displaying glass while he flashed you guys one of his adorable bunny smiles, "I think you should meet him, another cup of ice americano and I swear my bladders would burst instead of his." Jungkook sounded so sincerely scared of the possibility that you couldn't help the giggle that sounded from you, you could hear both Tae and jimin snicker beside you.

"That man runs of Americano instead of blood." Jungkook commented when you walked away from the 95's duo and to the other side of the counter flashing your friends a thumbs up when you heard them shouting out a good luck.

You were glad you walked to yoongi on time, he just seemed to have finished the last of his remaining coffee as he settled the plastic cup down before his eyes turned to meet yours, totally nonchalant as if he wasn't glaring at the back of yours friends just a moment earlier or he wasn't watching you interact with the duo.

"Sorry for making you wait the coffee machine was trying to act like it's owner." Your cheerfully joking voice was met with a curt nod of acknowledgement nothing more nothing less, you realised that was all you were going to get from the brick wall of a man who sit before you so not wasting much effort on it you slipped on the opposite side of the booth to take your seat.

You flashed him a big regular boyish smile of yours which was met with a rather small smile which you couldn't even categorize as a smile but remember it was coming yoongi, this had to be a smile, "so what brings you to my little escapade?" You jumped right In not bothering to make poliet conversations, yoongi was a bit taken aback but not entirely fazed, he had to remind himself that this was you, the girl he had heard plenty things about to know that you weren't the type to do tiptoeing before jumping right in.

He shrugged biting his inner bottom lip in thoughts while he gawked at you with a rather emotionless expression, if you were going to be so straight forward it only made sense that he returned the favor.

"Why did you agree to this marriage ?" He blurted out barely able to hide the curiosity from lacing his voice, you looked at him for a moment analysing him and his question before you placed your elbow on the table and supported your head on your hand, your chin placed in your palm while you bite your lower lip giving his question a thought.

"Because my father asked me to." You answered emotionlessly keeping your voice bored not letting any other emotion lace your tone, he doesn't needs to know that's what you tell yourself, yoongi scoffs at your words before folding his arms against his chest your eyes running to his vieny hands a smirk playing on your lips while you shamelessly ogled him, who clearly was oblivious of your stare as he was looking out the window.

"That sounds too disciplined for someone with the reputation of a trouble maker." He knows his comments are straight out rude but yoongi wasn't known for being the soft talker and he didn't wanted you to have any other impression about him beside what was common public opnion. He expected you to call him out on it or atleast give back a snarky remark but all he got in response was a thoughtful hum before the melodic sound of your giggles filled the air surrounding your both.

Yoongi looked back at you slightly in disbelief and slightly in irritation, you were confusing him he didn't like being confused, he didn't like you, "let's just say I want to be the good daughter for once." Your tone was light sarcasm dripping thick in your words anyone would think you meant it but the glimpse of that crushed emotion which yoongi saw flickering for milliseconds were enough.

He knew what that meant, he knew that feeling far well, a tightness formed in his chest just at the thought of you feeling incompetent a part of his wanting to reach out to your very soul and shower you with endless praises so your eyes would never again show that emotion.

Crap..this was getting all way wrong, he shouldn't be feeling this, "so you wanna waste a lifetime just to play the good daughter game?" Yoongi's words were replicating your sarcasm an perfectly shaped eyebrow of his lifting up while his face held the look of amusement, you grinned back shrugging at his question.

"Doesn't seems like a waste to me, beside it's not like I have anyone in mind for whom I might deny this." You straight out declared not missing the way yoongi looked like you were telling him some insanely unbelievable lie, "you could have someone better suited to be your partner." He quipped keeping his dark and definite gaze fixed on you who just snickered at his statement, he was trying to infiltrate you but you were weird, you were a open book but still it felt like every page had a hidden meaning.

"You have quite some options open." He added when he saw you brushing his comment like it was just supposed to be a joke, your eyebrows furrowed upon his statement your nose scrunching slightly as you gave his words a thought totally missing the way he bit his inner cheek to stop a smile, you were adorable yoongi would give you that, you have the innocence aura even though he knows you are far from innocent.

"And who would that be?" You questioned back after a moment of silence not able to understand his indication even in the slightest, yoongi just tipped his chin behind you his eyes jumping to the place he is pointing at and then back to you.

You understood what he was implicating but you still looked back to find your personal trouble maker trio jumping around, jimin smiling at the customers as he did quick work of the cash counter, taehyung rolling up his white shirt to work on beverage orders Jungkook going around handing out the designated order, a usual happy jump visible in his walk.

You smiled looking at your friends before you turned back to face yoongi who just raised his eyebrows in a silent question, a chuckle escaped your lips while you shook your head, "as much as I love them, they can't handle my energy." You declared before shooting a wink at the man opposite to you who went extremely still for a moment eyes widening, his mind trying to comprehend that there was no under lying meaning to your words.

"They are just as energetic as me, we both will be causing constant trouble without having any mature mindset, I need someone who can do the boring buisness talks so that I can be the free bird." You were sure your way of explaining things wasn't exactly the best but it is what it is, you can be blunt but atleast you aren't trying to lie about anything, yoongi was a bit taken aback by how indepth you thought about things, he thought you would be a mindless brat who just goes for vibes that are same as her, he didn't knew you would understand the dynamics of having a stable relationship.

Yoongi couldn't take his eyes of you, he couldn't stop looking at your face to make sure that you were really saying this and not lying, "I still Don't understand why you would choose to marry me, you could find someone accurate for your description." He worded out his concern his brows furrowing slightly while you just beamed back at him, if your giggles were melodic low jazz songs then your laugh was surely fairy music yoongi couldn't fight back the smile.

Shit he wasn't doing a great job, what was he here for again?

"I could ask you the same." You pointed out pointing a finger in his direction while your lips pulled up in a teasing smile eyebrows raised, he shrugged feeling a little uneasy at feeling your whole attention on him, "father." That's all he said as if that would be enough of a reason and it was because he knew you would understand.

However he didn't expect the cheeky grin you gave him or how you leaned in forward placing your elbows on the table and placing your chin in your hand, "that sounds too disciplined for someone with the reputation of unbendable brick wall." You mimicked his tone from moments earlier not hiding the amused grin nor stopping to think twice before winking at him.

Did he just blushed??

You couldn't help but be in awe by the way his face turned a little pink not exactly visible until you looked hard, his eyes strayed away from you while you saw how his throat worked his Adam apple bobbing while he swallowed, you couldn't keep your eyes under check they were busy checking your soon to be fiance.

The sounds of someone clearing their throat followed by the silhouette of jimin made you both turn to face your friend who just flashed one of his innocent blinding smile, his hand holding a tray containing two strawberry milkshake and his other hand had a tray balancing two pastries on it.

"You said you wanted something to eat earlier." Jimin stated keeping his innocent smile plastered on his face although you didn't miss the mischievous glint in his eyes, your lips tugging upwards in a smirk completely unaware of how closely yoongi was watching the interaction, something in him burning and cooling at the same time.

He could see it, your connection with them was warm and fuzzy it had the warmth of a mug of hot chocolate on a wintery night, he wanted that, he never felt like this before, he never wanted anything to do with anyone not until he could see just how good it was to have someone who you can Communicate with through telepathy.

" beside We couldn't let your future one leave without tasting your special pastries." Jimin's voice was the regular cheery one, he winked at yoongi who just kept looking at him with a blank glance, you helped jimin carefully set the plates and the glasses down before turning your attention back to yoongi.

Yoongi was busy admiring the pastries laid out infront of him, everything related to you was too soft and too sweet shouldn't it be all fake?, but why wasn't it fake even in the slightest?, why were you not like other people who were considered brats?

"So is the decision made?" Jimin butted in sliding to take his seat beside you while you huffed poking his sides to make him leave, he didn't even flinched before wrapping an arm around your shoulder, yoongi being silent while he observed the exchange happening between you both, his gaze turning even more dark at the fact that there was no space between you and jimin.

You glared at jimin talking with your eyes to tell him to fuck off but he just flashed you One of his famous duality smile which you knew quite too well, "just so you know I really want our little troubled paradise to marry you..it will be fun." Jimin's attention was turned to yoongi who just went forward to grab the drink infront of him anything than to have to talk to this Park, he knows how famous jimin is for being the information gainer.

"Okay baby mochi that would be enough you need to go help Tae Tae, you know he hates coffee." You tried to push jimin off the seat, he just turned to you and gave you his puppy eyes and that damn pout had it been anyone else they would have gave in to his request but you weren't anyone you were his best friend for years.

"I get that you Don't want me around anymore, why would you when you are getting such a sexy hot husband but damn it hurts." Jimin grasped at his chest giving out his best at acting hurt by your words, his lips still perked up in a pout while his eyes gave you the sad puppy eyes, you rolled your eyes before smacking his chest.

You were too busy bickering to notice how yoongi froze on hearing Jimin's words, he swear his face was about to betray him he could feel the heat rising, you didn't deny Jimin's words either and it was obvious that you thought the same, yoongi had been called many things all his life but he never thought he wanted to hear you call him sexy.

Wait...he what?..what was wrong with him, he needed to get the fuck out of here, you were addicting far too addicting and worst of all you were oblivious of it all, "come on baby mochi stop being dramatic, I am getting a sexy husband doesn't means you get to live a y/n free life." You scolded poking Jimin's arm who just smiled letting his eyes jump to a now really flustered yoongi before moving back to yours.

"Then let me stay." Jimin conditioned grabbing your wrist and giving you his best puppy dog eyes you scoffed turning your eyes into narrow slits, "I won't repeat again baby mochi go now." You commanded turning as much as you could when your friend looked so cute, yoongi could feel a certain burn in him something that wanted to see you use that tone on a serious occasion, he didn't find you anything more than interesting, it is going to be fun.

Jimin sighed letting your hands go and standing up from his seat, he did his best to look like a kicked puppy but you could see the corner of his mouths twitching at the show he put on, you knew inside he was having that smug smirk stating that he did a great job.

But whatever makes him leave was enough for you and once he did you quickly turned your attention back to yoongi who just offered you one of his expressionless face, his blank gaze still had a flash of amusement. "You are quite good at cooking." That was all he had to say after watching the whole show that you and your friend put on, wow you wanted him to take mixed signs from Jimin's action and just say that he didn't want to marry you, wow you get that he is hot and you want to really see if Jimin's prediction earlier was true but a marriage would be quite a big thing wouldn't it?

You needed to do something, "I learned it from mom." You answered back flashing him a genuine smile, you were surprised that he acknowledged your smile and words with a nod of his head and a small straight lipped smile of his, "you still stand by your decision?" You questioned him raising an eyebrow, your heart throbbing a violent pace waiting for his answer, what was it?, did you feel attracted to him?, yes maybe but you would be a fool if you didn't, yoongi was handsome far more handsome than you wanted to give him credit off.

He looked at you with another one of his blank gaze but this time there was humor in it, "I should be the one asking that." He corrects before taking a sip from his drink, you bit the inside of your bottom lip waiting for him to continue, you knew he had more to say.

"You yourself said I am a brick wall." He reminds again giving that look which you are sure he uses to get under people's skin to make them confess things but if thought it would do anything more than making you feel hot and think about endless scenarios where you both would probably be on top of this table, he probably predicted you wrong.

You shrugged pouting a little as you digged into your pastries humming in delight of finally having something to deal with your sweet craving, your lips curled up in a genuine smile eyes closing in bliss, to say you hadn't had time to eat because of how hectic the morning shift was and then yoongi showing up all of a sudden yeah it would still been an understatement.

"Wouldn't we make a perfect couple?, you being you and me being me, it will be fun besides.." you trailed off taking another bite from you pastery as yoongi did the same, you could see he was trying to hold back a smile not wanting to give you the proper amount of praise you deserved for being such a good cook, however knowing that he was probably too distracted by the sweets you went in for the final blow.

If this didn't work, you would gratefully be Mrs. Min.

"Jimin's prediction are always correct.." you informed making the male raise an eyebrow while he put another spoon of food in his mouth, you smiled teasingly face turning from innocent to flirty in an instant, "atleast I will be getting a hot ass husband who gives big dick energy Jimin's words not mine but I bet you have it though." Yoongi's face turned pale his mouth stopping mid chewing before he choked.

What the fuck did he signed up for??

[gattnk]

About accessories and their secondary functions in Animation and Character Design

Well that title makes it sound way grander than it is, haha! I've no idea how this thing will go since I don't really have experience writing essays in english, but I'll do my best to give it some semblance of order. Shoutout to @haloheadhater who brought the topic out of me and showed interest in my sharing further!

Here's the TL:DR. Characters often wear accessories to complement their outfits, and these items don't just function as a visual representation of their personalities and interests (like real people); they also may have a "mechanical" function, so to speak. This function is much more secondary to visual storytelling, but sometimes designers will strategically place accessories on a character to facilitate their jobs on the long run. It is often a "two birds, one stone" situation, really.

Here's how that works in more detail.

Disguising Joints

Humans have joints all over their bodies, that's fact. It's what allows us to move and bend like we do. When designing toys, we try to imitate just that: articulated dolls, mannequins, marionettes, figurines and puppets have hinges and ball joints so they can be posed more realistically. A sign of care and quality in manufacturing all these is how well these joints are disguised, so they look as "organic" as possible. Screws and hinges get covered up as seamlessly as possible, so these puppets may resemble people more accurately: obvious, open and visible joints quickly break the immersion (and often places them in the uncanny valley). Compare these high-quality doll hands to your basic wooden posable hand models. Notice how the doll hands do their very best to imitate the natural curves of human hands and how the knuckles cover the joints as much as possible even when they're bent. Meanwhile, the joints in the wooden model hands are plainly visible, and the shapes are very stiff-looking, so they don't feel as human.

Animation is no different! A good animated character manages to suspend disbelief: for however long the character moves on screen, the audience has to feel like this character is alive and real enough to relate to them and their story. Human brains are really good at detecting when something moves wrong, so the more "natural" your character is, the easier it'll be to keep up with them. In puppet animation (often called flash animation thanks to Adobe Flash, now Adobe Animate, popularizing the method), characters are made of cuts, individual pieces held together by joints, much like traditional paper shadow puppets.

Animators and character designers often place accessories to cover up these cuts between joints, so when the character moves there's less risk of seeing them. My favorite example is vambraces, wristbands, watches and bracelets! Notice how uncommon it is to find a character with naked wrists? Well now you know half a reason! As the years go by and animation softwares improve, there's less need for this trick, or rather, it is often less obvious.

Disguising Texture Seams

Now see, 3D models look gray by default: you have to paint them over, like one of those tabletop figurines, for them to look pretty and presentable. This painting process results in a 2D image (called texture map) that has to be projected onto the 3D model. There is a variety of other maps that control different things, like how the model's surface reflects light (specular and diffuse maps) or if it's a porous, creviced or bumpy surface (bump, normal and/or displacement maps), but let's just focus on the texture map this time.

The process of projecting a 2D map onto a 3D model is called UV Mapping, and it looks similar to sewing patterns. There's plenty of methods to hide the seams in maps, but computers can be a bit unpredictable, and all 3D renders require touch-ups and a post-production process (especially light and reflectiveness). Sometimes though, covering seams with accessories is frankly easier, so CGI artists always keep clothes and items in mind when UV mapping, as well as the natural folds and crevices in the character's model.

Here's a good example of what I mean (by Thora Tong). This 3D model's UV seams, highlighted in white, were placed in a way that they'd be easily covered by clothes and accessories. Notice the seams on the wrists and ankles, and how the other seams around the body are very similar to the ones you'd see on actual pieces of clothing.

Volume and Foreshortening Guidelines

Drawing perspective is hard as it is, but organic shapes are particularly complicated. Accessories can help disguise certain perspective errors, or help convey the volumes and shapes of the body much more clearly. They are especially useful as guidelines for foreshortening.

Anything you append to a character is a useful marker for later. The way these items bend alongside the body thanks to perspective is a useful visual key for later. If you're not sure how an arm will look from a certain angle, maybe imagining a bracelet on that same angle would be easier! The bracelets I drew over the naked arm serve the same purpose as the guidelines you see in the image above. This is especially useful for drawings with little to no shading, where conveying the volumes of muscles presents a challenge.

Bonus - Body Lines

When a human fetus is forming, its cells grow in a particular pattern; these patterns that the body cells follow determine the flow of muscles, nerves, and even how the skin folds or how pigmentation distributes itself. There's a variety of body lines, though the most known and studied (as far as I'm aware) are Blaschko's, Kraissl's and Langer's lines. Langer's lines are particularly interesting: they're also known as skin tension lines or cleavage lines, because they indicate the best place for medical incisions on the skin, especially in the forensic field. There's many different models but here's a good example illustrating them.

Placing accessories following Langer's lines can be really aesthetically pleasing. Since tension lines follow along muscle mass and fat, they also indicate how the skin warps and folds around them. Knowing tension lines is especially useful in terms of studying how the body creases when bending around (and subsequently, clothes too!), so discretely marking them out with accessories can be useful on the long run.

Japanese animation is especially guilty of using Langer's lines on skin-tight scifi suits. They're simply incredibly useful as design and anatomic guidelines, and they look so good, they easily survive the test of time!

Conclusion

Character design often involves following rules of practicality that viewers seldom notice. This is perfectly fine because they're not really meant to be noticed by anyone, except members of the team of course. Design of any kind should be done under the premise of aesthetics and function working together, and not against/in spite of each other, so it is no wonder that animators and character designers put some thought into meeting both when adding a little "spice" to their designs. Anything and everything you can do as a character designer or animator to facilitate your work on the long run, or that of your team mates, is welcome. Covering seams and joints makes it easier for the guys in postproduction, as they have one less thing to look out for, for example. The animation industry is built on the backs of (often) exploited employees that sacrificed a lot of their time and resources into doing what they love most: deceiving the human eye and brain into believing for just a little bit that what they made is real. Truly wonderful! So next time you're working on a character, try to think about the functionality of what you're including into them. Test your imagination, and see what comes out of your mindful placement of accessories with secondary functions.

[chrisbitchtree]

Can't Touch This

For Harringrove Flip It Reverse It - Day 4

Prompt - Angst turned into fluff - "Don't touch me!"

***

If you’d first asked Steve when he met Billy what he thought the blonde would pursue as a career, kindergarten teacher would have been way at the bottom of the list, under mechanic and carpenter, below bartender or surf shop owner, even down below stripper.

But to Steve’s shock, it’s what Billy had chosen, finding that he had a passion for it, and he was thriving. He came home every day covered in stickers and finger paints, glitter and confetti in his hair, his curls up in a bun and one of his signature pastel button-ups on.

He’d regale Steve with stories about what a beautiful tree Lily drew or how Eddie had finally corrected his habit of drawing half the letters in the alphabet backwards on his worksheets. He glowed with pride over every single one of his student’s accomplishments, and it was the highlight of Steve’s day every single day to hear about it.

Billy always got home earlier than Steve, so he would make dinner. Steve would sit at their little wooden table for two, watching Billy with a dreaming look in his eyes while Billy would whip up spaghetti, sauce bubbling away at his side while he boiled noodles, or flip baked chicken breast and fluff up Rice-aroni, they favourite side, talking a mile a minute about the fact that Timmy was no longer scared of the toilet or that Rachel hadn’t tried to eat paste in three days.

It helped Steve unwind after a long day as a high school math teacher and all the drama that went along with educating dramatic, hormonal teenagers who would flip on a dime, going from polite model student one minute, to raging asshole the next. It took a lot out of Steve, but he got a lot out of it in return. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t envy the cozy little world Billy had created for his own students.

***

When Steve arrived home late one sunny April afternoon, he could tell something was wrong the second he saw Billy. His face was pulled into a tight grimace, his shirt was untucked, and he was trying with all of his might to scratch the middle of his back. From the way he was hopping around, his arm fully extended, it didn’t seem like it was going to well for him.

“What’s up?” Steve asked, trying not to laugh at the image in front of him, difficult as it was. He really wished he had a camera right now.

Billy kept hopping around, seemingly unable to find relief. “Don’t know. I’m so itchy, and it won’t stop. It’s been like this all day.”

Let me have a look, Steve said.

Billy stopped moving for a minute and Steve lifted the hem of his shirt. Billy’s back was covered in small, red spots.

“Ummmm, Billy? Have you ever had chicken pox before?” Steve asked, lowering the shirt and walking down the hall to the bathroom.

“No?” Billy said, although it came out more like a question. “I don’t think so? Why? Do I have it? Don’t touch me!”

“Well, I guess it was bound to happen at some point, working with little kids. I’m honestly surprised that you lasted this long. And it’s fine. I’ll put on gloves.” He returned to the kitchen a minute later, calamine lotion in one hand and a pair of rubber gloves in the other. “Take off your shirt and lay down on the couch. I’ll put some on your back and it’ll help with the itch.”

Billy did as he was told, laying on his front on the plush, floral couch that was the centrepiece of their living room. Steve straddled his hips, flipping the top on the bottle. He poured some into his palm before closing the bottle and dropping it onto the carpet. With the pointer finger of his other hand, he painted the dots, trying to make sure he caught every one.

He gave the lotion a minute to dry before having Billy stand and take off his pants, so Steve could check for spots below his belt. Thankfully, except for a couple on his thighs, he seemed safe so far.

“Stupid kids,” Billy grumbled. “Stupid parents letting their kids go to school sick. Now I’m going to have to take time off. We were supposed to vote on who won the art contest tomorrow. They even promised they wouldn’t just all vote for themselves. Now stupid Sandra is going to get to do it.”

Steve watched him with amusement as he ranted, the lotion drying an adorable pink colour that stood out in stark contrast from Billy’s golden tan. He’d come a long way from when they were foulmouthed teenagers, when every second word was fuck or shit or goddammit. Now it was all stupid and silly and gosh. It was cute that he was getting so worked up over this.

“It’s ok, baby,” Steve chuckled. “I know this means a lot to you, but there will be other art contests. It’s important that you stay home and get better, so you don’t make any of the kids sick.”

Billy sighed. “I know, it just sucks.” He raised his arm to scratch his back and Steve swatted it away.

“No scratching, that’s how it spreads.”

Billy stuck out his lower lip, pouting. “But it’s itchy! I can’t take it!”

As Steve’s mother had done for him when he’d had chicken pox years ago, Steve grabbed oven mitts for Billy to slip on his hands. “Here you go, this’ll help keep you from scratching. Sit down, put a movie on, and try not to think about the itch. I’ll order a pizza and then come sit with you. Ok?”

Billy nodded in agreement, making his way to the couch.

Steve watched him fondly, forever grateful for this sweet, kind, silly, wonderful man.

[scotianostra]

April 25th saw the birth in 1710 of James Ferguson in Core Of Mayen Rothiemay Huntly.

Ferguson was a bit of a polymath, basically a bit of an all rounder, he made his name in astronomy but he was also an instrument maker, lecturer, natural and experimental philosopher.

His father was a cottar and too poor to provide him with any formal education but nevertheless his aptitude for learning soon became apparent. At seven, he learned to read by listening to his father teach the catechism to his elder brother. At ten, to earn his keep, he was sent to tend sheep for a neighbouring farmer, and what little spare time he then had was devoted to his developing interest in astronomy, making maps of the stars using beads and thread.

As a young man he first earned a living by cleaning clocks and repairing domestic machinery. In his spare time he constructed a wooden clock and watch with wooden wheels and whalebone springs. This mechanical talent would later assist in his construction of astronomical models. Showing artistic talent too, he made his way as a portrait painter in Edinburgh in 1734 and in Inverness in 1736. While in Inverness, Ferguson had returned to his earlier interest in the stars and prepared an astronomical table which was published in the 1740s, and in 1742 he constructed an orrery which is a clockwork model of the solar system.

In 1743 he was in London, again painting portraits but also continuing his astronomical research. Some papers were written, one of which - On the phenomena of Venus, represented in an orrery - was presented before the Royal Society in March 1746. In 1748, Ferguson began a career as a science teacher and lecturer, delivering courses on astronomy and a wide range of experimental science. In 1752-1753 he was lecturing on the reform of the calendar and the lunar eclipse of 1753. Although he had become very well known through his popularisation of science, he was far from well off, but by 1760 he was able to stop portrait-painting for a living.

In 1763 he presented to the Royal Society a projection of the partial solar eclipse of 1 April 1764 showing its times and phases at Greenwich. In 1767, back in Scotland, Ferguson introduced a lecture on electricity into his courses. His publications include Astronomy explained on Sir Isaac Newton’s principles, Lectures on select subjects in mechanics, hydrostatics, pneumatics, and optics, Introduction to electricity, Select mechanical exercises, and The art of drawing in perspective made easy to those who have no previous knowledge of the mathematics.

James Ferguson died in London on 16 November 1776.