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creatingblackcharacters · 2 months ago

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“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country (the show) and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

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I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #long post #writing #writing black characters #black character design #black history #media history

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0097linersb · 4 months ago

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Kisses to My Exes (m)

Pairings: Yunho x Reader

Genre: Smut, PWP

Word Count: 2k~

Warnings: It´s a smut so +18 MDNI.

I sat down and wrote this in 20 minutes and never looked at it again, I´m not responsible for anything under the read more button.

Follow me on twitter pleaseeee: wooyosgfreal <3

You should have let Mingi sleep on the floor.

You should have slept on the floor.

Anything but this.

Jeong Yunho was snoring next to you, his arm slightly touching yours because the bed just had to be minuscule. They were right earlier, Mingi would not fit next to Yunho, hence why you had to give him the cabin´s couch. Thinking back on it now, you could have asked to share the bed with Mingi instead of going through this and the realization made you groan louder than you planned to - but Yunho didn´t seem to be bothered by it, deep in his slumber state.

You should not have downed all that wine.

You were restless, tossing and turning in bed for hours, eyes glued to the dark ceiling and huffing in annoyance at yourself. You know how wine gets you, and you still went there and drank a whole bottle of it with your friends at their cabin. Of course you didn´t think about how you´d have to come back to your own cabin later with your ex-boyfriend - out of all people - and his best friend. Now there you were, horny enough to climb the walls and nothing you could do about it.

Every option already crossed your mind: Locking yourself in the bathroom? With the two of them right outside? Ew, cringe. Taking a shower? The noise would wake them up, even worse than the first idea. Just going to sleep? Well, that´s what you´ve been trying to do for the past hour, but the throbbing in between your legs was not allowing you to.

The covers were too hot but when you took them off, the room was too cold, your pillow was too thin and the tags on your shirt were bugging you. Everything was wrong and you just wanted to scream in frustration –

“Will you quit moving?” Yunho´s deep sleepy voice made you jump in surprise, immediately turning your face to look at him. He didn´t even open his eyes, but you could see by his facial expression that he was annoyed.

The two of you didn´t exactly break up in good terms; actually, you could bet this was the first time he spoke to you alone since then. You don´t hate him - even though you´re the one who broke things off - and you guess he doesn´t hate you either. He is mad at you, though. Has been for the past five months.

“Did I wake you up?”

“You´re practically dancing in bed, what do you think?” He groaned, finally opening his eyes to look at you – and boy did they look angry.

“Sorry.”

Yunho sighed deeply before closing his eyes and trying to go back to sleep. You genuinely felt bad for waking him up so you did your best to stay as still as possible, but the motionless position apparently made the throbbing more evident and it was starting to ache. You squeezed your thighs together to try and relieve some of the pain, noticing how Yunho´s breathing was deeper once again. He always fell asleep so easily, it amazed you, truly.

After what felt like hours – but were probably 15 minutes - you allowed yourself to move again, trying to find a more comfortable position, anything that would get you to fucking sleep.

“Y/N, I swear to God,” The deep voice surprised you once again, raspy from just waking up.

“I´m sorry,” Your voice on the other hand was small in shame, you truly didn´t mean to bother him, you were just so uncomfortable.

With another sigh, you heard Yunho shifting in bed until he was spooning you, his chest pressing against your back so casually, “If I help you out, will you let me sleep?”

“Help me out?” You practically stuttered, gob smacked by the sudden touch and the question.

“Y/N, we dated for almost 3 years. I know when you´re horny.”

“Oh.”

“I´m tired so don´t expect too much.”

You didn´t know what else to say besides a weak “Ok.”

You held your breath as Yunho´s hand expertly snaked its way down your sleep shorts and into your panties, a moan of relief slipping past your lips once his fingers traced your slit for the first time. The hot air from his lazy chuckle hit the back of your neck once he felt how wet you were, his pads continuing to trace your slit back and forth to spread it all around.

This didn´t have to be weird considering his fingers had already been inside of you many times before – and Yunho had such nice fingers, so long and slender, so clean and delicate, so beautiful. The thought alone had you clenching around nothing, bucking your hips against said fingers so he´d do something.

Yunho followed through with his words of not doing anything fancy, not bothering with teasing you or toying with you like he used to in the past. It was clear that his sole goal was to get you off as fast as possible so he could go back to sleep, and when the wet pad of his middle finger found your clit, drawing small circles against it, you were sure his wish would become true sooner than later.

As expected from someone who had been fucking you daily for the past years, Yunho immediately noticed how you were having a hard time trying to keep your moans in, his free hand instinctively finding your mouth and forcing two of his fingers inside to keep you quiet. He had to shut his eyes at the feeling of you moaning around his fingers because God, he missed your mouth. Another thing that was driving him insane, was the way you kept grinding your hips against his fingers chasing your high, therefore, rubbing your ass against his cock on accident every other second – He had to bite his bottom lip so you wouldn´t hear him groan.

When Yunho felt you were getting more agitated against him, he slipped a finger into you - and not even the way he pressed your tongue down kept your moan inside. Yes you broke up with him, and yes you´d never admit it, but no man would ever compare to Yunho. His fingers just reached places no one could ever, and he truly knew you inside out.

You could feel all of his knuckles rubbing against your walls, pumping into you slowly a few times before adding another finger, curling them so he could find the spots that got you clenching around him – which again, took zero to no effort.

“Already?” He chuckled darkly, noticing how you were already digging your nails into the pillow in desperation.

Since you couldn´t speak, you simply nodded, bucking your hips against his fingers because it just felt so good. In the middle of the woods, in that quiet cabin, you could hear so clearly the sound of his fingers pumping into you, in and out.

“It must be sad, huh? Not having me to fuck you anymore,” His voice sounded so raw and rough.

You moaned at his words, feeling close to the edge in record time. He was right, it was devastating.

“Bet you miss my cock every day,” His lips were slightly touching your neck as he spoke and it was driving you insane, especially with the way he sped up his fingers. “And I´m sure you imagine it´s me every time someone else is fucking you.”

Once again, he was right, but he didn´t need to know that.

Yunho´s fingers left your mouth once you didn´t answer, finding its new home around your throat, choking you hard enough to cut out your blood flow but not enough that you couldn´t breathe or talk, holding you close against him. Some animalistic part of him saying you were still his. Your hands clawed at his arm and you pressed your face against your pillow so you wouldn´t wake up Mingi as his best friend fucked you open with his fingers.

“Yunho,” You moaned, warning you were close.

“I know. You´re squeezing me so tight I can barely move my fingers.”

He removed his fingers then, leaving you empty for a second before the pads of his fingers were rubbing your clit once again, trying to tip you over the edge faster, applying the right amount of pressure as he drew fast eights against you. Your body was already stiff, preparing for the wave that was about to hit, the sensation quickly growing inside of you.

Yunho felt so big behind you, his groans sounded so hot against your ear and you realized you missed this, you missed him. You held onto his wrist for dear life and closed your eyes, paying attention to each drag of his skin against your sensitive walls, and the second he tightened his hold against your throat, you let it crash down.

Your body shook violently as pleasure took over your whole body, slowly reaching every edge of you. Yunho was quick to cover your mouth with his hand, your moans muffled by his palm as he continued his ministrations, watching you crumble down in his hold. He continued until your eyes were open once again, your breathing labored but stable, your body spasming in aftershocks. He continued feeling you until you were whining over being too sensitive, until you were pushing his hand that was covering your mouth away.

As you tried to come down, you felt Yunho fixing your panties back in place, turning to look at him when he retrieved his hand, watching how he sucked his fingers clean unceremoniously. You were in awe. You wish only love and mind-blowing sex were enough to hold a relationship.

“Thank you,” You managed to breathe out after a minute of silence. When he didn´t answer, you motioned with your head towards his sweatpants, “Want some help too?”

You could see how hard he was, and not only that, but you could feel his cock throbbing against your ass the whole time he was fingering you. The way he kept unconsciously grinding into you is probably one of the reasons you came so fast.

“I´m good. Let me sleep now,” And with that, he simply turned around, giving you his back. “Goodnight.”

Oh, he was really mad at you.

“Goodnight.”

#yunho #jeong yunho #yunho smut #yunho x reader #ateez smut #yunho scenarios #yunho fic #yunho fanfic

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thenightling · 2 years ago

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I am very disappointed in the people praising the censoring / editing of Roald Dahl's books. Let me tell you a little story. About five years ago I decided to re-visit Treasure Island. I found an unabridged version. I was surprised to discover that Long John Silver had a black lover. Because the book used the term "n--ress" the mention of her was removed from many American editions of the book when I grew up.

Note: I am not saying they removed the N word. I am saying they removed her *all together.* I didn't know Long John Silver had a love interest until I was in my thirties and read an unabridged version of the novel. It revealed so much about the story that I hadn't noticed before. 1. That Long John Silver believed in love despite what was considered a cultural norm of the time. He didn't care about what others considered proper and he was in love. 2. It shows that even Robert Louis Stevenson acknowledged the existence of interracial couples and yet no movie version I can think of addressed this until the TV series Black Sails. 3. It helped remind me of the culture of the era in which Treasure Island takes place and when it was written, the stigma against interracial relationships that existed in America right into the twentieth century and in some places is still a thing. Sometimes books tell us more than just a story. They show us how a world was once viewed. I felt like this was an important discovery, that Long John Silver had a black lover (or wife). And I was even a little angry that I had been robbed of this in previous readings of the book. I think the removal of words like "Fat" and "ugly" from Roald Dahl's books does us a disservice. It "cleans up" the past and denies a chance for us to learn some of the less pleasant aspects of the past and how and why language has changed since then. What should be a teaching point and experience is lost in the name of sensitivity. I felt cheated and it even felt a little racist that Long John Silver's love interest isn't mentioned in many editions of Treasure Island. And I feel that one day there may be similar feelings if people discover they aren't reading the original versions of Dahl's books. Try to remember the original reason Ray Bradbury wrote Fahrenheit 451. It wasn't about an evil government taking away people's blooks. It was about this group and that group getting offended at various titles until they just banned everything to try to make everyone happy.

#Roald Dahl #Treasure Island #Robert Louis Stevenson

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fastandcarlos · 6 months ago

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Mini Me : ̗̀➛ Sebastian Vettel

summary: one step at a time, seb plans on changing the world, and his little shadow is desperate to join him

Your smile widened as a familiar voice called through the house, spinning round to watch Seb as he slipped off his jacket, hanging it up by the door.

“Hi darling,” he grinned, walking into the kitchen to where you were.

“Hi,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around Seb’s neck as his grabbed at your waist. “How was your day?”

“It was good, some interesting meetings,” Seb mused, “not as good as being here though.”

“We’ve had a pretty busy day, I think you’d be quite impressed to see.”

“Can I?” Seb excitedly asked, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Where is Lila anyway?”

“Living room,” you grinned, glancing through the slight gap in the doors to where your daughter was sat on the floor. “She’s been watching documentaries most of the afternoon, seems like she’s going to be a bit of a wildlife warrior like her father when she’s older,” you added, watching as Seb’s smile lit up.

He’d always prided himself on instilling his morals and awareness for the world on his daughter. He taught her a lot about protecting the environment, even though she was only five, Seb still made sure she knew her little things could have a major impact.

“Lila!” You shouted across to her, “there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

Your daughter scrambled to her feet, knowing exactly who you were on about. She couldn’t get to the kitchen quick enough, leaping into the air as Seb caught her and twirled her around.

“Mummy said that you’ve been busy, what have you been up to?” He asked her.

“Let me show you,” your daughter squealed, kicking out for Sebastian to put her down on the ground, running back into the room.

Seb stood impatiently as your daughter ran back in, holding several pieces of paper in her hands, laying them down on the floor for Seb to see. Each one had a different picture on it, with big text that you had drawn for your daughter to colour in.

“Wow,” Seb chuckled as he looked through each one. The posters your daughter had made were covered with endangered animals, many of them ones that her father had told her all about as he taught her about the world.

“I’m going to take them into school next week,” Lila informed him.

“There’s a show and tell at school next week,” you added, filling Seb in, “Lila wants to help educate some of her classmates about the planet.”

Seb almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, struggling to believe that his little girl would do such a thing. Little did Seb realise quite how much his daughter idolised him though, wanting to stand for everything her dad stood for too.

“These are amazing sweetheart,” Seb complimented, reaching across and pulling Lila across to him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m sure everyone in your class will be blown away by these.”

“Do you really like them?”

“I don’t just like them, I love them,” Seb insisted, bringing a smile to her face again.

“We spent a lot of time making them, didn’t we Lila?”

“Mummy did all the letters, she said if I wrote them no one would know what they say,” she chuckled, poking her tongue out across at you. You shrugged back at her as Seb gave you a knowing look, chuckling to himself at you.

You’d tried your best to be as helpful as possible, but just like her dad, Lila was stubborn when she had a vision in mind. You helped where you could, but when you weren’t needed, she definitely let you know about it.

“Maybe you’ll have to get daddy to tell you some more information, you can teach your class,” you offered, watching their smiles turn up again.

“Would you help me daddy?” Lila quizzed.

“Of course, it would be my honour,” Seb smiled.

“I want to teach everyone about the planet, like how you always teach me to pick up rubbish and re…re…re, what’s the word again daddy?”

Seb couldn’t help but laugh as Lila struggling, ruffling the top of her head. “You want to teach your friends about recycling?”

Everywhere the two of you went Seb made sure to teach your daughter the importance of recycling and keeping things clean. The two of them had been known to go down to your local park with bin bags, picking up anything that they found.

“I bet you’re an expert on it Lila,” Seb chimed.

“No, but I want daddy to help me with it.”

“I’ll help, don’t worry.”

Your daughter climbed into Seb’s lap where he sat on the floor, wrapping her arms around his frame, squeezing him tight as if to silently thank him for his help.

“What about mummy? Can she help us too?” Seb asked, catching a glance of you smiling, watching their interactions closely.

“Mummy doesn’t care about the planet as much as we do, she’s done enough already.”

“Hey!” You laughed, your eyes widening in disbelief, “I care about keeping everything healthy and safe thank you.”

“This is our project now,” she challenged, shaking her head at you. “Daddy and I are going to start planning whilst you cook tea.”

“The boss has spoken,” Seb helplessly grinned, knowing out of the three of you Lila was definitely the one in charge.

“I can’t believe I’m being kicked out the team when I was the one who came up with the idea,” you gasped, pretending to hold your hand over your heart, letting Lila know just how disappointed you were.

“Sorry,” Seb whispered across to you as your daughter ran away again.

“I guess I just can’t compete with you,” you teased, offering your hand to help Seb up off of the floor. “Come on old man, it looks like our bossy madam is already waiting for you in the living room to get started.”

“I suppose you deserve some peace and quiet after having her all day,” Seb reasoned, groaning as he stood up.

“Lila’s much harder work than I bet driving a race car ever was,” you sniggered, nudging him in the direction of the living room. “I’ll give you a shout when tea is ready, if you can leave your little project alone for a minute.”

For the rest of the evening Seb and Lila put together her own presentation to give at school next week. You’d worked together to exhaust her so come bed she was flat out, leaving the two of you stretched out on the sofa just a couple of hours later, hands intertwined in with one another lazily.

You were blissfully unaware of Seb’s eyes on you as you rested into his side, struggling to keep your eyes open after a day of running around after your daughter on your own. It was only when he chuckled that you finally looked up at him, smiling wide as you noticed the big grin that was on his own face.

“How did we raise such a caring, kind-hearted girl?” You smiled, reaching up to cup the side of Seb’s face with your hand.

“Because we’ve taught her all the good in the world, and she’s got the best mum in the world,” Seb joked, kissing against the top of your head.

“You’re the one that teaches her all of these amazing things,” you reminded him.

“We’re both pretty cool then.”

“She definitely takes after you,” you argued, nudging against Seb’s side. “She’s the definition of like father, like daughter.”

“I never imagined myself having my own mini me.”

“You’ve definitely got one now.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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heyhoeudoin · 4 months ago

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TIMES SENKU TALKED ABOUT YOU

"I will always be by your side."

pairing: senku ishigami x fem!reader

words: 9.2k

genre/s: fluff, mystery, storytelling in the third perspective (special ep, s3, s4), slight angst

warning/s: she/her, swearing, ambiguous/not direct ending

synopsis: there is always someone next to senku, all the time.

masterlist ; loyalty built from love (part 1)

a/n: jokes on you guys, i was already writing a part two even before i got many requests for it. also, i wrote part 1 like months ago and it took months to write as well, so when i re-read it for part 2, part 1 was so ambiguously written good that even i have no idea what the hell i was going for.

also, don't be shy to give any comments, because i am reading those and i love them all <3

anyone could tell that senku misses you

like a lot...

to the point that he mentions you

a lot...

it was rather endearing to the people around him

it's cute that senku still remains the habit of talking about you whenever you're not physically with him

yuzuriha always liked that habit of his

she will never not be bothered by it, she's used to it after all

he would always at least mention you once a day

he just loves talking about you

it's really endearing and an adorable side to the usually unaffectionate friend of hers

"the first balloon that humanity took flight in was made of hemp cloth," shared senku as gen let out an awed noise. "the one massive ordeal to overcome is..."

"right..." yuzuriha raised her hand. "you need a crap ton of cloth, don't you?" she asked with a slightly painful look on her face, already knowing the work she's going to put into.

"oh, look!" senku pointed at yuzuriha with a devilish expression. "i totally didn't realize! we've got the crafts club here!" yuzuriha jabbed a fist at his chest.

senku and kaseki then got onto the floor and bowed, performing a dogeza. "the science team will commit itself to designing the passenger basket," senku explained in a robot manner.

"we'll make any tools you need," kaseki tells her, raising his head.

"can i leave the cloth making to you? to the yuzuriha crafts team?" senku confidently asked, raising his head.

yuzuriha nods as senku stood up and the two shared a high-five. "of course you can!" she exclaimed with a peace sign.

"i could've had y/n help you with this. well actually, i think she would've helped immediately without me saying anything, but..." senku trailed off, but yuzuriha understood what he's trying to say.

she placed a hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner. "i know, senku. it's fine! i've got it handled."

later on yuzuriha asked senku and kaseki to make a loom to get things going a bit faster and easier. as she waited, senku called, "hey, it's done." she turned around expecting a simpler loom, but it was not. she let out a surprised noise, falling onto the ground. a pleasant surprise, she was given.

"was this not what you were expecting, yuzuriha-chan?" kaseki asks, a bit worried.

"we didn't have much time," says senku, looking a bit worried too. "did you want an electric one? maybe i should've. y/n would have my head seeing i didn't immediately make an electric one for you."

yuzuriha hurriedly dismissed their worry. "no! no! i appreciate it a lot!"

"they're the senku department store's first high-end products. it might be a while before they start selling," says gen, looking at the racks that held an assortment of clothes and the people that looked around the new place.

"y/n would've love this," senku absentmindedly mentions. "she would've easily volunteered for that fashion show too."

gen turned to senku as if he grew a head.

"oh, also, hand them out to anyone who works," senku then tells gen. "we have a living manifestation of greed who'll buy just about anything."

that was first time gen heard senku talk about you as if he's some clingy boyfriend that misses his girlfriend, he thought he was finally going insane in the stone world

he genuinely would have never thought that senku's the type to be like that when it comes to relationships

which was already shocking in of itself

he truly never expected to have "senku" and "relationship/boyfriend/girlfriend" in the same sentence

are you two really just boyfriend and girlfriend though?

it doesn't seem right to call you and senku, girlfriend and boyfriend

it feels like the two of you have something more

ryusui never met you

of course because when the fuck would he ever

but he has been in the same room as you a few times

people from the "rich, noble, important" families would hold these galas for the "high-class", and you attended some of them for connecting purposes

he, on the other hand, attended most of these which made it possible for him to have seen you in person a few time

though, he never dared interact with you

he only stared at you from afar in awe

it was also an added bonus that because of one of these galas, your family ended up connecting with his family through buying yachts

though, other than that, the nanami conglomerate and the l/n family has no other connection than a business one

and so when senku mentioned your name...

he didn't know what to think when senku mentioned you as if you were an old friend

and judging by chrome's reaction, it seems that the scientist has mentioned you a few times already

"we're in the sky, protected by nothing but our own skin and flesh. you don't get this kind of extravagance anywhere else," he says, looking on the horizon they are given from the air balloon. "not this unique sensation."

"yeah," senku agreed. "y/n would love to be here right now, but sucks to be her for not being here." he cackled out a laughter as chrome turned to him and gave him a light jab.

"seriously?" he deadpanned, but then got distracted by a flock of bird, flying pass the balloon. "we're with the birds!" he exclaimed.

actually, did he even refer to you as if you were an old friend?

it almost felt like he referred to you as if you were dead...

and in a manner that only a really close friend has the rights to do

ryusui didn't believe that though

i mean, how could he?

you dead?

it's ridiculous (utterly ridiculous)

he can see the reasons on why senku has survived and thrived

he also knows the reasons on why you, too, are just as capable of surviving and thriving

so where are you really?

"it's as good as bread from a popular modern shop," senku says after taking a bite out of the stollen that francois just baked. "it'll last to the other side of the planet, and it's good as hell. a perfect food that i've been dying to have and we've got it now!"

"greed equals justice," is all what francois says.

"y/n's really missing out," senku absentmindedly called out. "she would've devoured these so fast, well, as much as her stomach can handle." he smiled fondly at the thought

gen turned to him and asked, "does she like bread that much?"

"loves them even more so than the average person," senku says with a tired expression from just thinking about it. "that girl dragged me around the globe just to have a damn bread tour."

francois wasn't sure if they had heard the scientist correctly

did senku just refer to you like you two are old friends?

you?

a member of the most powerful family in the entirety of japan?

the eldest of the said family?

the next in line?

the hidden treasure of japan?

it was strange

they were confused on why senku would have connections to you

and judging from gen's casual follow-up question, your name has been brought up more than once by senku

but it wasn't their job to be curious and to question the lives of others

their job was to serve ryusui-sama

and for the sake of the nanami conglomerate, ishigami senku is an absolute want

minami, being the journalist she is, are one of the only few people that knows you a bit better than most

after all, she was handpicked by the l/n family to be one of the few media representation for your first ever media debut

it was groundbreaking for her career

and it also broke the entirety of japan

you had revealed then that you will not be accepting any courting, and offers of marriage because you had already found the person you'd spend your life with

no one knew who you were talking about

she remembered the massive wave of investigation happening shortly after the publication of that interview done by... everyone, really

no one ever figured it out who this person was

...or is

maybe she's the first amongst reporters to finally figure it out

"at least let me take the first picture for memory's sake!" exclaimed minami with an embarrassed expression.

"perfectly fair," voiced ukyo and gen.

ryusui laughed, raising his hand in the air. "i'm buying the photo, model rights, and all!" he declared.

minami turned to him, angry, baring teeth. "why should the first photo be yours?!"

"what are you talking about?" he asked. "it's a record of the beginning of technological civilization. it should be senku, obviously. am i right?"

senku owlishly stared at ryusui and minami.

"an exhibit at the nanami museum, representing the history of the new world." ryusui walked over to where senku stood with all the other cameras.

senku stuck a pinky into his ear. "what are you talking about?" he asked. "if anything, the first picture should be y/n." a wave of silence rose amongst the revived people. they know fully well that what senku had said was absolutely correct.

but they also know that it won't be possible right now.

the scientist sighs, breaking the silence. "it's too bad she's frozen shut right now," he mocked casually with a teasing grin.

"i think you're the only one who can joke about her like that," gen commented with a slightly awkward chuckle.

in the end, senku had the honors of being the first person photographed in the stone age, posing the famous einstein pose and minami had the honors of photographing the first picture in the stone age

but that wasn't the only thing that she got from this

she's always listening, you know? and there was one thing that stood out from the banter around her

no one in japan would have the courage, the boldness to joke around your name like senku had just did

not to your face nor behind your back

and yet senku, being the man of knowledge he is, is bold enough to do so

why is that?

was gen right?

that senku really is the only person who can joke about you like that?

since the surrender of tsukasa, there were many rumors she had heard about the two of you and it was all the same thing

that you and senku have something going on

she refuses to believe those rumors

she's a journalist—she shouldn't be believing in those rumors!

her motto is to find the truth

and the truth she will find sooner or later (when she gets the guts to ask you)

when they found the oil, obviously they had to test it out

gen was the one conducting the test drive (because he's the only one with drivers license)

then taiju dropped by, getting a whiff of that oily smell

"hey! it's the love potion," commented taiju. "are you going to give it to someone, senku?"

the people there were confused on what taiju had meant. "what are you talking about, taiju-chan?" asked gen.

"you made some for me that day, remember?" taiju says as his mind took him back to the day it all started. "so that i would have the confidence to confess to yuzuriha. you also said it worked out for you and y/n because of it. it was the last moment we had before we all got petrified."

senku ended up cackling afterwards. "i did! i said that! i told you it was a love potion! you still believe that, you meathead?! that was gasoline!"

"what?! it was?!"

"also, no way in hell would i ever use something on y/n unless she forces me in another of her batshit insane experiments," senku deadpanned. "but if you think it smells the same with no prior knowledge—"

now, gen is totally one to assume

and what senku said kind of sounded like an implication...

in both that way and a completely different way

although, if it was that way then, knowing senku, he would have never mentioned it

so it was probably an actual batshit insane thing

why does gen feel like his image of you will be changed while they're here

a small moment of reference when yo was whispering some shit to gen, pinning senku as some sort of mad lad

well, he kind of is but...

"i'm pretty sure he's wack," whispered yo to gen. both sweating.

"nah, y/n's the one who's wack between she and i. i've still got my mind intact, just barely," senku retorted, looking back at the two.

when valentines came, gen had an interesting answer to his question

"ah, valentine's day," mused gen as kohaku repeated it, confused. "yeah, events are important. for the drago—i mean, for the morale."

senku and yuzuriha went out of the laboratory, handing out the chocolates. gen turned to senku with a question in mind. "do you give chocolates to y/n-chan, senku-chan?"

senku shook his head. "nah, y/n doesn't really like them," he answered which shocked gen. "she'd rather have things that she could wear or practical gifts."

see

look at that

that gave a lot to gen

senku practically confirmed that he gives gifts to you!

and also does so on VALENTINES

if that's not confirmation of being a couple, he doesn't know what is

but then again...

like he had thought before, it doesn't feel like the two you are just boyfriend and girlfriends

but what other kind of relationship would still condone in the valentines romance gift giving?

shouldn't there be some kind of answers by now?

then after they took the group photo with the finished ship

senku looked a bit... down? contemplated?

it was strange to see

why would he be feeling down?

it was quite obvious as well

"are you unsatisfied about the pictures, senku?" asked minami, holding her camera.

"nah, i don't care about that," answered senku.

"then what's got you so down, senku-chan?" asked gen.

senku stared off in the direction of where the tsukasa empire was with a somber look. gen immediately understood from that alone. "take lots of pictures when y/n comes back, journalass," senku told her as he walked off towards the ship.

everyone knew that you barely had any pictures

after all, you were called the hidden treasure of japan

you probably told senku how you felt about it, and he remembers

gen thought it was sweet

minami felt herself gushing about it

when ryusui called upon the people who were needed on the expedition, it was gen's turn to come aboard.

and, to be perfectly clear, tsukasa was left behind by choice because he felt obliged to protect the kingdom of science since most of the battle team were coming along to the perseus

"uh, you don't need me, do you?" asked gen, frantically. "i've got the strength of a bean sprout."

"we don't know what kinds of enemies we're going to meet. what good is a mentalist if they aren't there when that happens, dumbass?" explained senku. "i'd have y/n instead of you if she wasn't being frozen away like a piece of salami."

the modern people felt cultural shock at the casual way of senku playing around your name, but at the same time they feel that they should get used to it.

"ah so i'm just a second choice, huh?" mused gen as he trekked up towards the ship.

"of course you are," senku answered without thinking. "it's always y/n first to me."

the crowd who watched the take off of the ship awed at the display of loyalty senku accidentally announced. gen started grinning, knowing full well that he caused senku to slip like that. senku then grimaced at what he said even thought it's true.

maybe senku should dial back a bit...

ryusui also knows now that you're very much alive somewhere in the kingdom of science

he just doesn't know why you're not physically present

also, did his ears deceive him or did senku just practically confess his feelings for you?

but it wasn't that...

judging from the way the people present cooed at his confession and how gen was smirking like he set it up on purpose

was there something else between the two of you?

this time, it was yuzuriha who shared something about you

"these kinds of people are always dying to show you the machines they tuned the hell out of," says nikki, looking sympathetic.

"they won't let you go until their done," kohaku added.

"i'll be alright!" yuzuriha clarified, making kohaku and nikki shocked. "i always sat through senku-kun's five hour rocket lectures and stuff."

"we have a veteran here!" exclaimed nikki, still looking shock with kohaku.

yuzuriha laughs at that. "if you think i'm a veteran, then y/n must be something else! she always did listen to him..." she mused with a fond smile.

senku smiled as well from that comment.

yuzuriha may not be as close to you as she is to senku, but she completely adores you!

...after getting over the fact that you're the y/n l/n

you were like... any other person, just a bit clueless in other areas

actually, you were a lot like senku in a lot of ways

it's a good portion of the reason why the two of you have the relationship that you two have grown to have

this time, gen was the one to first mention you to amaryllis

albeit in a more... implied upbringing

despite not actually knowing if you two are intertwined or not

but he's very confident that you two are

"that kind of attack isn't going to work on senku-chan," he says. "he's already married, you know?"

and then he went scummy

to which kohaku shouted and hit at him for

and then she later scolded herself after forcing a kiss on senku to save her own ass

she kneeled on the ground and slammed her head on the floor in a dogeza position, facing the direction of ishigami village. "i am sorry, y/n. i will be held responsible for this action, and i will allow you to give me whatever punishment is deemed necessary."

senku sighed, sticking a finger in his pinky, looking exasperated. "y/n's reasonable, calm down, she won't be that mad." his eyes looking far away in the same direction as if thinking of something himself for you.

while senku was making conditioner for kohaku, he mentions you

"y/n's actually been nagging me about making hair stuff for a while now," senku commented while making the hair products. "she always had this specific routine for her hair."

amaryllis didn't know who you are. "is she the one who's married to him?" she asked gen.

"yes," he answered. "y/n-chan is a very powerful person. she's probably even stronger than the strongest soldiers here on the island."

"really?!"

senku glanced at the implied threat gen displayed with an unamused look, but let him does so anyways. it's true, after all.

when amaryllis tried to girlie-fy the boys,

"you know, y/n would actually be impressed that you could fake being a girl like that," senku mentions, crossing his arms on his chest after washing off the makeup on his face.

"really?"

"she'd probably even call you—in her words—a tall baddie." senku made a grimace as he said that.

then when the two girls and one boy dressed like a girl left, gen mentioned your name to start a conversation

"if only we have y/n-chan, huh?" gen comments.

senku shook his head. "nah, she wouldn't do that," he says. "although if she was here, she'd probably go all stealth instead."

"are they really..."

"i'm not answering any questions you have about them."

"so you do know!"

gen was inspecting the earpiece, amazed and shocked by how simple it can be done

and then, of course, senku mentions you

"it was y/n who actually taught me how to make that," senku commented. "i don't know why she bothered learning to make one when she could literally buy the best one, but she said she liked how simple and cosmetic it can be if made like this. though, i'm glad she taught it to me now because it certainly useful for this."

"of course this is y/n-chan's design, not yours," says gen, holding it up in front of him.

as senku looked through the pile of gold dust

as the pile of platinum grew

it was the first time he felt vulnerable since you had been frozen shut

he isn't one to be all emotional, but at moments like these... it really showed just how much care byakuya had for him

senku scoffs. "if y/n was here, she'd be bawling her eyes out," he says, his eyes a bit glassy himself.

"you counting seconds all that time, and your papa collecting sand for decades..." gen looked wistful. "you two are alike."

once the team were able to make the revival fluid, the thought of reviving their stoned comrades were first in the list

senku ordered kohaku to cleanly cut the greedy captain when given the chance

afterwards, ryusui's stone parts were delivered to them

"i've always known you're ridiculously rational, but... but still you're practically psycho at this point!" screamed gen after figuring out what's happening.

senku shook his head with a smirk. "nah, y/n's the psycho one between us," he corrected. "if she was given parts like these, she'd be experimenting, mix-and-matching them. i'd be the only one to get her to stop."

"every time you say things about y/n-chan that she's a psycho and all, it ruins the image i have of her and i can't help but not believe you," gen bluntly replied. "except you're the only one that knows who she really is, so i have to believe you."

senku cackled.

when kohaku was fighting against moz, all she could think about was how he's nothing compared to you

"i like strong girls, too, as long as they have a pretty face," he says as he took out the machete out of his weapon. "what kind of men do you like, kohaku-chan? how about me? i'm strong as hell."

the girl let out a sigh, then tied her hair up to her usual ponytail while crouching down. "strength is strength of mind," she states, making him slightly confused. "to be able to continue hammering a wedge for as long as it takes to carry out one's will. that's the kind of person i'm drawn to."

her pose changed to a battle stance. "well~ this is a problem, moz. you seem to be the exact opposite," she tells him. "and compared to him?" she scoffs. "actually, compared to her? you're nothing. literally. she's stronger than both of us combined, actually, stronger than anyone else on this island."

"i don't know who you're referring to, but you're cute, kohaku-chan. just not cute enough though."

did kohaku just imply something

AND

maybe come out of the closet?

maybe

maybe not

who knows

but she really wasn't lying

moz really is nothing compared to the people she admires and respects the most

as the parts of the gun was laid out on the table, the people from the 21st century had recognized it

of course they did, after all,

"this is what made men and women, young and old, all of humanity, all of homo sapiens, the apex predators. it's the invention of the gods and demons, and even then, humans who owns these rank higher than what we can see on the pyramid," senku states as kaseki finished the building of the gun.

"we, humans, may be on top of the food chain, but once given some source of power? we become our own enemies. and we all know who's at the top here in japan." he lets out a teasing smirk as some let out a sigh, knowing who he's talking about.

"tools are neither gods nor demons," ukyo says. "it's up to the person to determine how it's used."

"then let's be damn glad that our rulers didn't use these to become demons," cackled senku as he just had to make a joke.

both gen and yuzuriha let out a loud sigh.

ukyo decided to ignore the misplaced joke, and continue with what he was going to say anyways.

then later on when ryusui asked who would wield the gun...

senku turned his head towards the stoned yu. "if i had continued my gun lessons with y/n, maybe i can, but compared to the only police officer? yeah, he's better off with it." then he hummed, turning to his two childhood friends. "how about you two? any of you comfortable wielding a gun? i know you both got lessons from y/n also."

yuzuriha shook her head. "well, it's best to just leave it with yu... my lessons with y/n were more of for self-defense," she says.

"i also think it's better for yu to handle it. he's the professional," taiju says. "y/n tried to teach me, but i just always end up using my hands during the mock fights."

gen, ukyo, and ryusui turned to the trio in different waves of shock.

"i wonder how those lessons went knowing your non-existent strength, senku-chan," gen mused.

the scientist rolled his eyes.

it was actually pretty shocking to hear that the trio had gun lessons with YOU

like what an honor??

but it also makes sense for none of the trio to pick up on it since they've already had pretty different skill sets; a gun just didn't fit within it

it was also kind of scary to think about it

everyone knows that the l/n family are all skilled and powerful people

each person had a different skill set honed and trained to the absolute perfection, and that the regime it took to get there was of on a entirely different level

to hear that you had taught those three a small part of your regime,

just how hard was it?

it was an honor, but at the same time, no normal person can probably handle the regime of a l/n

when the team saw that the islanders were getting evacuated

it was a sign that ibara planned to petrify the entire island

"w-we're in huge trouble!" exclaimed suika in a panic.

"nah, just the opposite," senku says with a confident smirk. "when the going gets tough, the tough get going. we might be able to take all of it. the enemy, the kingdom, and the medusa!"

he starts cackling. "oh, y/n, you could've been so damn useful here, why'd you just have to go and get punctured," he sighs with a shake of his head.

ukyo looked at senku in nervousness. "why does it seem like you always have to insult her situation?" he rhetorically asks.

yuzuriha chuckles. "you'll get used to it," she says with a sympathetic smile. "it's his way of showing his love to her."

ukyo thinks that he'll never get used to it

he was one of the people that didn't know the dynamic between you and senku since your accident had happened right when the stone war ended

it's not like he doesn't believe that you two are together, it's just that he's the type to have to hear/see it to believe it

he still have that image of you in his head

that you're someone like tsukasa, except way dangerous and way scarier

it also doesn't help that you and your family are probably the only people that can get past his enhanced hearing

it's easy to say that he's afraid of you

which is why every time senku goes and makes fun of your accident, it gives him whiplash

this time yuzuriha was the one to think of you as she stared at the broken stone fragments of the master of the island

"it isn't over yet," she says. "we have to keep thinking, and keep going; that's what i learned from him... her... from them! we still have some adhesive senku-kun made for us in the kingdom of science." her eyes glistening as she darted from piece to piece.

you and senku are one of the most goal-oriented people she knows

senku will not stop until he completes what he needs to do

and you will not stop until you get what you want

it's almost scary

and when senku freed hyoga as their last resort

"we weren't cornered," senku tell ibara with a smooth confident voice despite the sweat dripping from his face. "we had you corner us into this particular room." with that, he dropped the glass of revival fluid.

of course, gen felt like he needed to mention you to get hyoga to fight for their side. "also, don't forget that if anything happens to senku, y/n-chan will have you head," he whispered out, loud enough for hyoga to hear. "i wonder what'll happen to you after seeing her dearly beloved bleeding out."

senku sighed and shook his head at the shit gen is saying, but he can't oppose to it because it's true.

the only reason hyoga was able to inflict a critical hit on you is because you were protecting tsukasa's sister. and so what if you weren't protecting anyone AND anger engulfed you?

it's safe to say that no one wants to feel the true wrath of a member of the l/n family, much less from you

"i'm alone," senku says out loud as he watched the sun set off in the distance. his back heavy from the phone, his body aching from tiredness, and his shoulder throbbing with dried blood. his eyes glistened in nostalgia as his memories of the early stone world passes through his mind. "again. i'm alone again..."

the phone rings, shocking him out of his pondering.

"can you hear me, senku-san?" called ruri from the other side. "how are things over there, senku-san?"

he stared at the phone in front of him. a smirk slipping through his lips. "no," he changes his mind. "i'm not alone this time." he then quietly added,

"i also have someone i need to go home to."

as the topic of ruri and the mainland was brought up while they ate, taiju had lots to say

"is this ruri girl chrome's girlfriend or ex or something?" amaryllis asked francois, excited to hear some juicy details about her new allies/friends.

"no, i'm told that she is senku-sama's former wife," they answered.

taiju looked absolutely shocked, shaking from the news. "what?!" he exclaimed, really loud. "when did you get married, senku?! weren't you going to marry y/n?!?!" he shook the scientist by the collar.

senku had his fingers in his ears the entire time, not phased, but annoyed. he's used to the loudness of taiju after all. "just for three minutes! we got divorced right away," he explained.

that only fueled taiju more, shaking the scientist once again. "what?! when did you get divorced, senku!? was y/n okay with this?!"

"okay! okay!" senku exclaimed as he took the hands off of his collar. "i just said we got divorced right away! also, y/n was fine with it! it was ages ago."

now, francois isn't one to oblige in gossip especially when it's related to you

but when taiju implied that you and senku are betrothed, they can't help but wonder

are you and senku really engaged to each other?

they had seen how normal engaged couples are, but the two of you don't seem to act like that

but then again, you're, y/n l/n and he's, senku ishigami

not one is normal

the small group now stared at the trashed upper control room located on the perseus

chrome was fuming. "those assholes made a damn mess! they didn't even know what they were dealing with! bastards!" he ranted as he stomped onto the floorboards.

"now's not the time to be getting all salty," senku piped up as he stuck a pinky into his ear.

"actually, i've never seen senku truly angry," taiju says, smiling at his comment.

"no, i get angry. i'm not a saint. i'm just too busy to," interrupted the scientist. "and y/n definitely seen me angry a few times."

later on, when they finally de-petrified kohaku and ginro

instead of giving ginro a hug, kohaku ran to senku, giving the scientist a hug

ginro was mad about it, but who cares about him and his pervy ways

kirisame was blushing at the sight of kohaku hugging senku. albeit, him not reciprocating that, but receiving it with a smile and soft eyes anyways.

"oh right. kirisame-chan, you think they're in a legit relationship, don't you?" gen says. "senku's actually in a relationship with someone else. kohaku's actually breaking a lot of rules doing this."

"i don't think that's what that hug is about," says amaryllis. "not between those two."

"it better not be," screamed gen, purposely gaining kohaku's attention.

kohaku broke the hug off with senku. "i almost died!" she exclaimed to gen. "let me be relieved of surviving!"

then she kneeled to the ground and made a dogeza once again at the direction of the ishigami village. "i also assure you, y/n, that that hug was nothing. i would never do you like that. i would choose you over him any day," she stated as senku rolled his eyes while both gen and nikki laughed.

"you got that right, kohaku!" nikki hollered.

later at night, once the team finished de-petrifying the islanders and the rest of their people, a party of celebration was happening at the deck of the perseus

ginro and suika found senku and his team down at the lower half of the control room where the comms are

as senku bluntly asked what ruri needed, amaryllis was shocked

"eh?? isn't this your first time talking to your former wife after all that's happened on the island?" she lets out.

"that's senku for you," is all kohaku says.

"who cares about the former wife, he's already got a current wife to think about much less than a former one," retorted gen, making kohaku hit his head.

"that's my sister you're talking about."

on a cliff, some of the battle team gathered

kohaku and kirisame stood in front of each other

ginro, kinro, nikki, and kokuyo were stationed at the side, as the audience

"now that we know why-man is our enemy, our job as the battle team is no longer to investigate," kohaku announced as the leader of the said team. "it's to train for the inevitable battle!"

ginro lets out a frightened screech. "we just defeated the petrification kingdom! this is even scarier!"

kohaku and kirisame took a stance, then lounged for each other. the two neck and neck in skill. those watching couldn't help but be in awe at the sight of the dance.

"they're evenly matched!" exclaimed nikki.

"they're both incredible," kokuyo lets out.

"you're strong," kirisame says in between strikes. "you were holding back the last time we fought, weren't you?"

kohaku scoffs. "i wasn't going easy on you. i would never be disrespectful. i apologize. i was simply not accustomed to moving around in a dress."

ginro then bursts out a scream that he held in during the entire duration of the spar, freezing the two girls in shock. he then also ran away.

kohaku shook her head at ginro. "i won't be able to teach you more than you already know since you and i fairly the same in combat skill. the only person who can teach all of us more techniques is y/n, and hopefully when senku heals her, she'll continue lessons."

"y/n? is this the person you were apologizing for?" asked kirisame.

"she's better than all of us combined," is all kohaku said as her gaze stared at the direction of the ishigami village with a sparkling look in her eyes.

a small blush slowly flushed on kirisame's cheeks the more she stared at the way kohaku looked.

it was quite an intimate look that kohaku gave

kirisame noticed it was the same one she had gave to senku

after building the windmill, chrome looked around and wondered for senku

it took a while for him to figure out where the mad scientist could have gone, but he finally found senku

opening the door to the mobile lab, chrome immediately asked, "yo, senku, what the hell are you doing all by yourself?"

senku managed to let out a chuckle. "working on an exhilarating craft," he managed to say pass his crusty lips.

"oh, shit!" chrome screamed at the shocking sight of a dehydrated and crusty senku.

senku downed a few bottles of water which made his complexion slowly come back. he lets out an exhale after drinking. "completely forgotten about hydrating. got too used to having y/n take care of that for me," he absentmindedly mentions.

senku and chrome continued to talk about the plans that senku had for later during the night.

chrome could tell that senku missed you

how could he not have noticed?

everyone practically knows also!

senku always somehow mentions you at least once a day

he never thought senku could be so damn clingy...

it takes him back to the times he witnessed the two of you intimate moments

they really need to come and revive you already

he could never get used to that empty space next to senku

later at night, a small festival was being held at the beach

the lights dimmed, gaining the attention of all

"do you hear me, all?" chrome exclaimed from the speakers. "we're gonna show you something that's going to leave the whole of treasure island speechless and wanting more! rainbow bridge, max level!"

a few seconds later, fireworks shot out into the sky.

senku stared at the night sky that bloomed an array of fireworks, imprinting their colorful displays for all to see. his eyes glistened with nostalgia, a memory popping into mind.

"hey, senku, do you think you could show these back in mainland?" asked kohaku who now stood next to him.

senku turned to her, the memory fainting away. "maybe, we'll see," he replies.

"would you change your mind if i mention that you could see these again with y/n standing by your side next time?" she retorted.

he hummed. "i was just thinking about her," he revealed, quietly. "the first time she saw fireworks, she was with me and byakuya. i could already see her whining about not being there for the first fireworks in this stone world." he scoffs, then lets out a sigh. "fine, we'll do it again at mainland."

kohaku smiled a teasing grin.

a little later, after the firework show, senku stood in front of the treasure tree. he heard footsteps behind him that got closer, and closer. "why are you here?" he asked without looking back.

"just an early morning stroll," answered kohaku. "is it not the same for you?"

"thousands of years ago, byakuya and the other astronauts set foot here for the first time in an utterly deserted new world," senku quietly says as his eyes glistened. "though they've long since turned to dirt, aside from a few fragments of rock."

kohaku scoffs as she quickly and easily climbed up the tree. "that's not true!" she exclaimed as she walked over to where the treasure laid. "you, i, and everyone else will someday die and return to dust, but their will is passed down, refined, and carried on into the future."

senku stared at kohaku who now stood at the small entrance way of the treasure. "isn't that what humanity calls 'science'? that's what you and y/n taught me, senku," she says, looking down at him.

he chuckled, feeling a bit lighter. "yeah, that's right. we're going way farther than those goofy astronauts. we're going to the moon," he stated. "and y/n will be stoked to hear it; she always did love the moon."

kohaku jumped down from the top of the tree, now standing on an elevated root. "it's not true that byakuya and his team left nothing behind. in fact, they connected everything for us," she mentioned.

senku didn't reply, but instead added, "typical, i mean, he's always done the connecting."

kohaku didn't understand what senku had meant when he said that

there are many things about senku... about you that she doesn't know about

some day, she'd like to know more about the two of you

the perseus landed

people started talking about the missing cracks

chrome immediately showed the medusa

"does that mean that mean she'll finally wake up?" tsukasa asked, stepping forward.

senku chuckled as he walked down. "yeah, let's get her out of that damn cold sleep already. our hidden treasure of japan, y/n l/n." the scientist may have not said anything else regarding you after that, but they all knew how much he wanted you to stand next to him again.

"we say cold sleep, but really, we just froze her..." commented gen.

"yeah, like an ice cube," cackled senku. "i bet you she wasn't even asleep most of the time, but suffering from the cold. she hates the cold."

gen sighs at yet another tease towards you.

"that's not the real problem though, is it? you can always trust a sailor's gut," ryusui piped up, then his eyes narrowed on the scientist. "when ibara jabbed you... senku, given how pragmatic you are, you would have healed yourself immediately with the dr. stone set. am i right? yet the crack in your forehead is still there. in other words, you didn't use it. you saved it for... y/n. why?"

"oh right, you don't know, ryusui-chan?" gen asked. "y/n-chan and senku-chan are intertwined. of course, he'd rather heal his y/n-chan over himself."

some people silently laughed knowing that it's true. ryusui, however, looked shocked. there were many implications, but never a confirmation. senku didn't say anything regarding his relationship with you, though, instead he had a different reason.

"actually, the medusa is out of battery."

that gained everyone's attention.

"that thing runs on batteries?!" exclaimed taiju, next to senku.

senku chuckled. "dunno," he says. "and we don't exactly have the luxury of smashing it open to have a look-see inside. but it is using some kind of energy. the one thing that could never happen is for it to make energy out of nothing."

he turned his head to a certain girl. "kirisame," he called out. "is the petrification beam's area specified in radii?"

"yes, why?" she answered.

"when i stoned ibara, i specified five meters. but the petrification beam barely made maybe a meter and a half."

kirisame looked taken aback. "that's impossible!" she argued. "it's never deviated in size..." then her eyes dilated as some form of realization dawned onto her. "...it's out of energy?" she lets out in shock.

here they are in the cave where you were put to sleep

senku, chrome, kohaku, taiju, yuzuriha, gen, ginro, kinro, ryusui, nikki, ukyo, and matsukaze

chrome lifted the lid of the makeshift freezer making the cold fog explode that slowly dispersed to the floor, revealing your pale cold body.

senku walked over to stand next to you. he stared at you as his eyes glistened with memories. he absentmindedly raised his hand to your face, leaving a lingering touch. his thumb caressing your cold cheek.

the small intimate moment of affection really caught ryusui off guard

senku's eyes always held conviction

after all, his eyes are the most transparent part of him

yet ryusui never saw it that soft and so full of love before

he honestly thought that gen was messing with him

but this?

seeing it for himself really changed everything

kohaku approached and stood next to senku, holding the medusa. the two turned to each other, their eyes making contact. no words were exchanged. senku gave a nod as kohaku then bent down and placed the medusa in the space of your clasped hands.

taiju walked over and took senku's hand and placed it on top of yours. "senku! hold y/n's hand with all you've got!"

senku looked taken aback. "what?" he lets out.

"i see!" exclaimed kohaku. "if you hold her really close to the device, it might give her just a little more of the light."

"that's seriously not going to make a difference," senku retorted, but a small smile formed on his face. "fine, whatever, and if i get caught in the beam, it'll heal my wounds and cracks too; perfect."

yuzuriha then walked over, standing next to taiju. she placed her hand on his shoulder, giving him a smile. then she removed it and placed it on top of yours. kohaku and chrome, too, placed their hand on top of yours.

"one meter, one second."

the green light engulfed you as your skin slowly turned to stone. the others pulled back their hands while senku immediately took the vial of revival fluid and pours it on you. the stone skin cracked and fragments fell, both stone and ice.

you sat right up as you screamed, "senku!" then you stood up and out of the freezer, tackling him into a hug.

"did they hurt you?" he asked as he pushed away and cupped your face with one hand.

your eyes widen as a big smile formed on your face. the others were confused by what senku had meant. "no, no, i'm okay," you answered as you placed a hand over his. "did they hurt you?"

"who cares."

"i do!"

you and senku then bursts out laughing.

"sorry, what just happened?" gen managed to ask. "what was that?"

taiju and yuzuriha were chuckling as well. "every time they reunite, they always reference steven universe," yuzuriha explained. "i think it was one of the first things that y/n watched with senku."

"that gem cartoon from the states?" gen asks, but then he immediately hums afterwards. "no, wait, that makes sense."

you turned your head to kohaku with a smile and soft eyes. her eyes glistened as she stared at yours. you extended your arms as she ran into them. nuzzling her nose into your chest while you tightened your hold.

a second later, you pulled back and turned back to senku. "so what's our situation now?" you asked.

"she only just woke up," says matsukaze in awe.

"i've heard around that that's how she is," commented nikki. "always working like him."

"although, i think that she's more serious and formal than him," ukyo mentions. ryusui nods his head, agreeing with ukyo.

"we're attacking the moon!" exclaimed senku with a not-so-serious face.

you owlishly blinked at senku, then a huge excited toothy wide grin formed on your face. "ah! no way really?!" you squealed as you clasped your hands together which caught the others off guard. "senku, darling, it's your dream!" you engulfed the man into a tight hug that lifted him off the ground. if anyone caught onto that affectionate name, no one mentioned it.

he pushed you away. "we've got company, y/n, calm down," he tells you with a lazy smirk on his face.

"who cares about the company!" you retorted. "tell me: are we blowing up the moon?" you asked looking like a child that just got permission to do something they've always wanted to do.

"what?! no!" screamed out senku. "this is a mistake. maybe i should make tsukasa the soldier for the moon."

"wait, honey, no! i'm kidding!"

"i take back what i said," ukyo says in absolute awe and shock with ryusui, nikki, and matsukaze also looking hella shocked.

"yeah, my image of her is completely ruined," mentioned gen.

it was then you caught sight of new faces. "oh, hello," you formally greeted with a short bow. "i don't think i've met you guys yet. although, your face is familiar. i apologize, but could you relay your name to me again?" you gestures your entire palm at ryusui.

the four felt a wave of whiplash at the sudden change in tone and demeanor of the person in front of them; a very important person they may add.

"h-hello, i'm nikki," she greeted, really nervously.

"ah, you're the woman on the phone. i'm glad to see another woman on the battle team." you smiled at her as she nodded, freezing up and pink dusting her cheeks.

"i'm ukyo," he says, raising his hand up.

"yes! the one with good hearing. i'm pleased to see you on this side now," you tell him as he gave a loopy smile, his cheeks a bit faint of red.

"ryusui nanami," he bowed, taking your hand into his and giving a light peck on it.

your eyes widen at the familiar gesture and at the name. "ah, one of the sons of the nanami conglomerate," you acknowledged, then you realized something.

"wait!" you turned around to senku. "you guys built a boat?! just how many things did i miss?"

this time, gen spoke up, "i'll tell you all about it."

"hello, gen," you greeted with a slight smirk. "you're not walking on eggshells around me anymore," you stated as you looked him, up and down. "what changed?"

gen shook his head as he chuckled. "senku ruined your image for me," he says, making you coo.

"aw, senku, you still have that habit?"

"shut up."

this is when ginro decided to speak up. "senku, i just figured it out!" he exclaimed, his face being way too overly arrogant. "you hurried back to y/n because you were worried she was going to spoil in the freezer, right? i know you hate all that mushy stuff, though!" his elbow jabbing into senku's neck.

"he's absolutely tackless!" says kohaku.

"well, if he just wanted someone super strong, he could've taken my top student—i mean, guard, matsukaze-kun." ginro really got carried away.

matsukaze stared at you

he was wondering why you were considered the strongest

he honestly thought it was that tsukasa man

that man was trained to the absolute limit, he could tell with one look

but you?

you didn't look like you were trained like tsukasa was

he stepped towards you and gave a bow, staying in that position. "my name is matsukaze," he greeted. "y/n-dono, if it would be all right, i would like to challenge you once you are well."

you looked at the new face in glee. "oh? then how about now? let's go outside," you tell him. "oohh~ this is fun! i never had anyone challenge me before."

"gee, i wonder why," mused gen, already knowing the outcome of this fight.

matsukaze now understands why you're the strongest here and not tsukasa

you had defeated him with a single finger

a single finger that you used on his forehead to stop his lunge and forcefully push him to the ground

your leaking bloodlust and monotone stare caused him to freeze on the ground, too speechless and afraid to move

you blinked your eyes and your demeanor changed, reverting to what it once was before the fight. "oh my, i apologize, matsukaze," you tell him as you extended a hand to him. "you challenged me," is all you say.

he politely took your hand as you helped him up. he bowed down to you and say, "i am defeated."

"you're a very capable man, and i'm glad to have new members for the battle team," you tell him.

ginro is now humbled

"since the device is out of battery, senku's crack will never go away now," says suika as she walked over to in front of him

"no!" you exclaimed with a huff as if you were child who were having a tantrum.

people slowly turned to you. senku sighs, feeling like he knows what you're going to say.

"i like the stone cracks!" you announced as you walked over to senku. you then traced the lines on his forehead. "it gives him character and he looks... really... good with them."

"y/n..." senku called with a warning tone. "did that freezer like give you a damn concussion or something?"

you laughed as you just give him a hug. you arms around his shoulders, your head burying into his neck. he sighed and hugged you back with one arm that rubbed your back in a comforting way.

this is when gen was like "why should senku-chan get all the fun?" leading to everyone else getting back their petrification cracks

you included of course, after you had stopped clinging onto senku like a koala

although some people didn't forget the small public display of affection you and senku shared, in fact, it really caught them off guard

ukyo, ryusui, nikki, and tsukasa aren't used to it

you were acting like a clingy girlfriend that hadn't seen her boyfriend in months

and senku is acting like a boyfriend who's nonchalant about his girlfriend's clinginess, but everyone knows just how much he missed you!

two people with the most specific personality and a reputation to uphold, and yet here they are soft for each other

it's strange

but at the same time, it felt right

ukyo was down at the control room, double checking everything in case the islanders from treasure island had touched anything else

he thought no one else was on board besides some who would drop of supplies then leave afterwards

but then he heard you

...and senku

he looked around and saw that no one was on the surface, so the two of you were probably below nearby, in one of the rooms

"what was with you awhile ago?" senku asked.

"what do you mean?" you asked back.

"you..." ukyo could hear the hesitation in senku's voice. "did you not think that we... that i—!" a tremble in the scientist's voice. "were you... unsure of ever waking up?" he finally managed to ask. his voice whispering by the end.

a pause. all ukyo could hear was the breathing and the beating of two people. he could hear the anxiousness from each one.

"senku..." you called, softly in a whisper as well. "you need to understand that..." your voice trembling. "that i wasn't expecting you to find the medusa that quick. those months in the cold dark, i was preparing myself not to see you again for who knows how long."

you inhaled a shaky breath. your heart beating rapidly. "i know that those few months were nothing compared to the time we were apart in stone, but at least we both knew that the other was alive—!" your voiced cracked.

"just when you and i were together again, the stone world takes it away once more. how cruel is that?" you let out a shaky fake laugh.

"i could have died in my sleep, senku," you croaked out to him, sniffling and trembling. your breathing became rigid as senku's became heavy. you were probably crying at this point.

both of your hearts were beating so fast as well.

"no," senku says with full on denial. "no, y/n, you would have not died. y/n, you would have not fucking died!" he screamed out.

"what do you know?!" you screamed back at him. "i was the one in that damn freezer. i know what my body felt like throughout those damn fucking months. you know how my—" you took a deep breath. "my body felt like it was on it's way to death!"

"hah~ shit," you exhaled a shaky breath. "maybe i have already died, and i'm just wishing that you were next to me." a thud to the floor then rapid footsteps, ukyo heard.

"y/n, y/n, shit— don't do this— fuck! i'm here, y/n, i'm real. dammit y/n—! i'm right here!" senku screamed out in reassurance.

then ukyo heard a desperate kiss shared between the two.

ukyo left the perseus in a daze at what he heard

he could hear the emotions the two of you felt during the entirety of that

it was strong

to the point that he could feel it as well

"ukyo-chan?" called gen. "did something happen on the perseus? why are you crying?"

ukyo raised his hand and wiped his cheeks. it's true, he's crying. "um..." he hesitated. "senku and... y/n-san are..."

gen widen his eyes then it softened. "let's leave those two be for now," he says. "it must've been hard for them both. i've never seen them apart from each other for that long."

ukyo fully believes it now

that you two are together

even before the kiss had happen

masterlist ; loyalty built from love (part 1) a/n: i'm actually not as proud of this one compared to part 1, but that last bit? yeah, i like it part 3 will happen when the next season comes

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severus-snaps · 6 months ago

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can you imagine if severus had lived and went on teaching at hogwarts? everyone would think he was the COOLEST TEACHER EVER.

helped save the wizarding world by defying voldemort. dark and mysterious past so any number of rumours could arise. known tendency to do good deeds and not tell anyone, providing scope for the evillest rumours to have some 'greater/secretly good' twist aspect. supposedly brutal death, survived. got the scars to prove it broody, distant personality and will never discuss anything but the work with students, no matter how much they ask.

this is fertile ground for school rumours, the most fertile you've ever seen. when i was in school there was a physics teacher who (rumour had it) used to be a guard at a diamond mine in south africa, and he supposedly had a bullet wound scar - and ignoring the ethics of that for a moment - the girls adored him and thought he was the hottest teacher ever, the guys thought he was so cool, and not a one of us gave a shit about physics

the snape rumours change every day. there's five variations on each one. there's snape lore in the school that you have to brush up on as a first-year. the kids are DESPERATE to get a scathing snape burn in class. when he's cruel and demeaning, the kids' faces LIGHT UP and he's furious that that doesn't work any more so most of the time he gives the class the silent treatment

harry's shouted out everywhere that Sev did it all for Lily, and so the girls and single mums (and some not single mums) think he's the god of romance. suddenly sev finds himself the new Lockhart, and he LOATHES IT

he receives firewhiskey and care packages from thankful parents for the first few years, so much that he has to start re-gifting them in the staffroom, and he even gains a little bit of weight from all the chocolate cauldrons. he stops attending breakfast for the first few weeks, because all the owls with letters of thanks were disruptive

he asks one time in class if anyone had any questions about the cure for boils and EVERY hand goes up. he pauses, surveying the class. "are there any questions about the potion" he says, and every hand goes down - but one.

"did you ever use this potion defeat Voldemort"

he considers resigning in that moment, but at least hogwarts keeps him away from his #1 enemy - media attention. kids are easier to keep in line than journalists. unfortunately the other teachers think all of this is hilarious, and give him a daily run-down of their favourites in the staffroom

eventually Sev starts putting out his own far-fetched rumours via staged, easily overheard conversations near students with minerva - just to be a little shit about it. [edit to add: @redabeline wrote a fic!!]

#severus snape #pro snape #snape #professor snape #snape headcanon #snape fandom

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scarletwinterxx · 28 days ago

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ddaddu series #1 - choi seungcheol dadverse au

hellooo ~ i said i think a week ago i wrote a new dad fic... and yes it's w the one and the only choi seungcheol😅 he's just screaaams dad girl so here we are. this is definetely one of longest i've written in a while. I was up all night and it took a few days to finish all of this so i hope you like it! and let me know if i should make more....

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

Seungcheol burst through your front door, not even bothering to knock, looking slightly frazzled and out of breath. You were sitting on the living room floor with Areum, helping her color in a princess-themed coloring book, when he made his dramatic entrance.

"What's going on?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as Areum looked up, wide-eyed at her dad's sudden arrival.

"Daddy!" Areum exclaimed, abandoning her crayons and running over to hug him. He scooped her up with a brief smile but quickly turned his attention to you.

"I need your help," he said, his voice low and urgent.

You blinked, confused by his tone. "Help with what? Are you in trouble?"

"Yes," he replied immediately, setting Areum back down and stepping closer to you. "Big trouble. The boys are trying to set me up on a blind date, and I need an alibi."

"So, let me get this straight. Your *big trouble* is a blind date?" you stared at him for a moment, your lips twitching as you try not to laugh

"It's not funny," he protested, running a hand through his hair "Jeonghan and Joshua have been hounding me about it for weeks, and now they've gone and actually arranged something. They told the girl I was available. *Available!* Can you believe that?"

"Well..." you started, unable to keep the teasing tone out of your voice. "You *are* technically available, Seungcheol. You're single, remember?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, clearly unamused. "That's not the point. I don't want to go."

"Then just say no?" you suggested, shrugging

"They won’t take no for an answer! They’ll guilt-trip me into going somehow. You know how they are." He sighed, flopping onto your couch like a man defeated. "That's why I need you to help me. Pretend I’m busy. Say we’ve got plans. Something—anything—to get me out of this."

"And why would I do that?" confused, you ask him

"Because..." He paused, looking genuinely desperate now. "You’re my only hope."

Before you could respond, Areum piped up, her little voice curious. "Daddy, what's a 'blind date'?"

Seungcheol winced, glancing at you for help. You smirked, not about to let him off the hook that easily. "Oh, it's when someone goes out with a stranger to see if they like each other," you explained casually. "Your dad's friends think he needs a girlfriend."

Areum's eyes went wide. "A girlfriend? But Daddy doesn't need a girlfriend. He has Mommy!"

Both you and Seungcheol froze at her innocent declaration, and then your cheeks flushed. You quickly looked away, focusing on the coloring book in front of you.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, seemed to perk up at Areum’s words.

"See?" he said, pointing at her as if she'd just made his case. "Even Areum agrees. I don’t need a girlfriend." as if his five year old's daughter is the only thing making sense right now.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

"Fine," you relented. "What exactly do you want me to say to get you out of this?"

"Anything!" he said quickly, leaning forward. "Just tell them we’re doing something together this weekend. A family thing. They'll back off if they think I'm spending time with you and Areum."

"You're so dramatic," you muttered, shaking your head. "But okay, I'll help you. This time."

"Thank you. You’re a lifesaver." he grinned, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah," you said, waving him off. "But you owe me for this."

"Deal," he said without hesitation, standing up and pulling Areum into his arms. "You hear that, princess? Daddy’s off the hook, thanks to Mommy."

Areum giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're silly, Daddy."

Seungcheol laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Yeah, I am. But don’t tell uncle Jeonghan and uncle Joshua that, okay? It’s our little secret."

As he left your apartment, looking far more relaxed than when he’d arrived, you couldn’t help but shake your head at the whole situation. Seungcheol, despite all his bravado, could be such a dork sometimes.

Still, there was a small, unexpected warmth in your chest as you watched him leave. Even after everything, he always seemed to find his way back to you. No matter what excuse he needed to make it happen.

Later that evening, Seungcheol was sitting at home, blissfully unaware that his “alibi” plan was about to backfire. He had just finished putting Areum to bed when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. Picking it up, he saw Jeonghan’s name on the screen.

He answered with a suspicious, “Hello?”

“You sneaky little liar,” Jeonghan’s voice greeted him, half-amused and half-accusing. “You could’ve just said no, you know.”

Seungcheol’s stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”

“*What am I talking about?* Oh, just the fact that we got a call from *her.*” Jeonghan’s emphasis on the word *her* was enough to make Seungcheol’s heart skip a beat.

“Her?” Seungcheol played dumb, even though he knew exactly who Jeonghan meant.

“Your lovely *ex-wife,*” Jeonghan said, clearly enjoying this. “She called to tell us you’re busy this weekend because you’re spending time with her and Areum. Ring any bells?”

Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his face. “She wasn’t supposed to actually call you! She was just supposed to tell me to tell you—”

“Well, she called anyway,” Jeonghan interrupted, snickering. “And let me just say, it was a very enlightening conversation. Joshua and I were on speakerphone with her, by the way.”

“Oh, great,” Seungcheol muttered, already dreading what was coming next

“She sounded so sweet, too,” Joshua chimed in, suddenly joining the call. “Told us you’d be having a family day. Said you were a great dad and how nice it was that you prioritized Areum.”

“I am a great dad,” Seungcheol defended, even though he knew where this was going

“And then,” Jeonghan continued, his voice dripping with mischief, “she thanked us for ‘understanding.’ Understanding *what,* Seungcheol? That you’re still hopelessly hung up on her?”

“I’m not hung up on her!” Seungcheol snapped, though his face was burning

“Oh, please,” Jeonghan said, laughing now. “You *ran* to her to avoid going on a blind date. If that doesn’t scream ‘still in love with my ex,’ I don’t know what does.”

“It’s not like that,” Seungcheol argued, even though he could hear how weak his own defense sounded

“Then what’s it like?” Joshua asked innocently, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer

Seungcheol sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I didn’t want to go on the date, and it was the only way I could think of okay? That’s all it was.”

“Sure,” Jeonghan said, drawing the word out. “And the fact that you still wear your wedding ring sometimes doesn’t mean anything either, right?”

“I don’t—” Seungcheol started to protest, but Joshua cut him off.

“And the fact that you’re always making excuses to hang out with her and Areum? Totally not suspicious.”

“Or how about how you still call her whenever something important happens?” Jeonghan added. “Like that time you got promoted, and the *first* person you told wasn’t us, but *her.*”

“Okay, enough!” Seungcheol snapped, though he couldn’t deny any of it. He slumped back on the couch, glaring at the ceiling. “You two are insufferable.”

“Maybe,” Jeonghan said, clearly enjoying this. “But we’re not wrong, are we?”

There was a long pause, and for once, Seungcheol didn’t have a quick comeback. Instead, he muttered, “I’m hanging up now,” and ended the call before they could say anything else.

As he set his phone down, Seungcheol sighed heavily. He hated how well Jeonghan and Joshua knew him. Hated how they could see right through him, even when he tried to deny it.

But most of all, he hated that they were right. Because no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, he wasn’t over you.

Not even close.

The next weekend, Seungcheol found himself being herded into a bar by Jeonghan, Joshua, and a few other friends. He hadn’t wanted to come, he’d rather be home with Areum or even by himself but Jeonghan had been persistent, and Seungcheol didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Come on, Cheol,” Jeonghan said, throwing an arm around his shoulders as they walked inside. “You’ve been way too uptight lately. A night out is exactly what you need.”

Seungcheol grunted in response, scanning the bar. It was packed with people, the music loud enough to make casual conversation impossible. He could already feel the headache forming.

“I’ll get us a table,” Joshua said, disappearing into the crowd

As they settled into a corner booth, Jeonghan smirked and gestured toward a group of women near the bar. “What about them? Think any of them would catch your eye, Cheol?”

Seungcheol shot him a glare. “Not interested.”

“Oh, come on,” Jeonghan teased. “You can’t stay hung up on—”

“I said I’m not interested,” Seungcheol interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended

Jeonghan raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off.”

But Jeonghan being Jeonghan, he didn’t let it drop. When the women eventually came over, clearly encouraged by Jeonghan and Joshua, Seungcheol’s discomfort was palpable

“Hi,” one of the women said, flashing him a bright smile. “I’m Hyejin. And you are?”

“Not interested,” Seungcheol muttered, taking a sip of his drink without meeting her gaze.

Her smile faltered, but she didn’t give up. “Oh, come on. You’re way too handsome to be sitting here brooding all night.”

Joshua tried to suppress a laugh while Jeonghan nudged him under the table, grinning like the devil himself.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Seungcheol said, still avoiding eye contact.

“Don’t mind him,” Jeonghan said, ever the instigator. “He’s just shy.”

Seungcheol glared at Jeonghan. “I’m not shy.”

“Then talk to her,” Jeonghan challenged, a mischievous glint in his eye

“I don’t want to,” Seungcheol snapped, standing up abruptly. “I’m getting some air.”

As he walked away, Jeonghan burst into laughter. “I swear, he’s worse than a teenager with a crush.”

Outside, Seungcheol leaned against the cool brick wall, letting out a heavy sigh. He didn’t know why he’d let the guys drag him out in the first place. This wasn’t his scene anymore.

He pulled out his phone and instinctively opened your messages. There was a picture you’d sent earlier that day of Areum holding up a crayon drawing of the two of you with her in the middle. She’d written “My Famly” in bright, messy letters at the top.

He smiled to himself, his thumb hovering over the call button.

Before he could make a decision, the door to the bar opened, and Joshua stepped outside, a knowing look on his face. “Thought I’d find you out here.”

“Not in the mood,” Seungcheol muttered, putting his phone away.

Joshua leaned against the wall next to him, crossing his arms. “You know, Jeonghan’s just messing with you. He knows you’re still into her.”

“I’m not—”

“Cheol.” Joshua cut him off with a pointed look. “We’ve known you for years. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Seungcheol sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’re divorced. She’s moved on.”

“Has she?” Joshua asked, raising an eyebrow

That made Seungcheol pause. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not exactly going on dates, is she?” Joshua pointed out. “And last I checked, she’s still wearing your ring.”

Seungcheol frowned, his chest tightening at the thought. He’d noticed it, of course. How could he not? But he hadn’t dared to hope it meant anything.

“Look, man,” Joshua said, clapping him on the shoulder. “If you still love her and I know you do you’ve got to stop acting like it’s too late. Because if you keep sitting on the sidelines, someone else *will* come along eventually. And you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself.”

With that, Joshua turned and went back inside, leaving Seungcheol alone with his thoughts.

And for the first time in a long while, those thoughts were filled with hope.

Seungcheol sighed and adjusted his jacket as he made his way back inside. Maybe if he stayed near the bar’s edge, the persistent group would lose interest. But as soon as he returned to the booth, Hyejin, the overly determined woman, lit up like he was her jackpot.

“There you are,” she said, patting the empty seat beside her. “I thought you might’ve run off.”

Seungcheol stayed standing, crossing his arms. “Just needed air.”

“Well, now that you’re back, let’s make this night a little more fun, huh?” She reached for his arm, but he took a step back

“I’m good,” he said flatly

But Hyejin clearly wasn’t one to give up easily.

“Oh, come on. One drink. What’s the harm?”

Jeonghan and Joshua, meanwhile, were watching the scene unfold like it was the best drama of the year. Joshua even had the audacity to take a sip of his beer and mutter, “This is going to be good.”

Seungcheol shot them both a glare before turning back to Hyejin. He’d had enough of the games.

“Look,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m flattered, really. But I’m not interested. I have someone else.”

Her smile faltered. “Oh? You’re married?”

He didn’t hesitate reaching for the gold chain tucked under his shirt, there hangs his wedding ring. The date and your initials engraved on the inside. He let it dangle in the dim light, the small circle gleaming like a quiet promise.

“Divorced,” he clarified, “but that doesn’t mean I’m available.”

Hyejin blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “You’re divorced, but you’re still...?”

“I’m still in love with my ex-wife,” Seungcheol said plainly, his voice steady. “And we have a daughter together. Her name is Areum. She’s five, loves soccer, and thinks I can fix anything—even when I can’t.”

Jeonghan and Joshua exchanged wide-eyed glances, the playful smirks slipping from their faces.

“Whoa,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath. “He went there.”

Seungcheol ignored them, keeping his focus on Hyejin. “So, no offense, but I’m not looking for anything. My family is my priority. Always.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Hyejin finally nodded, clearly caught off guard. “I see. Well... good for you, I guess. It’s rare to meet someone so dedicated.”

With that, she stood up, mumbling something about grabbing another drink, and walked away.

The second she was out of earshot, Jeonghan burst into laughter. “Oh, my God. Cheol, that was...”

“I’ve never seen someone so politely crush someone’s hopes like that.” Joshua shook his head, though he was smiling

“I’m not joking,” Seungcheol said, slipping the ring and chain back under his shirt

Jeonghan grinned, leaning across the table. “We know you’re not. That’s what makes it so entertaining. You’re still head over heels for her, aren’t you?”

Seungcheol sighed, sinking into the booth. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Nope,” Jeonghan said, popping the “p.” “This is exactly the time to do it. Because you just told a complete stranger that you’re still in love with your ex-wife. Out loud. In public.”

“And in front of witnesses,” Joshua added, smirking

Seungcheol groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Why do I even hang out with you two?”

“Because we’re the only ones who can call you out on your nonsense,” Jeonghan said, patting him on the back. “And honestly, Cheol, it’s about time you stopped hiding it.”

“Stopped hiding what?” Seungcheol muttered.

“That you want her back,” Joshua said simply.

Seungcheol didn’t respond, his thoughts too tangled with the truth of their words. He didn’t need to admit it—they already knew.

And deep down, so did he.

The hum of the car engine fills the silence between you and Seungcheol. The road stretches endlessly, flanked by towering trees that seem to lean in, listening to the quiet tension between you. In the backseat, Areum is a bundle of energy, her stuffed rabbit tucked securely under one arm as she hums a made-up tune. Her legs swing back and forth, her excitement barely contained.

“Are we there yet?” she chirps for the third time in an hour

“Almost, sweetheart,” Seungcheol answers, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

You glance at him from the passenger seat, noting how his hands grip the steering wheel, veins faintly visible under his tan skin. He looks good—too good. His hair, slightly longer than when you last saw him, falls over his forehead, and his jawline is as sharp as ever.

You force yourself to look away, instead focusing on the scenery outside, even though it does little to distract you from the weight of his presence.

“You excited, Areum?” you ask

“I’m soooo excited!” she exclaims, throwing her hands into the air. “Mommy, Daddy, we’re going to have so much fun! Just like old times!”

Your heart clenches at her words. You glance at Seungcheol again, catching the way his lips press into a thin line. He doesn’t say anything, but the moment hangs heavily between you.

The cabin is perfect. Nestled by a serene lake, it’s surrounded by tall pines that sway gently in the breeze. The wooden exterior glows warmly in the afternoon sunlight, and Areum bounces with excitement as soon as you step out of the car.

“Look, Mommy! A swing!” she squeals, racing toward the porch where a rustic wooden swing creaks invitingly.

Seungcheol opens the trunk and starts unloading the bags. You hesitate for a moment before grabbing Areum’s smaller suitcase and following him inside.

Areum darts around, exploring every nook and cranny, while you and Seungcheol silently divvy up tasks. You find yourself in the kitchen, unpacking snacks and prepping a quick lunch.

The clatter of utensils is the only sound until Seungcheol walks in, his sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that shouldn’t still affect you the way they do.

“Need help?” he asks

“I’ve got it,” you reply curtly, not looking up

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he leans against the counter, watching you as you slice fruit. The tension is suffocating, and you’re about to tell him to either help or leave when Areum bursts in

“Daddy! Come help me unpack my toys!” she demands, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door

He follows her willingly, but not before casting one last look your way A look that lingers too long and says too much.

After dinner, Areum insists on roasting marshmallows by the firepit outside. The three of you gather under the clear night sky, the flames crackling and sending up occasional sparks. Areum’s laughter fills the air as she holds her marshmallow too close to the fire, causing it to catch alight.

“Help, Daddy!” she shrieks, holding the stick out.

Seungcheol chuckles, taking it from her and expertly blowing out the flames. “There. Perfectly charred,” he declares, handing it back to her.

You watch as he wipes a smudge of chocolate from her cheek, his expression soft and full of love. The sight twists something inside you, and you have to look away.

When your eyes meet his across the fire, his gaze is steady, searching, as if he’s trying to read your mind.

Areum’s birthday breakfast is a chaotic mix of pancakes, whipped cream, and sprinkles. She insists on wearing her birthday crown all day, and Seungcheol dutifully bows every time she walks by, calling her “Princess Areum.”

When it’s time for cake, she claps her hands excitedly as you light the candles. “Okay, sweetie, make a wish,” you say, kneeling beside her.

She closes her eyes, her expression scrunching up in concentration. Then, with a triumphant shout, she declares, “I wish for a sibling!”

Your breath catches, and you glance at Seungcheol, who looks just as stunned. Areum blows out the candles in one go, her face lighting up with joy. “Now it has to come true!” she exclaims, completely oblivious to the tension between you and her father.

The morning sun glitters on the lake’s surface, and Areum races ahead, her bright pink swimsuit standing out against the greens and blues of nature. She shrieks with delight as her toes touch the cold water, kicking up little splashes.

“Come on, Mommy! Daddy!” she calls, waving her arms.

You hesitate at the shoreline, adjusting your cover-up nervously. Seungcheol, on the other hand, wades in without hesitation, his muscular frame cutting through the water as he lifts Areum into his arms. She giggles as he spins her around, droplets flying everywhere.

“Scared of a little water?” he teases, glancing back at you with a smirk.

You roll your eyes but step in, letting the icy water creep up your legs. Areum swims over to you, her small hands grasping yours.

“Let’s play! All of us!” she exclaims.

She drags you toward Seungcheol, who’s treading water a few feet away. The three of you end up playing a makeshift game of tag, and for a moment, it feels almost normal almost like the three of you are a family again.

Later, when Areum insists on building sandcastles by the shore, you sit side by side with Seungcheol, the silence between you no longer quite as heavy.

“She really loves this,” he says, watching Areum with a fond smile.

“She’s been looking forward to it for weeks,” you admit, fiddling with a piece of grass. “She wanted it to be perfect.”

He glances at you. “I think it is.”

After Areum falls asleep, the cabin feels too quiet. You find yourself on the porch, staring out at the dark lake. The sound of footsteps behind you makes you tense, but you don’t turn around. You know it’s him.

“She really surprised us today,” Seungcheol says, leaning against the railing beside you

“That’s Areum,” you reply softly, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Always full of surprises.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “She’s a lot like you.”

You glance at him, caught off guard. His gaze is steady, filled with something you can’t quite name. “You don’t have to say that,” you mumble

“I mean it,” he says, his voice low. “You’re both stubborn, and you never give up on what you want.”

The words hang between you, and before you can think, he takes a step closer. “I know I messed up,” he says, his tone almost pleading. “But being here… it reminds me of what we had. What we could still have.”

“Cheol…” you start, but he silences you with a gentle touch on your arm.

“I’m not asking for everything right now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “But tell me… do you feel it too? Even a little?”

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that feels like both a question and an answer. It’s slow, deliberate, and filled with the weight of everything left unsaid.

For the first time in years, you let yourself hope.

The kiss deepens, but it isn’t hurried. It feels more like rediscovering something familiar yet distant. Seungcheol’s hand finds the curve of your waist, grounding you, while the other gently brushes your cheek.

For a fleeting moment, the years of heartbreak, resentment, and missed chances seem to melt away, leaving just the two of you under the starlit sky.

When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, and his breath fans across your face. Neither of you says a word, and for once, the silence feels comfortable, even necessary.

“I… I should go to bed,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. It isn’t a rejection, but a plea for space, a moment to process what just happened.

Seungcheol nods, his hand lingering on your arm before he lets you go. “Goodnight,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something you can’t quite place—hope, maybe.

You retreat to your room, your heart pounding in your chest. You glance at the bed, where Areum sleeps peacefully, her little hand clutching her stuffed rabbit. Her soft breaths are a reminder of everything that matters, of why you came here in the first place.

Still, when you lie down, the memory of Seungcheol’s touch lingers, refusing to let you rest.

The next morning, it's smell of freshly brewed coffee wakes you. Padding into the kitchen, you find Seungcheol already at work, flipping pancakes while Areum sits on the counter, wearing one of his oversized shirts over her pajamas. She’s animatedly telling him a story about her dreams, waving her arms for emphasis.

“And then the dragon said, ‘Areum, you’re the bravest princess ever!’” she declares, her eyes wide. “Right, Daddy?”

“Of course,” he says with a grin, ruffling her hair. “If there’s anyone who can take down a dragon, it’s you.”

You linger in the doorway, unnoticed for a moment, watching the easy way they interact. Areum looks at him like he hung the moon, and Seungcheol, for all his faults, looks at her like she’s his whole world.

“Mommy!” Areum spots you first, her face lighting up. “Daddy’s teaching me how to flip pancakes! Look!” She holds up a spatula triumphantly

“Is he now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you step closer. “Just don’t let him burn them.”

“Hey, I’m a pro. You remember.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. It’s moments like this that make it hard to hold on to the walls you’ve built.

As the three of you sit down to breakfast, Areum chatters on about all the things she wants to do before you leave the cabin. Her energy is infectious, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself relax.

After lunch, Areum insists on having a tea party outside by the lake. She drags Seungcheol along, handing him a tiny pink teacup and a plastic tiara. You try not to laugh as he dutifully places it on his head, his expression serious as Areum pours invisible tea into his cup.

“Daddy, you have to hold your pinky up!” Areum scolds, demonstrating the proper way to hold a teacup.

“Like this?” he asks, holding up his pinky with exaggerated effort.

Areum giggles. “No, Daddy, you’re doing it wrong!”

“Why don’t you join us, Mommy?” Areum calls, waving you over

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “You and Daddy seem to have it under control.”

“She’s scared of your tea,” Seungcheol teases, winking at you. “Probably thinks it’s too strong.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

It's the last night at the cabin before going back to normal. After putting Areum to bed, you find Seungcheol on the porch again, leaning against the railing. The moon casts a soft glow on the lake, and the air is cool but pleasant.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks without turning around.

You step out, closing the door quietly behind you. “Something like that.”

He gestures for you to join him, and after a moment’s hesitation, you do. The two of you stand in silence, the sounds of crickets and the gentle lapping of the lake filling the void.

“She’s amazing, you know,” he says finally, his voice low. “Areum. She’s everything good about us.”

You swallow hard, nodding. “She is.”

He turns to look at you then, his gaze soft but intense. “I meant what I said last night,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to lose this again. I don’t want to lose you.”

Your breath catches, but before you can respond, he reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm, steady, as they curl around yours.

“I know it will be hard,” he continues, his voice rough with emotion. “But if there’s even a part of you that still believes in us, I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’ve changed.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you look down, unsure of how to respond.

“Cheol…” you start, your voice trembling. “This isn’t just about us anymore. It’s about Areum.”

“I know,” he says, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “And that’s why I want to do this right. For her. For you.”

For a long moment, you say nothing, your gaze fixed on the horizon. But when you finally look up, you see the sincerity in his eyes, and the walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crumble.

“Okay,” you whisper. “But this time… we take it slow.”

A smile spreads across his face, and for the first time in years, it feels like the start of something new.

The porch is quiet, save for the soft chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Seungcheol’s hand lingers in yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in slow, deliberate movements. The air between you feels charged, heavy with unspoken words and emotions that neither of you can ignore anymore.

“Slow,” he repeats, his voice soft but resolute. “I can do slow.”

But the way he’s looking at you now. His gaze warm and searching, dipping from your eyes to your lips makes you doubt his resolve. Your pulse quickens as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming in a way that feels both familiar and new.

“Cheol…” you murmur, unsure whether it’s meant to be a warning or encouragement

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His free hand rises, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, lingering at your temple. “Tell me, and I will.”

You should say it. You should remind him that Areum is just inside, that this isn’t the time, that you’re still trying to figure things out. But instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, the warmth of his hand against your skin unraveling the last of your defenses.

He takes your silence as permission and leans down slowly, his lips brushing against yours with an achingly soft tenderness. The kiss is tentative at first, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away, but when you don’t, it deepens. His hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other.

The sensation is overwhelming, a rush of emotions you’ve tried so hard to bury. His lips are firm and insistent, and when his teeth graze your lower lip, you let out a soft gasp that seems to ignite something in him. He tilts his head, angling the kiss to deepen it further, and you feel his fingers tighten on your waist.

Your hands find their way to his chest, pressing lightly against the hard muscle beneath his shirt. It’s not a push to stop, but it makes him pause. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing uneven.

“This okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

You nod, your fingers curling into his shirt. “Yeah.”

He lets out a soft laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

His confession sends a shiver through you, but before you can respond, his lips are on yours again. This time, there’s less hesitation. His hand slips under the hem of your sweater, his palm warm against the bare skin of your lower back. The touch is electric, sending sparks racing up your spine.

You can’t help the soft moan that escapes you, and Seungcheol freezes, pulling back abruptly. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “I said slow, and I mean it. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You’re breathless, your cheeks flushed as you look up at him. There’s a vulnerability in his expression that makes your heart ache. “You’re not messing anything up,” you assure him, your fingers still gripping his shirt.

He exhales deeply, resting his hands on your hips but making no move to take things further. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, half-smiling as he brushes his thumb against your hipbone.

The sound of a soft thud inside the cabin breaks the moment, and both of you freeze, turning toward the door.

“Areum,” you whisper, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. “Guess the universe has a way of keeping me in check.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “We should check on her.”

He nods, his expression still warm. As you turn to head back inside, he catches your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Slow,” he repeats, his eyes locking with yours. “But I’m not letting you go this time.”

You smile, the warmth of his words settling deep in your chest. “Okay.”

Inside, Areum is fast asleep, her stuffed rabbit lying on the floor beside her bed. You tuck her back in, brushing a kiss to her forehead before slipping out of the room. As you close the door, Seungcheol is waiting in the hallway, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Goodnight,” you say softly, pausing in front of him

“Goodnight,” he replies, but his eyes linger on you a moment longer before he heads to his own room.

You retreat to your bed, your heart still racing from the night’s events. For the first time in years, you feel a flicker of hope—a possibility of rebuilding what you thought was lost. And as you drift off to sleep, you find yourself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

The next morning you were woken up by the sound of Areum’s laughter as she runs through the living room, her stuffed rabbit trailing behind her. Seungcheol is chasing after her, pretending to be a monster, his deep growls making her shriek in delight.

You go down to see the duo having so much energy this early in the day, a fond smiling forming on your face

“Daddy, you’ll never catch me!” Areum taunts, darting behind the couch.

“We’ll see about that!” Seungcheol lunges dramatically, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down!” she squeals, though her giggles betray her delight.

“Okay, okay, you win!” she says between giggles.

He sits beside her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “That’s what I thought. Who’s the champ?”

“You are!” she says, sticking her tongue out at him before turning her attention to you. “Mommy! Come sit with us!”

You join them on the couch, Areum immediately climbing into your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck. “Did you have fun this weekend, sweetheart?” you ask, smoothing her hair

“Yes! It was the best birthday ever!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up. Then, as if remembering something important, she leans back to look at both you and Seungcheol, her expression suddenly serious

“What is it, Areum?” you ask her

She takes a deep breath, her little brows furrowed in concentration. “Yesterday, when I blew out my candles, I made a wish.”

You and Seungcheol exchange a quick glance, his brow lifting in curiosity "We remember, what about it sweet girl?"

"I thought about it a lot. And since Mommy and Daddy are best friends” she pauses to give each of you a knowing look, “—I thought maybe you could make it happen.”

Seungcheol bursts into laughter, ruffling Areum’s hair. “That’s quite the request, princess.”

“But you always say you’d do anything for me!” she counters, crossing her arms in a way that makes her look far older than six.

You bite back a smile, trying to keep your tone serious. “Sweetheart, it doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“Why not?” she asks, tilting her head.

“Well,” Seungcheol jumps in, his voice warm and teasing, “it’s not something that happens overnight. It takes time and a lot of love.”

Areum seems to consider this, her little face scrunching up in thought. Then she looks at the two of you, her smile returning. “That’s okay! I can wait. As long as you promise!”

You and Seungcheol both laugh, and he reaches over to give her a hug. “We’ll see what we can do, princess. No promises, but we’ll try our best.”

“Yay!” Areum cheers, completely satisfied with that answer. She wriggles out of your lap and runs off to find her toys, leaving the two of you alone.

As soon as Areum disappears down the hall, Seungcheol turns to you, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Well, that was unexpected.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She’s bold. Definitely takes after you.”

“Me?” he protests, feigning offense. “I think she takes after her mom. You’ve got a pretty bold streak yourself.”

“So, what do we tell her if she asks again?”

Seungcheol leans back, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “We tell her the truth. That we’re figuring things out, but we’ll always be a family—no matter what.”

“And hey,” he adds, his tone teasing, “if she really wants a sibling, I guess we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

You swat his arm, laughing despite yourself. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Choi Seungcheol.”

He grins, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. “No rush,” he says softly, his eyes locking with yours. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

And as you sit there, hand in hand, you can’t help but feel that, for the first time in a long while, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

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sibillascribbles08 · 7 days ago

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Big Ol' Rottmnt Fic Rec List

Hi, I've needed to do this for a while, so here's a big bundle of fic recs from me !

I've broken it down between one shots, chaptered fics, and series. I'll try to mention what the character focus is along with a brief summary and some personal thoughts. If you need more details I encourage you to check the fics summary and tags for yourself! I will only include an author's tumblr account if it's easy for me to find haha

One Shots

Mama's Boy - ashtreelane: Technically two chapters but it feels like a one shot. Casey Jr. angst, involving him finding out that maybe you can fix kraang infections and that he failed to save his mother. I love when people really pile the grief on Junior after all the fighting is over and the fic does it so well.

Forget-Me-Nots - GibbousLunation (AKA @klunkcat ): Hi, oh my god??? Leo and Mikey centric angst, in which saving Leo from the prison dimension has an insane ripple effect. Mikey dying? Nah he's going to start getting erased from every timeline and Leo slowly watches it happen (and refuses to do nothing about it). I utterly adore how this fic handles this concept. You see almost all of it from Leo's POV, noticing the little changes but writing them off as memory failures, because of how subtle some of it is.

Fight or Flight - pickledcarrotsandradish: Leo centric, post movie, Leo keeps waiting for his family to start lecturing him about all the dumb stuff he did during the invasion, and they aren't, so it's getting to him. A very neat narrative about how self loathing can warp our perception of how others see us. A++++

The Friend Zone Sounds Pretty Good, Actually - Cryptvokeeper: Eating this, eating this. You probably already know I love aroace Leo and this fic is an INCREDIBLE exploration of that. Even as just an ace person it hit SO many notes where I was just like "Oh god... I've been there buddy". And as a bonus the dynamic between Leo and Yuichi is v sweet. Love this a lot I've read it like five times.

Pink in The Night - unnamedmystery: Incredible April/Sunita fic. Like seriously this author wrote April's crush so well I think I was starting to fall in love with Sunita. Just incredibly cute all the way through, and great April writing, adore it.

《 until then, matriarch 》 - chiangyorange: HI OH MY GOD A nice chunky oneshot about Karai, about her being a leader, and it's phenomenal. It hits and hits and does not miss, really going in depth about her emotions involving her father turning into something wicked and having to destroy him, and how it ruins all of her good memories.

The Kindness of Collision - SpoonerizedSwiftness (AKA @splickedylit ): Hi I still remember the fic and the art suddenly showing up in the tag and then I was thinking about it for the next like five weeks aslkdjf A very interesting idea that when the turtles reach the age they were in the doomed timeline before things got reset, all the memories of their other life more or less hit them like a train. All of them have to comb through that information and it's a wonderful and emotional ride.

Chaptered Fics

Hamartia - Punable (in progress): Hi this is one of my all time favorite rise fics, mainly because in a way, it helped me come to terms with my chronic pain. It's Donnie centric and smack full of angst in all the best ways. Shorthand summary, an explosion in Donnie's lab almost takes him out (or kind of DOES take him out) and the recovery is not only long and agonizing, it may only go so far, and Donnie doesn't cope well with that.

Kick It Up a Notch - Brokenpitchpipe (completed): Hi this is my other all time fav rise fic. Donnie centric separated AU in which Donnie is raised by Draxum. My love for it stems a lot from the characterization of Donnie though, and even Draxum in this case. Not to mention that in a lot of cases it matches the vibes of the show. And in spite of all the humor, there's a few really gut wrenching moments. 10/10 will re-read.

Lightning in Our Fingertips Today - DaFlangsLairde (AKA @daflangstlairde-art) (completed): Leo and Donnie centric, mostly angst, with body swapping between the twins which results in Donnie finding out that Leo's ninpo hurts him. Love love love the character writing in this, and also how the swap is written.

Under Pressure - ParvumAutomaton (completed): Not sure this is a single character focused fic, but basically April goes cave diving and is out for a while, and the turtles get worried and go looking for her. This might be personal bias but as someone who gets really into caving stories, this fic hits the spot for so many reasons. A really great emotional ride, and if you wanna see April go through it then I super recommend it.

Nothing Haunts Us (like the things we don't say) - mad_and_thick_as_theives (completed): A lot of great fics by this author btw, but this one personally stood out to me. It starts of silly and light only to sweep in with the emotional weight. Turtles are all cursed with a truth spell, basically, but I think my favorite bit is who gets out of it first (and why). V sweet.

Creation of a Philospher's Stone - IgnisCanis (completed): Whoooo boy, if you want some Draxum centric character exploration this is a great one. It really fleshes him out as a morally grey character and also does a fantastic job at writing Mikey when he finds out.

The Ol Switcheroo - radishhqueen (AKA @radishhqueen) (completed): Haha not going to lie I have a few by this author (so I'll only tag them once) but MAN. Hands down my favorite take on future leo coming to the past, and maybe I'm biased because I like when those fics actually explore Junior's character in the process buuuuut I love it. Junior's already struggling to adapt himself to the present, and after getting caught up in a foot clan spell which summons his sensei to the present too it really doesn't get any easier.

Vigilantism for Fun and Profit - radishhqueen (completed): The Cassandra Jones fic ever. Zero contest. If you're uncertain about writing Cassandra because she had so little development in the show I encourage you to read this for inspiration (I know it inspired me a lot). It does such a great deep dive into her character post show and a bit of the movie too. Honestly anytime radishh has a Cassandra fic I am clicking.

Tried to Grow Up Good - Sroloc_Elbisivni (AKA @sroloc--elbisivni )(completed): The Casey Jr. fic ever. CRAZY in love with this post movie take on him. It's messy, it's fun, it's so so real and you get a good chunk of Casey Sr. in here too. Adore it.

Hold On (Or Three Times Donatello's Soft Shell Almost Killed Him, and One Time it Saved His Life) - dunk_on_em (AKA @spockazilla )(completed): If you ever want a bit of angst involving Donnie's shell this is my go to. Every chapter has an emotional swing, even the positive ones. And shows something most people might see as a disadvantage as a good thing, actually.

Atlas, My Brother - swampcryptid (AKA @the-name-is-rizzotherat)(in progress): Get your Raph angst, specifically involving him always shielding his siblings, this time via a curse. My guy is already going through it and I think it'll get worse if a solution isn't found.

I've Got You Under My Skin - Cass_Phoenix (in progress): More Raph angst, and some Donnie, a truly chilling exploration of the possible consequences to connecting with the kraang. This fic constantly has me on the edge of my seat, and constantly stressing for Raph.

What We Leave Behind (How We Start Anew) - iam57311 (AKA @iam-57311)(in progress): Any Baronjitsu fans here? An alternate take on canon in which Draxum and Splinter co-parent the kids since they're first born (made?) Hilariously while I love the Baronjitsu content in here, I think some of my favorite parts are actually with the sisters, Big Mama, and Draxum's sister who is so so cool I love her.

Proof of Redemption - iam57311 (complete): Another one of theirs! A short and sweet lil close to canon fic about Draxum steadily gaining the trust and affection of the Hamatos, with each chapter focused on a different character. I love how they're all paced out from each other, really hits how some are much slower than others to trust Draxum hehe.

No Crime* Only Brooches - OllieTheScribe (AKA @olliethescribe) (in progress): Well I have to get THE HypnoWarren fic in here. Such a fun take on these characters, I love love love the backstory they built up for Warren too, plus the dynamic between these two and the turtles after (eventually) become friends haha.

Minor Interference - bambiraptorx (AKA @bambiraptorx) (in progress): What can I say? This fic is delightful. Between the hilarity of the turtles going with Draxum just to mess with him, the lore additions for yokai and the Hidden City, HoH Donnie, and their slowly building dynamic, always eager for a new chapter with this one.

Series

A Butterfly with a Mechanical Wing - Amethyst_Goldenwind (AKA @amethystgoldenwind ): Donnie centric series about being a non-verbal autistic. I'm always fond of non-verbal/mute explorations of characters, and so far I really like how, because his family has grown up with it, all of it is very normal for them. The various forms of communication are delightful. Excited to see further entries.

Analogous Hues - alwerakoo (AKA @alwerakoo): It's a separated AU with similar titling themes as my own, needed to check it out. The titles are just about all they have in common though! This AU focuses a lot on the turtles (Raph and Leo with Splinter and Donnie and Mikey with Draxum). I love how this explores not only the dynamics of the two groups and how different they are, but also the dynamics between each of the siblings, also how some magic sibling connections can influence that. Not to mention the different home life in more ways than one. If you're into separated AUs that really dig into the turtles dynamics try this one out !

#scribs speaks #rottmnt fics #fic recs #rottmnt #long post #that's all for now #I may make another one down the line when I do a bit more catch up and find some new ones !#some holiday posts suggest showing fic writers appreciation #best way I got to do it rn #some of these fics are well known but I'm giving them a shout out anyway

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yridenergyridenergy · 8 months ago

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Dir en grey interview translation notes around The Devil In Me

Just some of the more interesting bits from the single's booklet and from PHY vol. 25.

Kyo

He was the one who came up with the title, and the title was determined before they even attached a song to it. The band basically decided to set a date for a new single ahead of time, not too long after 19990120's release, then they had just one song selection meeting (usually, they have three) to pick a song to work with toward becoming "The Devil In Me". After scheduling a release date, they had to pick a title before even knowing what song would be part of that release for production/logistical reasons.

Kyo wrote the lyrics of The Devil In Me based on his sense of dissociation from world events, how his own issues are not aligned with what the world cares about. He finds that people's lives are sometimes pre-determined the moment they are born. It's really a reflection on: "Why am I the way I am?"

The chorus has so many layers because Kyo wanted to illustrate that inner evil, or wickedness.

While re-recording Yokan, Kyo realized that he used to sing in short bouts, taking a breath more regularly, whereas he's evolved to sing as much as he can in a single, long breath now.

The small changes made to the lyrics of Cage just serve to help Kyo feel more immersed in that old poem, but if he'd wanted to change the lyrics to represent his current mindset, clearly he would have composed a completely new, different song.

Kyo commented in PHY vol. 25 that if the producers wanted a band that sells a lot, they would have had to replace him with someone who is taller, has a nice face and that composes songs that appeal to a wider audience. But around their debut, Kyo had to bend to some of the producers' demands because he had to rely on their knowledge of what would make the band successful. He wanted to make a very dark band, but he had to accept to make songs like Yokan.

"It wouldn't be appropriate to sing about corpses and internal organs to a melodious song such as Yokan (lol)."

Kyo feels like Dir en grey is the toughest band for him to be a part of, because the band's shows are especially mentally difficult.

Kaoru

The music of The Devil In Me was Kaoru's idea.

Kaoru agrees that the song kind of ends in a way that the band could have, in the past, followed up on with a second section of the song, but they felt like ending it in a more simple way now, which still represents the band's current state.

Die

The band had a discussion in a dressing room during Tour23 Phalaris Final –The scent of a peaceful death- and that's where they came to an understanding of where they wanted to take the band next. Kyo brought them ideas on what he felt that the next single song should sound like, but in the end, at the selection meeting, the majority of the band chose a completely different song than the other of the 5 that Kyo preferred. He's fine with letting the majority win.

Die started working out in 2018 to make sure to stay in shape for stage performances, and I think that he mentioned that it's important for him to appear young and healthy so that the fans who follow the band also don't feel old.

For Die, he was in part less active on stage during the Dum Spiro Spero era because the songs were dark and complex, so he had to focus more. Because of that, he couldn't enjoy the actual shows as much.

Toshiya

Toshiya mentioned that doing commemorative tours and shows is really just fan service.

Toshiya described Dir en grey as a group of five dictators. Their enemies and friends/allies are all inside that group, and the past 25(+) years have been a continuation of challenges to bring the band forward despite this type of chemical reaction between five egos.

Apparently the band never has casual "weird" conversations where they chat about their interests of the moment, but they quietly observe the others without interacting, like by observing what kind of clothes they wear or are into.

Shinya

Contrary to the band's habit, the vocals did not even exist yet when Shinya had to compose and record his drumming for The Devil In Me. When the vocals were eventually recorded, they kind of matched what Shinya had expected.

However, overall, a couple of members of the band feel like The Devil In Me might be a song that people react to with: "I don't get it", rather that just liking or disliking it.

Shinya dissing The Marrow of a Bone again hahah.

Shinya described The Devil In Me as mysterious, inexplicable.

He started taking some lessons from Buck-Tick's "Anii" (Toll Yagami) to learn a new drumming method. In the past, at the very beginning of his career, Shinya used to wear lead weights at his ankles to hit the pedal heavier and develop muscles, but Yoshiki and other seniors told him how to actually play and he quickly got rid of the weight belts.

#Dir en grey #The Devil In Me #magazine #interview #cage #yokan #25th anniversary

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teatreeoilll · 11 months ago

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𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐑𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 (𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐗 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . •

w/c - 9k content - MDNI! 18 + , minors and ageless blogs do not interact! fem!reader, evil!reader, a lot of plot with porn, much hurt, much angst, cussing, mention of drinking and smoking, VERY shitty parenting, child abuse, character death but not one of the mains, manipulative themes, i invented suguru's parents names, did i say much hurt? everyone's in their early twenties, cellist!Geto, saxophonist!Gojo, violinist!reader, shitty!everyone, kinda dark really i guess so please read at your own discretion, I'm sorry, really

a/n - there will probs be a second part based on the ending, if my back will ever stop hurting from being hunched over my laptop for four days straight writing this insanity.

Dedicated to the dear @telvess who read every scene like five times while I wrote and re-wrote this.

• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .•

Jealousy. As a result of your young age, you couldn't put it into words quite yet, but you felt it - choking up your dry throat as your father held your head steady with his fingers digging deep into your scalp to make sure your head wouldn't move an inch.

"Look, child," he said, "really look."

"M-My head, Dad," you sniffled, "It hurts."

You peered through the tiny crack in the large white doors into an empty rehearsal room. Bare walls, empty chairs - all but one, where a young boy sat in the middle, dragging his bow across the strings of a cello like it would be the last thing he does in his life. He did it fervently, desperately, repeatedly over the strings to rumble the sounds through the room. His brows furrowed. His raven black hair was a cluster of strands jolting up and falling on his face each time he moved. It made him look exactly like what you felt - electrified.

Your jaw slacked, and your heart raced within the confines of your chest.

"You see, child?" Your father's words lingered above your head, "Can you finally hear what beauty sounds like?"

You heard, and it haunted you.

When he's playing, anyone would agree that Geto Suguru is breathtaking. Below the cuffs of his white button-down are pale hands, guiding long, strained fingers to move feverishly across the fingerboard. Above them, his face, a marble carving with half-lidded eyes, pointed idly at his cello.

Weary music for weary people, he thinks, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the dull faces with greying hair filling the large hall. Their constipated expressions stare back at him. They're just waiting for the cue to clap, although he doesn't mind - not as long as each note of the concerto* he played was perfect.

And by god, do they clap. A standing ovation, long enough to escort him in his path to the stage exit, loud enough for the echoes to linger as he greets the tall, blue-eyed man waiting for him there and frenzied enough to make your knees buckle under the tight fabric of your tailored evening dress.

"It was a good one," the blue-eyed man says, "as far as alarm clock music goes, that is."

"Funny how you keep calling it that, Satoru," Geto chastises, his fingers undoing the clasps of his cello case, "but you're always on the verge of falling asleep when you hear it."

Oh, you think, fiddling with the violin in your hands, so that's Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew who he was; the Gojo family name was arrogantly plastered on the walls of every concert hall in the city, including the one you were about to play in now.

Your tremble. You can't help it - that standing ovation set the bar so high you fear the bow in your hands might snap from the intensity of your grip. But it doesn't, and someone briefly introduces your name on stage.

You glance at the two men, catching Geto's uninterested expression. Your stomach churns. The dignified way it graces his annoyingly good-looking features makes your muscles tense; it's as if he's exhausted from doing the crowd a favor by allowing them to worship his playing.

Arrogant fucker. You think, and he nods at you stiffly, acknowledging the misfortune of performing after him.

As you drag your feet across the polished floor, you can only hear the sound of your own erratic breathing. "Breathe in, breathe out," you mutter under your breath as your shaking knees give the last of their strength to get you to the center stage.

And then a twitch, a breath hitch, and a loud thud.

The room hums with gasps for an instant before going silent again, and every eye in the vicinity watches you lay splayed across the wooden floor.

The shame burns in your cheeks, rushing through your face down to warm your aching body. As a desperate escape you turn your head away from the crowd, only to catch in the corner of your eye the two men still standing at the stage exit.

Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.

"Oof," Gojo huffs, wincing at the sight as he turns to his friend, "Come on, we'll be late if we don't head out now."

Like looking at a trainwreck, Geto's unable to turn away. His lips purse; what a pity.

The silence grew, and you knew you must do something - anything to let this moment pass. You push yourself up, throwing a quick glance at your violin, a string snapped, fuck. "I hope -," you grunt, your voice hoarse from disuse, "I hope Rachmaninoff* gets the same gasps." A wave of suppressed chuckles and claps gushes around you. Oh, thank god.

Your cheeks are still hot, and the first stroke of your bow is hesitant, just a soft flick of the wrist to see if the three remaining strings are still in tune. Is this a good idea? But the crowd's anticipating gaze burns through you, rendering you unable to move. You focus on replacing the missing notes and play the piece - with jagged strokes coming from your still shaking hands, some notes cut it, but just barely.

Gojo nudges his friend's shoulder, "Hey, I said we'll be late."

Geto's pursed lips open lightly, his dark eyes fix intently on your bow, "Hmm?" He hums at his friend's words, dragging him back from his thoughts.

a/n - * - Bach's Cello Suite in C Minor, Sarabande. * - Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G minor, originally for piano, transcribed for violin.

"A Jazz club?" you furrow your brows at the music and the tang of smoke already reaching you from the narrow entrance hall.

You'd only met Shoko a few short weeks ago when college started, and she quickly became your only friend - as often happens to two people in a room who prefer to be alone.

"Yes, my friend's playing - you'll hate him," she says. Shoko has that thing where she doesn't change her tone when she says something sarcastic, so you're stuck nodding at her words with an uncomfortable grin on your face.

She tugs you by the sleeve of your shirt, guiding you down the stairs and through the prematurely drunken crowd that eagerly awaits what would be the third song of the evening.

"This would never pass in our concerts," you mutter under your breath, although you kind of wish it did as you look at the people laughing, reaching for another drink, huffing smoke from their mouths while making idle chatter as the players take a short break between songs.

A bright, warm note pierces the room, and like an obedient platoon to an officer's 'attention,' all the eyes fall back on stage. The white-haired man under the mellow spotlight makes a swift move to wipe the mouthpiece of his saxophone before returning it to his lips and blowing into it again - this time, a cue for the drummer, who starts a ruthless pace on his cymbals.

"If jazz is a god," Gojo's voice rings through the room, "then the saxophone is its altar."

How could he say that with a straight face? You think, unable to take your eyes off his clearly pretentious demeanor that would be borderline comical if it wasn't redeemed by his outstandingly handsome face, from the rolled-up sleeves and undone button of his blue dress shirt to the round sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks like pure sin.

"The Voice of Chunk*," he announces the piece and the room booms with shouts of excitement as the saxophone howls its first long and angelic Mi.

By the time the set ends, Gojo's a mess. A dusty red color flushes his pale cheeks as he pants, a mad gleam in his eyes when he looks at the crowd, which only shouts for another encore. He wipes the sweat off his brow and leaves the stage without a word.

Shoko drags you down to an empty table near the stage, a cigarette propped between her lips as she utters, "Ah," to the sound of a squeaking chair, which Gojo Satoru plops on, splaying his limbs on the wood.

He turns to Shoko, pointing a thumb at you, "Your friend?"

"Mhmm," Shoko confirms, "(Name)." She takes a sip of her cheap beer.

Perpetually assuming everyone already knew him, Satoru Gojo doesn't introduce himself. "What'd you think?" He asks.

"It was very good," you say, and mean it. He wasn't humble, but as far as performances go, he didn't need to be.

"Good?" He turns back to Shoko, looking at her like a wounded puppy, "Shoko.."

"She did say very, Satoru." Shoko sighs, "He hates the word good."

Your breath hitches as Gojo lays a large hand on your thigh, "Calling jazz good is terrible." He says, "It means it did nothing to you. Even calling it horrifying is a much better choice."

Another chair squeaks in your proximity, and Gojo removes the hand from your thigh to place it on the table, "Suguru!" He exclaims. "How was it?"

God, what's he doing here?

"Horrifying," Geto smirks at his friend.

His dark eyes turn to you as he says, "Geto Suguru," and extends a large, calloused palm, which you hesitantly shake. The skin contact makes you shudder. His eyes narrow, "Have we met before?"

The truth is - Geto knows rather well that you have met before. He spent two days after the concert thinking about your figure lying on the wooden floor, and it wasn't for the curve of your ass that pointed towards him, although that didn't escape his thoughts either. His mind raced with thoughts of how quickly you bounced back from your fall, made a joke, and started playing. Could it really be so easy?

"Oh - maybe it's - uh," you babble, your mind already trying to devise an excuse to leave.

"Ah, I know!" Gojo chimes in, "It's our tumbling violinist," he chuckles, "I never forget a girl after I've seen her on all fours."

Geto raises an eyebrow. "We both know that's hardly true."

You stare at Shoko with desperate eyes pleading for a change in topic. She puts down her drink, "Where were you Suguru? I didn't see you the entire gig." Thank god.

"Just there," Geto motions to the side of the bar, where a beautiful light-haired girl sips on a drink, "I've seen him play plenty of times."

I should be polite. "Oh, so you like jazz?" You ask.

Gojo chuckles, removing his sunglasses to reveal clear sky-blue eyes, "Entertain our guest, Suguru."

Geto leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and even his words sound carefully rehearsed - as if he's being interviewed, "It's not that I don't like it. There's just no merit to it." Against your wishes, you meet his gaze, restraining yourself from rolling your eyes at him. "It's mostly improvisation. Not one jazz piece stays the same over time - it blatantly disregards why we value music. Can you imagine someone changing even one note in Rachmaninoff's preludes?"

Is he talking about the ones I played?

Geto leans back, "And that's without mentioning the mistakes."

You furrow your brows, and your chest tightens at his words, "The mistakes?"

"Suguru's just jealous," Gojo smirks, and his arm snakes around your shoulders, "because I've got an ability he doesn't. I like to call it blue." His other hand traces lines across the wooden table, making an invisible note staff, "You see, in jazz, there's no such thing as a mistake. It's considered beautiful even if you play a note a bit too harsh or out of key. They're called blue notes."

"Well, a mistake is just a mistake, isn't it?" You lie, too proud to admit you were ashamed of the embarrassing performance they witnessed, "You shouldn't be proud or overcritical of it - it just is."

"It's a good philosophy," Geto says softly, and a faint smile appears on his lips, it makes sense now, "It works well if you just play for fun."

A decade of rigorous violin practice flashes before your eyes, the callouses on your fingers you were teased for as a child, and he dares to say it's for fun?

Your cheeks heat up, "Well, what do you play for? Suffering?"

"Perfection," he answers. Prick.

"Perfection?" You sneer, clenching your jaw, "Then what about improvisation?"

"Leave that vice for the jazz musicians." He says, and his expression suddenly changes, "I'm sorry, I know you improvised in your Rachmaninoff; you did the best you could - considering." He means it earnestly.

The veins throb in your forehead, Is he pitying me?

Gojo laughs, "If you keep bickering, I won't remain the star of the show tonight," and you notice the not-so-discreet looks of the people at the other tables ogling you.

"It's getting kind of late anyway," Shoko says, smothering her cigarette butt against the ashtray's bottom, "Why don't we go before we miss the train?"

"I'll give you a lift," Geto says, and you stare at Shoko, hoping that your wide, begging eyes will lead her to decline, "Come on," He adds, standing up, "It's raining outside, and our violinist can slip up even on dry flooring."

a/n - * - Voice of Chunk, The Lounge Lizards, 1988

"I'll see you in school," You say to Shoko, who exits the back seat of the silver Toyota, leaving nothing but a bitter smell of smoke and a long, strained silence lingering in the car.

"Which way?" Geto points to a fork in the road.

"Left, then straight for a while." And could you be so kind as to crash us into the nearest wall? You chuckle inside your head.

He turns his head as if he heard you, "So, a mistake is just a mistake, is it?"

And your fists clench momentarily, their tension softened only by the quiet, sweet sound of Samuel Barber* playing through the radio, weaving its melody with the heavy pounding of rain on the car roof, "Well, if you dwell on them too much, you're not going to have any time left to fix them." You wish you meant it.

He ponders silently before asking, "How'd you start playing?"

Is he only asking to make a snide remark? You decide to keep your answer curt. "My father gave me his violin when I was young."

The windscreen wipers work full force to make the dark road ahead visible, "My mother never let me touch her cello," he says, his unbothered tone now laced with somber notes, "I hated the thing."

The ache in your chest is almost unbearable, your fingers dig into the fabric of your trousers. He hated it, and he still plays like that?

"Then why play?" You inquire, watching the streetlights' reflections glint in his dark eyes.

Because it matters, it has to matter.

He laughs, and you can't help but notice how his face softens when he does, "It pays for college," a speck of red tint dusts his cheeks, and a strange pull flares in your chest at his defenseless look, "Don't I look like a scholarship boy?"

"Maybe if I squint," you say as he turns to look at you. You narrow your eyes, "Nope, can't see it," and he laughs again, making the remnants of alcohol turn in your stomach.

When you arrive, you step out of the car and he watches you disappear into the building's front, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wheel. A weak, burning sensation plagued the muscles around his jaw; were they really so unaccustomed to laughing?

a/n - * - Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, Op.11

15 years ago

The Geto residence was an ever-tastefully decorated one-story house in the rural areas outside Tokyo, always graced by the echoing sounds of an Italian-made cello. Geto Suguru himself was a wide-eyed child, six years old, and already praised for being prematurely intelligent by his parents' arrogant friends; "Your little Suguru is so clever," one of his mother's friends said, leaning over the dinner table to tug mercilessly on his cheek, "I bet he'd skip a grade as soon as he starts school, don't you think, Kieko?"

To which his mother only hummed in response, quickly diverting the subject, "The Bolshoi* is performing in the city next month. Will you come?"

Suguru didn't mind these things much. He wasn't the kind of child to look for praise; he didn't care for it from strangers' mouths and never knew the delight of hearing it come out of his mother's ever-pursed lips.

The next morning, Kieko Geto sat on a sturdy, padded stool and played with unwavering concentration until the midday sun sipped through the windows, blinding her eyes. Only then did she stop, turning back to notice her son's inquisitive gaze peering from the doorway.

"Come," she instructed, and Suguru took a few hesitant steps to the middle of the room. His mother positioned the cello upright, the wooden beast towering over him as she pressed a flat palm to the middle of the fingerboard, measuring his height against it. "One day," she said, "you'll be big enough to play it, Suguru."

A phone rang, and his mother stepped out. Suguru stood a long while staring at the instrument that leaned lazily against the wall. One day - he didn't want to wait for some vague, distant day, and his arm itched with impulse.

Suguru lifted the bow from the stool, ramming it violently across the strings. It made such a horrendous sound that he thought for a moment he hurt it, and now the thing was howling in pain.

"Suguru!" his mother shrieked as she shoved him out of the way, "What did you do?" Her pale fingers grazed the cello, searching for new marks on the wood.

The bow in her hand glinted like a Katana under the sunlight as she swung it at his head.

The next few minutes were a blur. Suguru guessed he screamed since his father stormed into the room, pushing him to stand behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the creases on the back of his father's shirt, changing their shape like sand dunes as the man's arms moved frantically through the air as if he were conducting his own shouts.

The boy placed a hand on his forehead. "Dad," he tugged hesitantly on the creases, leaving red stains on the pale blue shirt, "Dad."

a/n - * - The Bolshoi Ballet

A failed poet turned local journalist once described Geto Suguru's playing as having a gut-wrenching elegance, and as you stood at the large doors leading to the conservatory's hall, you couldn't help but hear what he meant. Angelic strokes on the rumbling strings, and each note is -

"Shit," he cusses, dragging the bow harshly along the strings as if it could saw the instrument in half if he tried hard enough. Even as he does so, he can't seem to make it sound bad. The bow drops on the floor with a hollow thud, and he runs a defeated hand through his hair, brushing back a long black strand to reveal a two-inch, pale scar on the side of his forehead.

He lifts his gaze up, noticing you standing by the door. How long has she stood there? "Violinst," he says. "Come to practice?"

Seeing him laugh a few days ago must have been a figment of your imagination. "Yes," you utter.

"It's occupied until six."

You make your way to the low stage through the aisle between the empty rows of seats, "It's ten past six," you remark, and Geto glances at the clock, frowning at it like it broke a long-standing promise.

You reach the stage, putting your violin case on the still-warm seat of the lone chair in the middle. You shudder at the warmth, watching Geto lift the massive cello case as his other hand reaches into his pocket, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, "You want one?" he asks, holding it open.

You shake your head, "Thank you."

He puts one smoke between his lips, patting down his pockets, "Got a light?"

You shake your head again, "Sorry."

He shrugs, his eyes fixing on the violin in your hand, and you notice the slight puffiness under his eyes. "Not my day, I guess." And it's a long gaping silence while he puts the cigarette back in the pack, "Do you mind if I stay?"

"No," Yes. "But if you scrunch your nose at my mistakes, you leave."

"I don't scrunch my nose," he retorts.

"You do."

Geto runs a long finger along the bridge of his nose down to the tip, leaning forward slightly to meet your eyes, "Straight as an arrow," he says without a smile, and you turn red at the sudden proximity, fixing your gaze on the shiny white floor beneath your feet.

"Alright then," you mumble.

Geto sits in the front row, reclining on the backrest of the crimson-colored seat with his hands resting on his spread thighs while his cello case leans on the seat next to him like a second observer. You might as well put on a burlesque show from how naked you feel under his steady gaze.

You drag the bow across the strings, echoing a dissonant tone throughout the room.

"Are you testing me?" He says with a smug smile plastered on his lips, but you hoped for a heartfelt one instead.

"Mhmm," you hum, taking a few steps forward to the verge of the stage, where you take a seat with your legs dangling from the edge, "You passed." and he chuckles, soft and low.

As you begin to play, Geto gets up from his seat to pace back and forth along the aisle, his brows furrowed and his thumb pressed against his lips while he listens to the music.

Your muscles strain, bracing themselves for the suite's climax, now's the hard part, you think, letting out a frustrated huff as your eyes fix on Geto. You miss the first note.

He halts, and your bow leaves the strings as you await his reaction in the irksome silence of the hall.

For a moment, he's desperate. Desperate for you to do what he thought was an almost inhuman feat after such a mistake.

He takes a few steps closer, towering over you while his eyes stare intently into yours, "Keep playing," he demands.

Your breath hitches as you watch him slowly lower himself to his knees beneath you. He places large, calloused palms on your knees, eagerly spreading your legs while his eyes are still honed on your face, relishing in the red flush burning your cheeks. He runs a hand under your skirt, grazing your thigh with long, rough fingers, a hint of a smile on his lips when he hears your breathless gasps, "Keep playing," he repeats.

Smile, god, you hated that smile.

You play a few jagged notes before your arms give in, and you place the violin on the floor with a soft clunk. Your now free hands grasp his hair, freeing it from his neatly tied bun to fall down his shoulders.

"Eager girl," he mutters, tracing his finger along your wet panties, and you tug harder at his hair. I'm the eager one?

"Q-Quit teasing," you stammer as he yanks you closer to the edge of the stage, pulling off your panties with a swift move. You shudder as his warm breath fans over your exposed cunt, panting heavily as his fingers dig deep into your thighs.

"Hmm?" He murmurs, placing soft kisses against your inner thighs, letting his teeth graze the skin but stopping every time right before he reaches your soaked pussy. Just do it, for the love of god, just do it.

You're reduced to a quivering mess, fighting the urge to push his head into your wetness, "Please," you whimper breathlessly, frowning at the loss of your pride under his touch, "p-please stop teasing," and you finally feel his tongue lick a stripe up your clit as he grunts softly at your taste.

"Good girl," he groans out, letting his lips wrap around your bud, burying his face so deep in your cunt you feel his nose rub against your clit while he rasps out a soft "Fuck," that sends shivers up your spine.

He was messy, fervent, eager as his tongue worked on your clit, and you grew dizzy at the sight of the usually calm and collected man disheveled and red-faced between your legs, moaning out his name as you felt yourself clench against his lips, "S-Suguru, fuck -."

He'd never heard his name come out of your lips before, but this was a better first time than he could imagine. He grew unbearably hard in his jeans, rutting against thin air almost instinctively every time you rolled your hips into his face, "Say it again," he demands, and his deep voice sends a rush of heat to your face.

Can he do it? Can he make you even more of a mess on his fingers? Can he watch while you stutter his name, while your face is a beautiful flushed mixture of those blunders he loved seeing you make?

"Suguru," you look at him through glazed eyes, and he frees the hand that grabbed your thigh to slide two skilled fingers into your soaked cunt, "S-Suguru," you whimper out when they sink deeper, pumping into your sweet spot with a harsh pace.

A drunk smile grazes his lips when you clench against his fingers. It takes him all his strength to pull away from your cunt, "You want more, princess?" He teased, fingers pumping lazily into you.

You manage to whine a quiet, "Y-Yes."

"Then ask," he coos, his smile turning into a devilish grin, and you squirm at the loss of his tongue, clutching his hair tighter.

"Please, Suguru," you breathe. How many times will he put me through this? And your muscles contract when he flicks his tongue over your cunt again, "p-please, Suguru - I'm - " you babble as he resumes his harsh pace, your thighs closing on his head, hips rutting desperately for some more sweet friction against his tongue.

"Please, fuck - " you moan, arching your back. His fingers still push into you as he groans at the taste of your wetness gushing on his tongue, licking it hungrily while you pant almost inaudible whispers of his name, and he thinks he might come from the sweet sound of your voice alone.

His lips finally let go of your clit. He pushes himself up from his knees to face you, his mouth wet with your essence as he brushes his lips against yours. Barely a kiss, but you grow dizzy anyhow, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, running your other hand along his T-shirt-clad stomach down to the bulge in his jeans.

"No," he utters. No?

"Huh?" Your brows furrow, "Do you want me to take you out for a cup of coffee first?" It was supposed to be a thought, shit.

He laughs, and you watch the lines form in the corners of his eyes, "Could be nice," he says, "besides, it's your rehearsal hours; don't you want to practice?"

"Not really," you grumble, "You can use them if you like." You reach down to pick up your panties from the floor where he discarded them, only to see him grab them first.

"I could," he muses aloud, "I'm playing the Grand Hall opening in a few weeks," and he catches your gaze for a second, "but I'd rather watch you play." And you blush as he tucks your panties into the front pocket of his jeans, "You'll get them later," he says, "If you're good."

"If I'm good?" You furrow your brows, "If I don't make any mistakes, you mean."

"No," he asserts, his words a bit loud, catching you off-guard as you fumble for your violin, "If you're good."

After you refuse his ride home, it's a long walk of shame back to your apartment. You feel as though your pride was left in his pocket together with your underwear, but maybe, just maybe, you'll make something good come out of it.

"Dad put it - " Suguru's arm held his father's in a tight grip across the coffee shop's table, urging it to release the silver spoon in his hand, "Put it back, please."

"They've got plenty," his father barks, his eyes darting around to observe the busy staff of the cafe while he hides the spoon carefully in his bag.

Suguru lets out a weary sigh, focusing on the swirling cream in his coffee mug, "So do you," he says, the taste of stale regret mixing in with his drink when he lifts it to his mouth.

"Eh?" His father's eyebrows knit together, wrinkles forming under his five o'clock shadow when his lips purse, "You here to judge me, boy?"

Suguru takes a sip from his coffee but finds it stuck bitterly in his throat under his father's hostile stare.

"Thought so," the man says, his dirty fingernails tapping on the wooden table as he adds, "Now, will you finally quit fooling around with that thing?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru chokes out.

"She croaked this morning, the bitch. She won't come to see you play now, would she?"

Suguru's eyes widen, his hands quivering, pads of his fingers digging into the scortching coffee mug, threatening to tumble the liquid over the rim, "What?"

"Croaked, gone, dead. She left you that cursed cello of hers," his father eyes the sugar dispenser on the table, brushing his fingertips on it, "So you'll sell it. And give the money to your father," his shoulders draw back, he's proud, "for all the things he did for you, yes?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru mutters.

The man's agitated expression deepens the wrinkles on his forehead, "'I don't know Dad," his father mocked, "I'll tell you what you need to know. I took you away from that vicious whore when she'd done your face in with her bow, and you've never thanked me once, just begged me to buy you a damn cello when you knew that all our money was left in that house." A brute splatter of spit lands on the table as he sneers, "And I did, didn't I? Bought you the damn thing, drove you around with it like some chauffeur. Where's my thanks? Eh, brat? Where's my money?"

The man raises his arm, and a young, blonde waitress appears momentarily by their table, all smiles when she says, "The check, sir?"

"Yes," Suguru's father says, the chair under him screeching as he gets up, "My son will pay."

For hours now he'd been contemplating where to go. Who he wanted to see. but when Geto finally gets to your door, his face still flushes with the soft pink of an irredeemable shame while his urgent, stiff knuckles pound on the door. He knew you were home. He wasn't a brute - he texted to check, but he still couldn't calm the restless ache burning in his chest.

When you open the door, there's no hello, just the unyielding feeling of his body flat against yours as he presses sloppy kisses along your jaw, groaning when his teeth graze the tender skin of your neck, "Fuck," his breath fans over you neck as he pants out the words, "you smell sweet."

His face lingers in the crook of your neck, relishing in the warmth like a cold-blooded animal who'd die without the heat. His fingers dig into your thighs so harshly you fear they might bruise them as he lifts you up, "Smell so fucking sweet - " he keeps muttering under his breath as your legs wrap around his waist, your hands clinging to the muscles on his back to keep your balance.

"Suguru," you pant when he drops you on the bed, noticing the unfamiliar ruthless look in his eyes, hardly the same one you saw between your legs a few days ago, "Did something - "

"D'you want to stop and talk?" He chuckles, large, warm hands running across your body to discard your clothes, "Hmm?" He purrs, already confining you under his body, planting soft, teasing kisses on the valley between your breasts.

"N-No," you whimper at the feeling of his teeth against your hardened nipple, and you run a hand through his dark hair to yank him away, while the other hand tugs at his shirt to signal him to fuck, take it off.

He almost doesn't want to break away from your body, not even for the sake of finally feeling your skin rub against his. But he manages to regain his composure long enough to use swift movements to discard his clothes as you watch him, strong and veiny, a body that could be carved in marble if it ever stopped moving with devious intent.

"Suguru," you knew he loved it, the sound of his name coming from your mouth. "Please," you writhe under him, desperate for any kind of touch as he looms over you, holding himself up while deep pants escape his parted lips. He's too far for you to crash your lips against his, no matter how you try. You lift your head from the pillow, and he chuckles at your efforts, pumping his already hard and leaking cock, groaning when he lets the tip brush against your folds.

"So wet already, hmm?" His hand abandons his cock to push a finger inside your cunt, the squelching noises making the blood rush to your head. He's mad with need but can't let your squirming be over so soon, "All for me?"

"Fuck, Sugu - " you cut yourself off to grip his hair, making your lips crash, feeling his tongue swallow your moans as he takes his finger out only to push his cock into you with a deep thrust, "Ah - fuck - " you moaned into his mouth, feeling his tip rub against your sweet spot when he finally bottomed out.

He starts a mean pace, and a hint of pain jolts through you while you adjust to his size, loud moans escaping your lips, "Oh my, ah - God."

"Suguru," he corrects, reaching a hand to adjust your hips, and you moan at the friction against his abdomen, "moan it for me, princess," he groans out against your neck when you pant his name, "louder - fuck - " he pleas, his breath hitches when you clench against him.

He knows he can't hold it much longer, threatening to spill his load at every pant and moan and brush of his lips against your skin, "S- Suguru - " you whine, feeling his fingers draw circles against your clit, digging your nails into his back to leave shallow red scratches along his shoulder blades.

"You close, princess?" He lets out a shaky breath when he feels you clench again, gritting his teeth at the tightness around his cock.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and your eyes shut at the feeling of his messy, erratic thrusts, "Suguru - ," you moan, "Suguru - I - " you pull his head back by the hair.

"Mhmm," he coos, "you what?" he growls, his thrusts feeling almost impossibly deep when the heat pools in your stomach.

"I - I'm - close - " And it's all he needs to hear, locks of black hair falling to brush against your face as he smashes his lips onto yours, savoring the taste of your mouth as your back arches and walls contract around him.

"Good girl," he rasps into your mouth, pounding a few harsh thrusts before his hips stutter. You watch through glazed eyes how muscles tighten as he spills his seed into you with a low groan.

He collapses atop you, pressing his sweat-dampened face against your chest to relish in the sound of the fast, thumping beat of your heart. A few more seconds, and he can measure the tempo.

"Listen," Suguru says, smoking a cigarette out of the open window of your room while he watches you get dressed in the corner, "there's a few things I have to do early tomorrow," his eyes trail out to the street lamps out the window, their blinking lights reflecting on his car outside.

"Suguru," you stand over him, brushing the pads of your fingers against the scratches you left on his back, "did something - "

"Just a few things I have to do," he says, looking around the room for his shirt, "so I'll call you, yeah?"

"Uhm, so, did you hear from Su-" You cut yourself off, watching Shoko take a long drag from her smoke with her eyes waiting for you to finish your sentence. "I mean - " you clear your throat, "You know how a guy does something, and then he -" Your face grows red at the memory of Suguru's naked body, "And you think it was nice because you had fun, and then he -"

Shoko watches you babble for a while before saying a confused, "Yes?"

"Suguru didn't call me back," you finally utter. Wasn't it enough for him that I called first?

"Oh," Shoko takes a long drag from her cigarette, "and he needs to call you because..?"

Your face flushes crimson as you bury your face in your hands, "B-Because we fucked and I haven't heard from him since," you mutter through your palms.

Gojo Satoru has a habit of entering places like his presence was eagerly anticipated, swinging the door open with a dramatic expression, "Shoko!" He cuts through the conversation, his height exaggerated by the confines of Shoko's small dorm room as he puts his saxophone on the table, "The key is stuck. I'm going to need you to fix it again -"

"Later," Shoko sounds like a reprimanding mother as she motions toward your sulking face.

Gojo's eyebrows knit together, "Did something happen?"

"Suguru didn't call her after - " Shoko reconsiders her words for a moment, "after they had a nice time together."

"Hmm?" Gojo plops down on the bed in the corner, "Well, he won't call for a while."

You raise your gaze from your palms, tilting your head at the man, "What do you mean?" And your mind races, Oh god. He can't - hate me?

"You didn't hear?" Gojo's smirk fades from his lips, "His mother died last Saturday."

Wait, the same day he came and - ?

You widen your eyes at Shoko, who only shakes her head in response.

"His parents were divorced for quite a while," Gojo continues, "he hasn't seen his mother in over a decade - "

"But she's still his mother," Shoko remarks, huffing a cloud of smoke into the room that lingers stagnant above the table.

Gojo sulks, "I was about to say that. He's been stuck in his room for a week now. My father's pissed."

"Your father?" You puzzle, watching Gojo wipe his sunglasses on the edge of his shirt.

"He was supposed to play the Grand Hall this weekend." And you squint your eyes, waiting for him to continue, "My father pays his tuition for these shows, y'know."

"Your father pays Suguru's tuition?" You repeat.

Gojo chuckles, "Well, I'm not sure for how long, now that Suguru won't even answer his phone. Dad's been planning this grand opening for a year now."

Oh?

"Can't you talk to him?" Shoko was still holding onto the smoking cigarette butt in her hand.

"It's like talking to a - " Gojo cut himself off to knock twice at the white plaster wall beside the bed.

Your muscles tense, and the sound of your own racing pulse deafens your ears.

I should say something. "He's your friend," you croak out.

Gojo's expression changes to a stern one, a terrifying sight on his soft features, "What would have me do? Make him play while he's mourning for his mother? Fight with my father only to have him cut Suguru off anyway?"

You go silent, mulling over his words, but find nothing to say.

Shoko picks up the saxophone from the table, "Which key is broken?" she asks, and there's a hint of defeat in her voice as she waits for Satoru's answer so, at the very least, she can fix something.

Suguru had stared at the cello case for days now, hesitant to take the instrument out of its shell. He started staring at it when he took it from his mother's house after the funeral and kept staring at it on the two-hour bus ride and the three-hour train journey, and then, when he leaned it against the wall of his apartment, he still couldn't take his eyes off of it.

It called him. Not in the way you called him - the kind that made his heart flutter when he saw your name pop on his phone screen, which he ignored, simply having no clue as to what to say.

He still ran the imaginary conversations in his head every time you did, letting out sad chuckles into the stale air of his room. How have you been? Oh yes, my mother died, and I'm sitting here with her instrument, which she always loved more than me. Is it nice? Oh, it's more like a successful older brother - you want to hug him just as much as you want to chuck him out the window. Would you like to grab a coffee?

"It's been almost two weeks since you sat there," Geto stands in the little kitchen of his apartment, making a cup of tea he knew would join the others piled up on his bedside table. I'm talking to it now, he thinks, I've finally gone insane. "How about you pay rent?" He chastises the instrument.

For a moment, he thinks it really might pay his rent - for about four years - if he decides to sell it, and keep the money to himself. His hands find themselves opening the case.

He inspects it for a long while, his hands brushing reluctantly over the wood until they find the small scratch in the varnish, the one he'd left there over a decade ago, and he focuses on it. It's small, pale looking, almost too tiny to notice, like the scar on his forehead.

"Maybe it's fair," he mutters at it, "I hurt you, and she hurt me. Balance."

A knock on the door makes his hand falter.

"Suguru," you bang on the door, feeling your leg squash something under it. "Mochi?" you mutter as you pick up a bag from the floor, and the lock clicks.

He looks terrible, you think, with tired eyes and strands sticking out from his usually perfect hair. You hand him the crumpled bag, trying no to smile, "It was just here," you point to the doorway.

"Hmm?" He takes it from your hands, "Satoru's been leaving those here every day. I've got plenty. You can have it if you like."

The air in the room reeks of smoke and coffee grounds, and he steps away, losing your eyes as he moves clothes from a chair to his bed for you to sit on.

"How are you?" you ask.

"Fine," he responds instinctively. Silence. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure." Silence again. A good time to pick up smoking, you think.

Your gaze lands on the cello peaking from its case in the corner. "A new one?" You puzzle as he puts a cup of coffee in front of you.

"My mother's," Geto says, sitting on the chair across from you.

"It's beautiful," you say, and you watch a sullen look settle in his eyes. "Wrong thing to say?" you give him a half-hearted smile, attempting to lift his mood, "Because in that case, it looks terrible."

"I like it when you say the wrong things," He suddenly says, "They don't feel so wrong when you say them."

You take the cup of coffee in your hands, warming your palms against the glass, "You can say them too sometimes, y'know."

He takes a sip from his coffee, only to find he can't stand the taste anymore, wrinkling his nose, "I hate that thing. I've been contemplating whether to sell it or just throw it out the window."

"And what's the verdict?"

"Play it," he says.

"Then play it."

He gets up, pushing the chair back to the middle of the room as he walks to take the instrument out of its case. You're almost startled by how stiff he looks leaning it between his legs, a hold so tight on the bow his knuckles turn white.

He puts the bow to the strings with a feather-light stroke, and halts.

He looks scared of it.

Is that what stage fright feels like? He thinks as he watches you lean forward against the table, eyes honed on his hands.

"You just need to play it, y'know? Like children do, just wiggle the bow a few times." You say.

Like children do. "It'll be dissonant," Geto utters sternly, releasing his grip on the bow.

"That's how they laugh," your lips curl into a soft smile, "That's what my father used to tell me when he heard the horrible screeches I made on his violin when he first gave it to me, 'Don't worry, that's how they laugh.'"

His chest tightened at the words, and he forced the bow onto the strings, making a loud, off-key tone penetrate the room.

It's the first time you've heard him make a mistake, and it made every nerve in your system tingle. Your head went euphorically dizzy. This is much better.

He almost stopped at your wide-eyed look, but you just laughed, "Oh, please, you call that dissonant?" And you watch him push the bow onto the strings again, brows furrowed at the terrible sounds, but his movements unwavering.

It's fine to play it like this, he thinks, as long as it's accompanied by your laughter.

"Suguru," you utter, and he lifts his gaze from the instrument, "Will you play the Grand Hall tonight?"

He ponders for a moment, "I think I will."

"Then you better answer your phone," you motion towards the buzzing cell phone on the counter, "and take a shower," you laugh.

He looks down on his disheveled clothes, "That bad, huh?" He chuckles.

"Just a little."

You hear the shower water running as you fiddle with your phone, still dazed at what just happened. You press the contact and dial.

"Hey, Dad?" You chirp into the cell phone, "Are you still coming to the Grand Hall opening tonight?"

The new Grand Hall is a sea of white marble floors and golden framed artworks, crowded by black-suited CEOs and their overly lavish trophy wives.

Geto sits on the lone stool in the middle of the stage, watching them all take their seats, still busy exchanging pleasantries with each other while they wait for the show to start. His eyes drift constantly to the stage exit, where you stand with Gojo, smiling softly, mouthing, "Don't worry," at his stiff figure.

His mother's cello is still unfamiliar to the touch, a beast different than the one he owns which he had already spent years taming.

People fill the seats like ants, and the lights dim above his head. The pianist behind him is a weak-looking man, and he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his thin nose before giving Geto the cue to start.

The first stroke of the bow is a hesitant one across the strings that once earned him a blow to the head, but the second one has more vigor, and his eyes, half-lidded still, find your smiling face again to soothe his nerves. His bow falters; he didn't have time to change the rusty strings; what would Elgar* say?

And you can't help but smile at each terrible pitch echoing around you; each horribly dissonant tone is more beautiful than the next to your ears.

The sounds are low and deep, growling against the marble hall. He almost has it - the feeling - the one that'd let him stop quivering in his seat. His bow jitters. He never knew he could make so many mistakes in a piece that he played hundreds of times, but with your smile at the corner of his eyes, he feels it creep up his fingertips, rushing through his chest - joy.

"My son!" The doors to the concert hall bust open with a bang; it overpowers the soothing sounds of his cello and the melody of the piano, "He's my fucking son. Let me see him!" Suguru's father stumbles drunkenly into the hall, two dark-suited men at his heels.

The hall washes over with whispers, women pressing their carefully manicured hands to their painted mouths in awe while their husbands are already halfway out of their seats with a proud "I'll take care of the bastard, honey" stuck on their lips.

"Fuck off, pig." Suguru's father spews at the guard trying to drag him away, "He owes it all to me, the brat. Play for our guests, Suguru! " He turns to the crowd, "Enjoying the show, money-rolling cunts?"

Suguru stiffens, his eyes two dull, widened orbs staring at the scene as he stops his playing, ignoring the piano player's whispers to just play, kid.

Gojo rushes to the man screaming in the hall, "Mr. Geto, long time no see," he says, one hand gripping him by the edge of his booze-soaked shirt, the other wrapping around the man's neck in an almost affable way, "How about you see your son after the show?" A smile is frozen on his soft lips, his blue eyes staring daggers at the man, "Now be nice, or they'll tase you," he breathes down the man's ear, motioning to the guards whose fingers are already clutching the tasers.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

a/n - * - Edward Elgar, Cello Concerto in E minor, Op.85

12 years ago

"You hear that?" Your father stood over you in the rehearsal room of the conservatory, his arms crossed over his chest as he paced back and forth, "That's how they laugh. Every time you make a mistake, they laugh at you, girl."

Your eyes were red as you stopped your playing, "L-Laugh?"

"Instruments make that sound so they can mock you," your father explained, correcting your grip on the bow, "and you have to do everything so they don't do that."

Every day, he'd drive you up to the conservatory and stand over you in that room for hours on end, brows knitted together at each whine the violin screeched out. And when it was finally over, he'd walk you down the long white corridor to the room at the end, where a small, dark-haired boy would play his cello.

"See that, girl?" He'd point through the crack in the door, "Perfection."

Perhaps that was when you started to despise Geto Suguru. Over the years, the feeling only grew, but it hadn't peaked before his smug smile sat next to you in a jazz club, finally uttering the first words he ever directed at you, "Geto Suguru, have we met before?"

And it felt strange because you had - or at least you thought you had, over a decade ago. Not that he'd know that you watched him play almost every day through that time, with the scrutinizing words your father whispered above your head, "Look. Really look," your father held your head steady with his fingers digging into your scalp, "It doesn't laugh at him, see?"

And you did see. And you wished that it laughed at him, too. Why were you the only one supposed to be laughed at?

You didn't mean to at first, really. Something about him just ticked it off, the urge for revenge. How dare he hate his instrument and play it so well, when you loved the violin and it betrayed you with every stroke?

You didn't mind the sex; he was still a handsome man. It made him trust you - and as long as you made him make a mistake - every laugh, every encouraging smile, every word, was worth it.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

Suguru looks for them - your eyes, and that smile that seems to perpetually grace your lips - but when his eyes finally land on you, he finds it gone. You mouth something he doesn't quite catch before disappearing from the stage exit. He can't do it; he can't play anymore. His hand freezes against the strings.

You finally made a fool of yourself, Suguru.

You wait outside the Grand Hall doors, body shivering with anticipation when the crowd finally starts to leave the hall.

"Dad!" You shout when you see him, making your way through the people, heels clacking against the marble until you grab your father's arm, "Dad! It was horrible, wasn't it?"

"Hmm? Who'd you come with dear?" Your father inquires.

"Leave it, Dad. He was horrible, right?"

He looks at you a long time before saying, "It's a shame for that boy, the beginning was perfect."

10 years later

When he's conducting, anyone would agree that Suguru Geto is breathtaking. The moment he dropped playing the cello ten years prior, every one of his admirers had almost lost hope - that is, until he picked up the baton. A true genius, they'd say, forgetting his last horrible performance, which graced the headlines for a long time after he ditched it in the middle, and how he disappeared for the next two years after it. Lonley? Gods no, he's a busy man, or perhaps struggling with all his greatness to find a mind akin to his own.

But only the small orchestra that played under him knew that all these words were just flattery - he was cold and unforgiving of any and all mistakes, and he really, truly despised the violinists.

Or he did, until the new violinist ran late to the first rehearsal of the year.

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the-remainder · 2 months ago

Text

Nov 7 is the date, mark it.

Available on Steam and Itch

Do you know what we said to ourselves when we started the kickstarter? We were building some gameplay systems for The Hunger, and it was hard work. We said: "Boy, this thing is gonna take years, and it's already burning us out. We should do a ‘small thing, quick-like’, as a break. What if we made a definitive/director's cut of The Remainder? Shouldn't take us long, right? Four months should do it? Six tops?"

Fast forward to fourteen months later, we're finally going to launch it. I recently learned about a rule of production planning: Take what you think a project will need, and multiply it by pi, and you'll get the actual time you'll spend.

The math checks out.

Let's see just exactly how much we expanded the game, shall we?

It started at around 145,000 words, now it is 171,000. You can do the math there. Some of this is new deaths, some are new ending variations, and some just generally fleshing out things that were too thin or adding more flavour and interest in what we found to be bland. Now it should be a feast through and through.

On top of that, we pretty much re-wrote the entire thing over via several editing passes.

We added five new artworks, revised around twenty, a few of which significantly, composed four more ambient tracks, and added 467 unique sound effects.

Also, the new price will be 27.99 usd. This will not affect those who already own the game. Currenty the game is on sale on Itch so it’s a great time to grab it before the price increases. ^^

Once the new release is out on steam and itch.io, we will start producing the physical art, the prints, linocuts, CDs, and original artworks.

It will likely be another few months before all those are done and shipped out.

After that we're onto the next story in Taldun: The Longing.

#interactive fiction #visual novel #amare game #cot: the remainder #release announcement

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kybercrystals94 · 4 days ago

Text

Of Scene Breaks and Plot Twists

Read here on Ao3!

Rated: G | Words: 2256 | Summary: The members of Clone Force 99 have an unwanted guest.

A/N: For Christmas, I wrote an entirely unserious, indulgent little fic because I can…so I did.

I am totally making fun of myself with this fic…apologies to the characters for not always (read: rarely) having a plan when I write.

I dedicate this story to every fanfic writer I know and don’t. May you never cease to amaze with your creativity and dedication to the art…you are a gift to the communities you partake in.

“Alright, boys, settle down,” Hunter says, walking into the cockpit. “We’ve got our next mission.”

“Do we actually get to blow something up this time?” Wrecker asks, sitting up in the seat he was slouching in.

Crosshair takes out his toothpick and flicks it at Wrecker, the sliver of wood bouncing harmlessly off the giant’s shoulder. “Or shoot something?”

“We have been on three consecutive data retrieval missions with no enemy engagement,” Tech states.

Echo points out, “Which is a good thing. It means we did our job well.”

“It means they were boring!” Wrecker declares.

Tech and Crosshair nod.

“I won’t promise anything,” Hunter says, grinning, “However, there is a high probability of explosions and shooting taking place this time around.”

The news receives reactive sounds of approval from most of the members of Clone Force 99. However, Echo isn’t fooling anyone with his eye roll. He’s been craving action as much as any of his brothers.

“So, what is it?” Echo asks.

“What’s what?” Hunter asks.

Echo frowns at him. “The mission?”

Hunter looks down at the data pad in his hand. “I…I don’t know. Nothing’s come through.”

“But you just said–”

“Sorry, sorry! That’s my fault,” I say, pushing myself up from the wall I was leaning against. “I’m sorta writing this as I go. I have no idea what your mission is yet. The keyword here is yet, because I’m sure it will come to me as we go.”

I’m honestly not sure what sort of reaction I expected, but five blasters pulled on me was not on the agenda. I put my hands up, heart battering in my throat. “Woah, woah, hey!” I cry, “Don’t shoot!”

“Who are you and how did you get on our ship?” Hunter growls, blaster still carefully poised to take me out if I make any wrong move.

I swallow. “I’m a fanfic writer. I’m the one writing this story.”

Oh. This is my story. Ha, sorta forgot that I can just…

The Batch lower their weapons with bewildered expressions, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“What just happened?” Wrecker asks. “Why’d we all lower our blasters like that?”

“I told you, I’m writing this story. I’m a fanfic writer,” I say, and, bolstered by my own abilities, I walk over and take a seat in behind Tech, turning the chair to face my darling characters. Aww, they look so sweet when they’re confused.

“You’re using some sort of mind trick,” Tech tells me. “You’re a Force user.”

I laugh. “I wish, but no. I’m just a humble fanfic writer, I promise.”

“You obviously know we don’t understand what that means,” Hunter says, and he sounds so annoyed. A little Crosshair-like, if I’m being honest. “So explain it. Now.”

Bossy.

“Fine,” I sigh, reaching in my back pocket and pulling out my phone.

Tech’s eyes light up, and I can tell he wants to ask about it; however, a sharp look from Hunter makes him settle back in the pilot’s chair. I make a mental note to show it to him once I’ve calmed everybody down.

For the sake of my gentle reader, I won’t get into the vaguely detailed explanation I gave the boys. It did not go well, and nobody calmed down. After all, how do you explain that someone’s reality and existence is fictional in your reality…without giving them spoilers for their futures? Then you would have to get into fix-its and canon and head canon and all that complicated jargon. Suffice to say, I had to again utilize my writing power to make them sit down and shut up for two seconds while I assured them that their lives were very much “real”, and that I am just trying to share one of their stories with my world…and also that I am making it up on the fly.

“I would like to study these works of fiction,” Tech says.

I ensure my phone is locked and secured in my pocket. “Mmm…maybe later.”

“So, basically,” Crosshair says, and somehow he manages to sound genuine and sarcastic at the same time, “you are calling all the shots and we have no freewill.”

I guess it does sound bad when he puts it like that.

“How about a compromise,” I say, “I’ll let you boys ‘call the shots’, and I’ll just write it down…if you stop threatening to shoot me out of the airlock. Deal?”

They collectively look unimpressed.

I continue stubbornly, “I’m not going anywhere until I have my story. I’ve been suffering from writer’s block for weeks, and this is the first decent idea I’ve had.”

“Half-baked is more like,” Echo grumbles. “Kriffing idiot.”

“See?” I say, splaying a hand at the cyborg, “If I were controlling everything, would I be letting y’all verbally assault me?”

“Let me shoot you with a blaster, and I’ll be convinced,” Crosshair says with a menacing flash of teeth that I think might be some sort of smile.

Suppressing a shudder, I roll my eyes. “The sooner I finish this story, the sooner I’ll get out of here. Then I’ll never bother you again…”

…In person.

I love internal dialogue.

“Fine,” Hunter agrees after a long, long bout of silence. “What’s our mission then?”

Oh. Right. That’s what started this whole mess in the first place.

Scrambling to come up with something, I say, “Alright, you should have a mission on your data pad now.”

Hunter looks down at his device. “It just says data extraction mission from blank.”

“Hey!” Wrecker objects, loudly, “I thought there was gonna be explosions and shooting!”

Tech takes the data pad from Hunter. “Not to mention the parameters of the mission are unfathomably vague.”

“Alright, alright,” I say, putting up my hands. “How about now?”

“Dangerous data extraction mission from insert planet name here,” Tech reads aloud.

Echo groans. “You have to give us more than that!”

“I don’t usually have to come up with all the details.”

“You’ve given us literally nothing,” Crosshair says, “Less than nothing.”

“You are making it very difficult to believe that anyone reads your stories willingly,” Tech says.

I narrow my eyes.

“What just happened?” Hunter asks.

We are in hyperspace, coordinates safely secured in the nav computer, boys fully aware of the mission parameters.

My work here is done.

“That, my friends, is called a scene break,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Now, tell me about this mission.”

“Why would we go over it again?” Crosshair asks, annoyed. “We’ve been arguing strategy for the past hour.”

“So I can write it down.”

“What do you mean so you can write it down? I thought that’s what you were doing!”

I shake my head. “No, see, that’s the point of a scene break. I can skip writing all the monotony and just give readers the jist of it. So, give me the summary of the mission and I’ll write down the important bits I care about.”

Echo gapes at me. “You mean to tell me you still don’t know what the mission is?”

“Which is why you’re going to tell me,” I tell him patiently.

The boys exchange glances. I can see in their microexpressions that they’ve come to some sort of agreement that I am not going to like. Now wait a minute…

“Don’t tell the writer anything, boys,” Hunter says, turning back to the nav computer. “They get to come along for the ride, just like they wanted.”

“You can’t do that!” I cry.

“We just did, di’kut.” Crosshair begins polishing his rifle, the item having appeared during the scene break. “We’re in charge now.”

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going,” I implore weakly.

“Classified,” Echo says.

“Is it still a data extraction mission?”

Tech has the audacity to shrug. He’s scrolling through my phone. How…when…?

“Hey, give that back,” I say, lunging forward to snatch it from him.

He evades me easily, and I go sprawling across the durasteel floor.

Rolling over, I glare up at the commandos grinning down at me. “I’m still the writer,” I say, “I can still do whatever I want and know whatever I want.”

“Then why don’t you do it?” Crosshair taunts.

I must not be completely over my writer’s block after all, because nothing comes to mind. Somehow, the characters are in charge. Kriff.

“Tech,” I say, returning to the topic of my phone, “you can’t be looking at that stuff.”

“These tags are concerning,” Tech mutters, continuing to scroll as if I hadn’t said anything. “Hurt forward slash comfort? Angst? Fluff? Whump? What do these mean? That is, what is the context?”

I hate to do it, but I use my writing ability to put the phone back in my hands before Tech hurts himself emotionally. “Some things are better left unknown, Tech.”

“I swear,” Crosshair growls, “if any of those fanfics are sappy, I will shoot you out the airlock. I don’t care about our ‘deal’.”

“I’m not the only fanfic writer, okay? There are thousands of us.”

“Sounds like a nasty infestation,” Echo says.

“I’ll have you know,” I tell him primly, “we are a lovely community.”

Wrecker, the sweet boy, offers to help me to my feet, putting a hand out. I grip it and he hauls me up a little too roughly, nearly dislocating my shoulder. I grin at him nonetheless. “Thanks, Wreck.”

“Sure thing, writer,” he tells me. He leans in. “In those fanfic thingies you write, do I get to blow stuff up a lot?”

“Uhm, well,” I say, sitting back down, “it depends on the purpose of fic, really.”

“Whadda you mean? Aren’t they all just missions you make up for us?”

Crosshair huffs. “Or pretend to make up?”

“Listen,” I say, leaning around Wrecker to glare at the sniper, “I have writer’s block. Most of the time I think of legitimate missions.”

“Oh, yeah? Name one.”

“Well, one time, you were on this planet getting intel and the building that Echo and Tech was in collapsed and the rest of you had to dig them out.”

“What planet was it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What was the intel?”

“Important.”

“So you just make whatever the kark you want up and people actually read it?” Echo asks.

Offended by the oversimplification of my work, I retort, “Well, I like to focus more on character development than missions. But that’s just me. Other writers are a heck of a lot better at writing mission stories.”

“Then how’d we get stuck with you?” Crosshair asks, throwing his wadded up polishing rag at me.

I wish I could say I caught it, but it hits me in the face.

“You know what,” I sputter, tossing the rag aside, “Scene…”

“...break.”

We are standing in the middle of a hall, surrounded on both sides by droids.

“Would you stop doing that?” Hunter shouts at me over the din of blasterfire.

I crouch down next to Tech at a control panel. “Hey, can I borrow one of your blasters?”

“Write yourself one,” he says, deadpan, keeping his focus on hacking into the Separatist system.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

Tech rolls his eyes and passes over one of his blasters. “Please take care not to shoot one of us.”

“I think I can handle it.”

I cannot handle it. My first shot goes wide and high, taking out a light in the ceiling. Before I can try again, someone snatches the blaster out of my hand.

“Give me that before you hurt yourself.” It’s Echo.

“If that’s a legitimate risk, let them keep it,” Crosshair calls out.

“Aw, don’t hurt yourself, little writer person,” Wrecker says, scooping me up under one arm, “I’ll protect ya!”

I kick my legs and flail my arms, dangling haplessly in his grip. “Put me down!”

“Not until we’re out of here,” Hunter orders.

Fine then.

We’re back on the Marauder. The boys’ dark armor is covered in spatters of dried mud, and the right lens of Tech’s goggles has a crack in it.

“What happened to you?” I ask, sitting comfortably in the pilot’s chair, unscathed.

“You’d know if you stuck around to find out,” Crosshair growls.

“Apparently, I was just in the way back there. So I skipped ahead.”

“You’ve been in the way this whole time,” Hunter mutters.

Oh. Those are fighting words.

I smile, and I hope it appears as devilish as I feel. “Plot twist.”

I’m not sure what the creature is, but it’s ugly. It’s covered in some sort of goo and it smells putrid.

And it’s gnawing on the Marauder. Don’t worry, it doesn’t have teeth, so the ship won’t be damaged, but it will leave a residue that probably won’t be fun to scrub off later.

“What in the universe is that?” Wrecker asks.

We’ve moved outside of the ship, and we’ve discovered that the creature simply absorbs blaster bolts and is completely unfazed. The boys will have to distract it somehow, lure it away.

How inconvenient.

“This was uncalled for,” Tech says, turning to glare at me.

“Did you see it coming?” I ask. When I am not dignified with a response from any of them, I add, “Plot twist successful.”

“How are we supposed to get rid of it?” Echo asks.

I shrug. “Maybe you boys will figure it out by the next chapter.”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘next chapter’?”

“And this is what we writers like to call,” I say, smiling sweetly, “a cliffhanger.”

TBC

A/N: Will I ever actually finish this fic?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

‘Tis the nature of fanfic, isn’t it? ;D

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#star wars #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb #fanfiction #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #clone wars era #clone wars #crack fic #humor #fics by Kyber #writing humor #fanfic humor

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