#and in the end we didn't find out anything about him

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 16

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

summary — he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart — and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

word count — 11.5 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance and alcohol abuse, dark and themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency, trauma, medical content and mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood. full trigger warnings available on the masterlist. reader discretion is advised.

previously — unable to watch satoru turn to his abusive family for help with naoya's massive lawsuit, you're heading to his party against satoru's wishes, hoping to find something, anything, that might help his situation. but what happens when satoru decides to crash the party? and what will you find in that locked room?

author's note — hello lovelies, welcome back !! this chapter picks up right where we left off, but through satoru's eyes this time. also important note: this chapter contains a brief mention of SA concerning a background event not related to any of our main characters. as always, please mind all trigger warnings. and now enjoy the chaos <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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I saw her the moment I stepped into that goddamn party, and everything inside me went still. 

Like that moment right before you drown, when the water first fills your lungs and the world goes quiet. Terrifying and so still.

She stood there under those cheap neon lights, looking scared and yet so beautiful—beautiful in that terrible way that makes you want to destroy something, that makes you want to tear it apart just to prove it's real.

Every fiber of my being screamed to go to her, to grab her and get her the hell out of here. Away from this place, away from him, away from all of it. 

But I couldn't move. Couldn't let the mask slip, not here, not with all these eyes on me. So I plastered on that easy smile and played the part of the mildly annoyed professor who just happened to crash a student party.

As if my skin wasn't crawling with the need to use again, veins begging for something—anything—to take the edge off. As if the mere sight of her didn't make me feel like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my fucking heart out, her next breath away from something I might regret.

She looked up at me with those pretty eyes of hers, and I saw the guilt there, swimming just beneath the surface. And for one horrible moment I thought, Good. Let it pull her under like it's pulling me. Let it fill her lungs the way fear is filling mine.

I almost hated her then — for lying to me again and again, for doing stupid things behind my back again and again, for making me feel this goddamn helpless again and again and again and fucking again.

But what lay beneath was worse. Because I knew why she was here. Always trying to save me, even if it meant throwing herself into the deep end, drowning right alongside me. And that's the worst kind of torture, isn't it? 

Watching the person you love cut themselves open on all your broken pieces, bleeding themselves dry, yet still reaching for more. And that thought made me want to scream.

"We'll talk about this later," I said, forcing that easy smile back onto my face though everything inside me was screaming to get her out of this goddamn house before she got herself into more trouble. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

I pushed past her, shoulder grazing hers, and I had to clench my fists to keep from turning back. Had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from saying something I couldn't take back. She had no idea what she did to me. Or maybe she did, and that was even worse.

Love and hate tangled together in my chest until I couldn't breathe. Because that's what she does to me — makes me feel everything at once, until I can't tell what's real anymore. Until I can't tell if I want to love her or ruin her. Until I can't remember which one would hurt more. Who I was before her. If I was anyone at all.

And it hit me then, as I left her standing there, all defiance and reckless stupidity and so unbearably precious it physically hurt—this must be what they mean when they say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Because I loved her so much it felt like hatred. Hated her so deeply it could only be love.

Always on the razor's edge. One wrong step, and we'd both bleed out. Maybe we already were.

When was the last time I even went to a party like this anyway? Years ago, probably. Back when I could still pretend I had my shit together. Before I understood what it meant to love someone so consuming that self-destruction became a form of worship.

I needed a drink. Maybe ten. Maybe something stronger. 

Bass thundered through the floorboards as I shouldered my way deeper into the house, some shitty pop track slamming in my skull. Or maybe that was just the rage still burning in my bloodstream.

Sweaty bodies pressed in on all sides, but I barely noticed, lost in the chaos raging in my head. Lost in the desperate need scratching at my throat to turn back, to find her, to make sure she hadn't slipped away like every other good thing in my life.

I ordered vodka. First sip burned, but not enough. Never enough to wash away the fear, to forget that she was here, in this house, with him. The same bastard who'd tried to—My grip tightened on the glass. Yeah. Definitely needed something stronger. Here's hoping these kids still remember how to party.

"Professor Gojo! No way!"

A group of my students appeared beside me at the bar, their faces flushed with alcohol. Aoi, of course—that kid was everywhere. And Miwa, looking starstruck as always. Just my fucking luck.

"Is this what you all do instead of studying for my exams?" I asked, letting that easy smile slide into place.

"Come on, Prof, we've been killing ourselves over your damned hard exams," Miwa chimed in, all bright eyes and alcohol courage. "We deserve a break."

I let myself slip into the familiar role. The cool professor. The guy everyone wants to hang with. It was easier than I expected, letting their drunken energy wash over me, cracking jokes, making them laugh. Almost enough to wash out the withdrawal that made it nearly impossible to think straight. Almost enough to forget why I was really here. Almost.

Aoi was rambling about something, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I turned slightly, catching her gaze across the room. She looked at me like she wanted to kill me. Funny, how we wanted the same thing sometimes.

My woman. My stubborn, reckless, absolutely infuriating woman. Even now, with me watching her from across the room, I could see that defiance bright in her eyes. Even now, even here, in defiance of everything I'd asked of her, she stood her ground. 

It was admirable, really. And sometimes, that very defiance made me want to break her. Perhaps only to prove I could. To prove she wasn't in control. Perhaps because I was terrified that I wasn't. That I never was.

It's terrifying how thin that line is.

"See? Fucking legend!" Aoi raised his beer, at something I said, I think. I can't remember. Something clever, probably. Something that fits the role. "To the coolest professor on campus!" 

I raised my glass, I think. I can't remember. And that's when I caught sight of them by the front entrance. Suguru walked up to her, still standing where I'd left her, and cradled her face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze. My god, could he be any more obvious about it?

I knew that look in his eyes. Had seen it countless times before, during all those long hours in the lab when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The way he'd lean in close to check her work, his hand lingering on her shoulder a moment too long. The way his eyes would follow her every move.

My best friend, in love with the love of my life. What a sick fucking joke.

He was examining her face now, probably making sure she was alright, being the good, caring friend he always was. His thumb brushed across her cheek, and something violent stirred in my gut. Because she didn't pull away. Of course she didn't. She never did, not with him.

They looked good together, standing there in the dim light. The brilliant researcher and his gifted student. No addiction between them. No sharp edges that sliced you open if you got too close. And I hated that.

I watched as she placed her hand over his, the gesture unbearably tender. Watched as he smiled down at her, that gentle smile he reserved only for her.

And just for a moment — one single, agonizing moment — I let myself picture a world where I hadn't reached her first. Where she'd chosen him instead. The better man. The one who'd never drag her down into his own personal hell.

The thoughts spiraled darker, louder, until I could barely breathe through the noise. Glass creaked under my grip. I needed a fucking pill. Needed something, anything, to make this stop. To make everything just fucking stop.

"Professor?" Miwa’s voice. "You okay?"

More students crowded the bar, blocking my view of them. One of them—what was his name? Third-year, not a complete idiot—shoved another beer into my hand. I chugged it in one long pull, their chatter fading to background noise.

"Well." That voice. That fucking voice. "Look who decided to crash my party after all."

I turned, meeting Naoya's scarred face with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Zenin. Quite the gathering you've got here."

"Indeed." He signaled the bartender. "I gotta say though, I'm surprised to see you here, Professor. Don't tell me you're playing chaperone tonight?"

His words stripped away any pretense. He knew. Of course he fucking knew why I was really here. Not that I'd been particularly subtle about it.

"Just felt like reliving my youth," I said, taking the drink he offered. Anything to keep my hands busy, to keep myself from finishing what I'd started with his face.

Zenin's smirk widened, the scars pulling his flesh into something even uglier. "Ah yes, the good old days. Back when teachers knew their place and didn't go around screwing their students."

The fake smile slid off my face, the glass creaking in my grip as I pictured how easily his windpipe would crumple under my hands. How satisfying it would be to watch that smirk disappear for good.

"Careful, Zenin. Your face is already fucked up enough as is. Would be a damn shame if something happened to what's left of it."

He laughed, the sound grating on my last nerve like nails on a chalkboard. "Always so protective. But tell me, Professor, does she know the real reason you're here? Does she know about the—"

"Enough," I bit out.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" His eyes flicked across the room, landing on her. The way he looked at her made my vision bleed red around the edges. "She really is something else, isn't she? Too bad I didn't get a chance to get her alone that night—"

My hand lashed out before I could think, fisting in his collar. The fabric bunched in my grip as I hauled him close enough to see my own fury reflected in his eyes. "You fucking—"

Then Suguru was there, his hand slamming down on the bar between us. Silent, steady—a wall between me and a one-way ticket to unemployment. He didn't say a word, just fixed me with that look. The one I'd explicitly asked for earlier. Stop me before I do something I'll regret.

Fuck, I was really starting to regret that request right about now.

Then I felt her—her touch impossibly gentle as she laid her hand on my bicep, the heat of her skin seeping through my shirt. She leaned in close, "Satoru, can we talk for a minute?"

Her soft plea sliced through the haze, and suddenly I became acutely aware of the deafening silence that had fallen over the room, of the countless eyes boring into us.

I uncurled my fingers from Naoya's collar one by one, even though everything in me screamed to finish what I'd started. To paint the walls with whatever was left of his face. But I couldn't. We both knew. So I stepped back and followed her.

─── ·✧· ───

She led me through the crowd, her fingers still wrapped so gently around my arm. We pushed our way past the prying eyes, down a hallway, until she found what looked like an empty office. Probably belonged to Naoya's father, judging by the dark wood and that rich people smell.

For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us willing to shatter the fragile silence. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, turning everything silver and strange, like we were underwater. Maybe we were. I wasn't sure anymore. Her hand slipped from my arm, and suddenly I felt cold.

I collapsed into the chair behind the desk, the leather groaning under my weight. She stood silhouetted at the window, arms wrapped tight around herself, and I had to look away. Had to focus on something else, because I knew one glance at those eyes and I'd break.

My fingers found the pill on their own. Out of habit, really. Without thinking, I snatched up the silver letter opener next to me and crushed the pill beneath it, watching the powder scatter across the polished wood like fresh snow. I bent down and let the burn fill my nose, sear through my brain, numbing everything in an instant. 

When I looked up, she was staring. Always fucking staring, with eyes that flayed me to the bone. And she did it so effortlessly. Saw through everyone around her with that unnerving precision. Or maybe she saw through everything so clearly because she looked for the very things she wanted to hide from others.

"That's new," she said. Not an accusation. I was glad it wasn't.

"It's faster."

I averted my gaze and sank deeper into the chair, letting my head fall back against the headrest as warmth flooded my veins and the ceiling blurred and shifted above me. And then everything went soft around the edges, like looking through frosted glass.

A long exhale escaped my lips. Finally—fucking finally—the constant noise in my head, all that shit I can't shut up—the love, the hate, the fucking terror of it all—it faded to a whisper. The world got a little quieter, a little less sharp. A little more bearable.

For one perfect moment, I could actually breathe. Could almost convince myself I was in control. That this wasn't killing me. That I could walk away if I had to. That I wasn't fucking terrified of losing her. Of becoming him. Of everything.

I groaned, fingers raking through my hair, pulling, needing the pain. My hands were shaking again. Or maybe they never stopped. I couldn't tell anymore.

"You're angry," she said.

"No shit. What gave it away?" I scrubbed my hands over my face. "You showing up here after I specifically fucking told you not to? Or me nearly rearranging Zenin's face again?"

"Satoru—"

"Don't." I squeezed my eyes shut, fingers yanking at my hair again, trembling worse now. From the drugs, the rage, the fear, who the fuck knew. It all bled together these days. "You have no idea what he'd do. If something happened—" I stopped. Couldn’t continue.

"I'm not alone," she said, like that made a difference. "Maki, Yuta, Toge—they're all with me. We're being careful."

"Careful?" I sat upright, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "There's nothing fucking careful about this! It's reckless! You shouldn't even be—"

"I'm doing this for you—"

"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't make this about me."

"But it is!" She stepped closer, eyes blazing. "What, you expect me to just stand by and watch? While you fall apart?"

"This isn't your problem to fix—"

"Like hell it isn't!" Another step. Her eyes seared into mine. "I can't fucking take it anymore. You're in this mess because of me. Because you protected me that night. So don't you dare tell me this isn't my problem to fix."

I stared at her, something in my chest fracturing. "You think that's why I'm doing this? Because I feel obligated?"

"I think you're trying to protect me, like you always do."

"Then don't make me protect you all the goddamn time!" I shoved up from the chair and braced my hands on the desk. "I beat him within an inch of his life that night. I would've killed him if—" My throat closed around the words. "And I'd do it again. In a fucking heartbeat. That's what scares the shit out of me. What I become when it comes to you."

She went still.

"And if he hurt you again," the words scraped out of me, "I—I don't know what I'd do. So please. Just please don't make me find out."

I said the words I'd been turning over in my head for what felt like eternity. Don't make me find out, don't put yourself in danger, don't break my fucking heart. Which really meant break me all you want, just don't leave. I wouldn't survive it.

Her gaze dropped briefly to my hands, and she said, "You done?" 

Her question threw me. Done? God, this infuriating woman. But then I followed her line of sight and saw my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists around the desk’s edge. I slowly released them, my knuckles cracking in the sudden stillness.

I slumped back into the chair, exhausted, defeated, throwing an arm over my eyes. "God, I fucking hate you." The way she stood there, unflinching, unafraid—it made me insane. "I hate that you make me feel like this—so fucking terrified all the time."

"You don't hate me," she said.

"Sometimes I'm not so sure anymore," I answered.

How does it never get easier, I wondered. Loving her. Needing her. It just cuts deeper, spreads further, until I'm drowning in the ache. Until I can't breathe without feeling it in my lungs. And yeah, I hate her for that sometimes.

I couldn't look at her. I knew she'd be there, unyielding, waiting, enduring everything I threw at her, as she always did. Never breaking. Maybe that's what I hated most.

"You're so fucking stupid," I breathed, but it came out wrong. Too soft. Too much like 'I love you'. Too much like 'Please don't leave.' 

"I think that's mutual." She crossed the room then and leaned against the desk, arms folded over her chest. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

I lowered my arm and looked at her. "No, you're not."

"I am sorry for worrying you," she tried again, and I almost believed her, wishing desperately that she'd never have to worry about anything the way I worry about her. "Go ahead, say it. Tell me how stupid I was to come here. I know you're dying to."

"Why would you think that?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. "Because it's true. I make the wrong choice every fucking time."

I watched her, this brilliant, stubborn woman that I love so much, beating herself up over choices that weren't really choices at all—just impossible situations with no right answers. Like there was ever a right answer. And sometimes she reminded me so much of myself. As if I hadn't spent years doing the same thing, and probably still do.

But seeing her do it—it was like staring into a mirror and seeing not just my reflection, but the reflection of everything I hated about myself.

"I think that's mutual," I echoed her words back to her.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed up from the chair, gripping the edge of the desk for a second. Then I reached for her, hands landing on her hips, tugging her close, needing her close. My lips ghosted over hers. Hesitant. Unsure. When she didn't pull away, I kissed her. My hand came up to cradle her face, thumb skimming her cheekbone as I deepened the kiss.

"Alright, what's the plan?" I murmured against her mouth.

She told me about the locked room upstairs and her plan to get it. So calm. She told it so calm. Like it was that simple. Like this wasn't the most insane thing I'd ever heard. But I knew she'd go through with it no matter what I said.

"You seriously think I'm gonna let you anywhere near him with alcohol involved?"

"No," she said. "I think you're going to help me."

"Times like this, I'm really feeling that age difference between us," I said, but we both heard the resignation in my voice. The moment I'd already lost this fight.

"So you'll help?" she asked, ignoring my comment.

Before she could celebrate her victory, I yanked her closer, fingers twisting in her hair. With a sharp tug, I forced her head back until she had no choice but to meet my gaze, her throat bared. Our eyes locked, and I saw the instant her breath hitched.

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"When we get home, you're gonna make it up to me for all the stress you've caused. Got it?"

"Is that really how you want to play this?"

"Oh, love, I think we're way past propriety at this point."

A shiver ran through her — one that made me almost smile. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips, could feel the way she melted into me despite herself. It almost made this whole mess worth it.

"Now then." I pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. "let's have some fun, shall we?"

─── ·✧· ───

So, here's the fun story about how I ended up playing beer pong with my arch-nemesis (besides Sukuna, that is) against my future lovely wife and some chemistry nerd who wouldn't shut up about covalent bonds. Not exactly the Saturday night I had in mind.

I mean, here I was, standing next to Naoya — yeah, the same guy whose face I'd rearranged a few months back — trying to aim at red plastic cups while you were absolutely wiping the floor with us. Turns out that whole '10 years of grief training in alcoholism over your dead father' wasn't just a cute phrase you threw around. Who would've thought?

But really, trying to out-drink an opioid addict? That's like challenging a fish to a swimming contest. Except the fish is in heavy withdrawal. So like, with no fin. Not my finest analogy. I blame the alcohol. What was my point again?

Anyway. Most annoying part? This chemistry department kid with these wide, bright eyes wouldn't stop talking to you about molecular structures. And you were actually entertaining him. At a party. About electron transfers. Of all the insufferable things.

"So if you consider the aromatic compounds—" he was saying, and I swear on my medical license, I didn't mean for the ball to hit him. And I definitely didn't mean for it to hit him that hard. Pure accident, really. 

The ball bounced off his shoulder, effectively shutting him up. They both turned to look at me. "Molecular restructuring in organic compounds? Really?" I shrugged. "At a party?"

She shot me that look. You know the one. The classic 'I-can't-believe-I'm-sleeping-with-this-idiot' glare. It's become quite familiar these days.

"Trouble in paradise?" Naoya said beside me, and I briefly considered rearranging his face again. For symmetry's sake, of course.

But then she bent over to pick up the ball, and suddenly organic chemistry was the furthest thing from my mind. I definitely shouldn't have let her leave the house in that skirt. Though knowing her, she probably wore it just to torture me. 

"Getting distracted, Professor?" she said, straightening up with that little smile that never fails to make me want to do wildly inappropriate things to her in very public places. She leaned across the table, deliberately tapping one of our cups with her finger, giving me her most innocent eyes. Because apparently, driving me insane was her new favorite pastime.

"Me?" I lifted the red cup she'd tapped to my lips, taking my sweet time with the drink, my eyes never leaving hers. "Never."

And somewhere in the haze of beer and the way she was looking at me, I tried to remember why the hell we were even here. Oh right—something about stealing keys. Real professional operation we've got going here. The medical board would be so proud. Their star surgeon, reduced to playing beer pong as a distraction tactic. 

Naoya's keys were right there on the table, practically screaming to be grabbed. But between her legs in that skirt and the way she kept biting her lip every time she lined up a shot, I found myself giving fewer and fewer shits about saving my career and more about how quickly I could get her alone. Priorities. I clearly had them. Alcohol might have scrambled them a bit, I guess.

I caught a glimpse of Suguru standing off to the side of the beer pong table. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting back and forth between me and her like he was watching the world's most stressful tennis match. I really owed him one for putting up with this shit.

Near the chemistry kid, a girl approached who looked a bit like Higurama's intern—though I wasn't entirely sure. She looked different, wearing makeup and dressed up. But that couldn't be her. She'd avoid places with flashing lights because of her epilepsy. I must be seeing things.

Then Naoya, because clearly this shitshow wasn't enough of a disaster already, decided to "level up the process." He snapped his fingers at a passing bartender, and before I could process what the fuck was happening, there was a tray of perfectly lined up tequila shots on the table. Complete with cinnamon and orange slices, because apparently, we're keeping it classy while trying to get my future wife drunk.

"New rule," Naoya announced, his scarred face pulling into what I can only assume was meant to be a grin. "Next shot I sink, you drink both. Beer and tequila."

I glanced over at her, my gut churning. Not from the alcohol—it'd take a hell of a lot more than this to get me there—but from the way she met Naoya's challenge with a nod. That stubborn tilt of her chin that always meant trouble. My palms started to sweat.

Of course, Naoya's ball dropped perfectly into her cup. Because the universe really does have a sick sense of humor.

Watching her reach for both drinks, I found myself wondering what the medical board would be more pissed about — me playing drinking games with students, screwing one of my students, or the fact that I was seriously considering murder. Again.

Then, by some physics-defying miracle or sheer dumb luck, the chemistry kid actually landed a shot. He looked as shocked as the rest of us when the ball plopped into Naoya's cup. But it was her next shot that really got my attention — perfect arc, clean landing, like she'd been doing this her whole damn life.

"Drink up, Professor," she said, but there was something different in her voice.

She reached for the tequila, and then—fuck me—propped one leg up on a nearby beer crate, the motion making her skirt ride up just enough to flash a strip of skin above her tights. Wait. Those weren't tights. Those were fucking stockings.

My brain short-circuited as I realized she'd been walking around all night in stockings. Actual stockings, with what I knew had to be a garter belt hidden under that criminally short skirt. The same spot where she was now deliberately sprinkling cinnamon.

The sight of that exposed sliver of skin between stocking and skirt made my blood boil. When the hell had she even bought those? Had she worn them just for tonight, knowing they'd make me lose my goddamn mind? Was she trying to get herself killed?

Because right now, watching her purposely dust cinnamon on that band of exposed skin, I wasn't sure if I wanted to murder her or fuck her. Probably both. My mouth went dry, and it had fuck-all to do with the alcohol.

"Well?" She tilted her head, all innocence except for that knowing look in her eyes. "Coming to get your tequila?" 

Like she had to ask twice. Yet I hesitated. With all these people watching? What was she playing at? It was reckless, careless, like she was deliberately trying to expose us. It was power play, a challenge. And I knew, that she knew, that I couldn't resist.

A slow smile spread across my face as I sank to one knee before her, the crowd fading into a blur of noise. All that mattered was her—the way her breath hitched as I gripped her calf, the way she tensed as she realized that I made a whole show for her (poor girl didn’t expect that now, did she?)—the feel of her skin on my tongue.

I took my sweet time with the cinnamon, letting my tongue glide over the exposed strip of flesh, feeling her shiver. My teeth grazed her skin, just enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips. If she wanted a show, I'd give her a show. And part of me wanted to shove that skirt higher, to chase that taste of salt and cinnamon further up her thigh until—

Focus. Fucking focus.

I straightened, stepping into her space. She held an orange slice in one hand, the shot glass in the other, and I couldn't help but notice how her pupils had blown wide, how her chest rose and fell just a little faster than normal.

I plucked the orange from her fingers with my teeth, my lips brushing her skin, then took the shot glass, using the movement to press closer, my mouth right by her ear, "What exactly is your plan here?"

"Create distraction," she breathed back.

God help me, but it was working. I was definitely distracted. Whole damn crowd was distracted. And watching her play this game—watching her play me—was probably the hottest and most infuriating thing I'd ever experienced. And I'm pretty sure everyone could see I was hard too.

"You're distracting the wrong audience," I whispered before knocking back the shot.

In the midst of trying to control my homicidal urges over those goddamn stockings, she caught my eye and subtly jerked her head. I turned, making it look like I was just checking something, and spotted them—Zenin, Okkotsu, and Inumaki hovering on the other side of the table behind Naoya, waiting for their chance. 

Right. The keys. The whole reason we were here. I almost forgot.

The game continued, the tension building with each shot. We were down to the last round — winner takes all. That's when she decided to really test my patience.

"Let's make this more interesting," she announced, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Losers jump in the pool." A pause, then because apparently she was hell-bent on giving me a coronary. "No clothes."

"You wouldn’t dare," Naoya scoffed.

"Try me," she replied. 

I shot her a warning look. She subtly chewed on her bottom lip, meeting my gaze with an unnerving calm, perhaps her way of saying everything's gonna be okay. It did little to ease the knot in my stomach.

One shot left. If she made this, Naoya and I would be stripping down for a midnight dip. If she missed—

I tried not to think about her in that pool. Tried not to think about those stockings getting soaked. Tried not to think about murdering every sorry bastard who might lay eyes on her. Either way, this woman was going to be the death of me. If I didn't kill her first.

Naoya landed his shot, fucking prick. I missed mine for obvious reasons. Chemistry kid missed too, leaving everything on her shoulders. The ball left her hand, arcing through the air in what felt like slow motion. It circled the rim, then rolled away.

The crowd went wild. Naoya's victory smirk made me want to punch his face in. I glanced over at her, wondering for a second if she'd missed on purpose. But there was no time for that.

"Well?" Naoya's voice. "I believe the losers owe us a show."

"The game wasn't exactly fair—" I started, but she cut me off.

"Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, Naoya?" She turned to him, her words sharp. "To see me undress without having to drug me first?"

The crowd went dead silent. Naoya's scarred face contorted into something ugly. "Watch your mouth, little girl. You're not as untouchable as you think."

"And you're pathetic," she spat back, then turned away from him. "At least I get to choose when I undress, right?”

She started walking toward the pool, each step deliberate, commanding. I followed, caught between pride and sheer terror at what she was about to do. At the edge, she turned back to me.

"Don't," I pleaded, but she was already reaching for the hem of her skirt. It fell, revealing the dark lace of her stockings. Then her top followed, and I stepped closer, trying to shield her from the leering eyes.

"This is insane." But my protest died as she stood there in only black lace, and then I saw them—the bruises from the fire still painted across her waist and ribs. Dark purple and yellow marks that hadn't yet faded, cruel reminder of how close I'd come to losing her.

The sight sobered me instantly. Something twisted in my chest, sharp and painful. The bruises I'd carefully tended to, the ones that still made her wince when I changed her bandages—on full display for this crowd of drunk idiots, turned into a spectacle.

"Please," I begged, my voice barely audible. "Don't do this."

She met my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I’d reached her. But then that smile—the one that sealed my fate—touched her lips. "Sorry, Professor," she whispered, and then she was gone, falling backward into the pool, taking a piece of me with her.

The splash echoed in my ears like a gunshot, and I was already shrugging off my jacket, ready to either dive in after her or use it to cover her when she surfaced. A cold, hard fury settled in my gut. Naoya was going to pay for this.

The crowd roared as she surfaced, her hair plastered to her face, water tracing the curves of her body beneath the soaked lace. Our eyes met across the distance, me standing at the pool's edge, and I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment. Something flickered across her face—regret maybe, or shame—before she looked away.

Hell broke loose. Bodies crashed into the water, sending waves across the pool. Even Naoya stripped off his shirt and dove in, reveling in the attention. The whole party seemed to shift to the pool in a matter of seconds — clothes flying, drinks splashing, the pristine water turning into a churning mess. 

Perfect distraction.

But I barely registered any of it, my world had narrowed to her. I watched as she climbed out, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the concrete, practically sprinting past me, her gaze fixed on the floor, while water dripped from her hair, her skin, the dark lace clinging to her form.

Behind her, the pool had turned into chaos — exactly what she'd planned, I realized. 

I gathered her clothes from where they'd fallen and followed her inside. I caught a glimpse of Okkotsu's quick movements near the discarded clothes by the pool. 

Well played.

─── ·✧· ───

Her dripping form drew curious eyes as we moved through the foyer. Each step felt like a penance—hers for the recklessness, mine for letting it happen. Heads turned, conversations died, the sudden silence punctuated only by the soft drip, drip, drip of water from her hair.

Kento’s face flashed past, but I barely registered him. No doubt he'd give me shit about it at the university later, like he didn't already know something was up with me and her.

I wrapped my jacket around her shivering shoulders, fighting the desperate urge to reach for the opioids hidden in my pocket. Withdrawal, guilt, and fury burned together in my veins, making me want to crawl out of my own skin. 

I stepped in front of her, partly to block all those eyes on her, partly to hide how bad my hands were shaking. None of it was worth it. Not the keys, not avoiding my parents, none of it. How did we end up here? How did I allow things to get to this point?

Upstairs, she dressed quickly, water still dripping from her hair, leaving damp patches on her clothes.

"Are you cold?" 

"I'm okay," she said, avoiding my gaze. 

She was shaking. I could see the goosebumps on her arms. "You're shivering," I said and reached for her, but she pulled away.

“I’m fine, really.”

Despite her words, I pulled her close. She didn't resist this time, tilting her face up to mine. Her eyes were bright, and for a second, I thought she might cry. The world could have been watching, for all I cared. If those tears fell, it would be my undoing.

And then I thought of everything she'd done, everything she'd had to do—for me. My twenty-four-year-old student, forced to protect me from my own damn parents, to beg for my own money. Because I’d hit a guy who tried to hurt her. Why was it all so fucked up?

The high was long gone, leaving this gaping hole. My limbs felt heavy, detached, like they belonged to a stranger, unable to reach out and fix what I’d broken. And we were so far from where we started.

"You're disappointed," she finally said. She wasn't asking.

"We should leave." Because I couldn't bear to watch her sacrifice one more piece of herself for me.

"You can leave."

Before I could say anything back, Zenin came bursting into our corner, Okkotsu and Inumaki right behind her, her eyes all lit up. "That was fucking insane!" she yelled, waving something around—Naoya's keys. "But it worked! I can't believe it actually—" She stopped short, finally noticing the tension between us.

The win felt empty. Yeah, we got what we came for. But what did it cost? Looking at her, still shivering a little in my jacket, I wasn't so sure it was worth it. I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I just kept watching her throw herself in the fire for me. 

Some professor I was. Some man I was.

Strange how winning can feel so much like losing, especially when you realize you're not the one paying the price.

─── ·✧· ───

I stayed outside Naoya's room, playing lookout. At least that's what I told them. Truth was, I couldn't stand being in there, couldn't bear being near her, watching her fight my battles while I was barely holding myself together.

The itch under my skin had spread, making my whole body crawl with invisible insects while she did the dirty work. Even after everything, she was still trying to save me. 

And I was still letting her.

I slid down the wall, my head hitting the floor. How did we end up here? What the fuck were we doing? What the fuck was I doing?

I'm thirty-five years old, for fuck's sake. Why was I acting like a goddamn teenager? I should've stopped her, shouldn't have let her leave the house to begin with, should've been the adult. But instead, I let it happen, standing by and watching where it led. Again.

This whole situation was insane. We were in too deep, and I knew it. But I couldn't seem to find my way out, couldn't seem to stop this trainwreck we were on. It was like I was watching it all happen from outside my own body, powerless to change course.

What kind of man was I? What kind of professor? I was supposed to be her mentor, her… something more. Instead, I was dragging her down with me.

I thought back to that night, the one that started it all. The night I found her in the lab, working late, hunched over her microscope. She looked up at me with those eyes, those damn eyes that seemed to see right through me. And I was lost. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should have walked away. But I didn't. I couldn't. Drawn in. Consumed.

And now, here we were. Trapped in this fucked-up situation of our own making. I wanted to blame her, to say it was all her fault for being so reckless, so damn stubborn. But I knew that wasn't true. I let this happen. I didn’t stop it. But why? 

I could replay the events in my mind, frame by frame, but the crucial moment, the point where I should have intervened, remained a blur. It was as if some part of me had wanted to see where this ended.

Music still drifted up from downstairs, the bass thumping through the walls. It felt wrong, out of place. Like we were in a different world, a fucked-up one, while everyone else was living their normal, happy lives.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, trying to pretend, just for a moment, that this wasn't happening. That we weren't here. That everything was okay. But it was happening. And I was in it, and I knew I couldn't hold my breath much longer.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Kept seeing things in the corners of my vision. Shadows that shouldn't move but did, faces that weren't faces at all. The wallpaper breathed. In and out. In and out. Like a lung.

Stop it. Just stop all of it. Make it stop. But it won't stop, can't stop, because she's in there right now, digging through his things, trying to save me save me save me why won't she just stop trying to save me?

Everything felt wrong, sick, twisted. Too bright and too dark all at once. My skin didn't fit right anymore. Nothing fit right anymore. God, I needed a goddamn fix.

A cough. I pressed my hand against my mouth. When I pulled it away, my palm was red. 

Huh. That's new. 

I stared at the blood, watching it pool in the lines of my hand. It looked wrong somehow, too dark, too thick. The longer I stared, the more it seemed to move strangely, crawling along the creases of my palm.

Was blood supposed to move like that? Like it was alive? Like it was trying to tell me something? I couldn't remember anymore. I couldn't remember a lot of things lately. The blood kept moving, kept spreading. 

Maybe this was it—maybe I was finally losing whatever scraps of sanity I had left, sitting here on a dirty floor watching my own blood drip down my palm.

A part of me wondered if he'd been right all along, that I was becoming him, the very thing I’d always feared. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be better, different. Not this—huddled on a filthy floor at a college party, watching my blood move as if in psychosis, while she risked everything for me. Again. 

The door handle turned. Shit. I wiped my palm against the dark carpet, smearing the blood into the fibers where it vanished like it was never there. I scrambled to my feet just as they emerged. She moved quickly, shoving something beneath the waistband of her skirt. Before I could speak, she grabbed my arm.

"Let's leave." There was something like panic in her voice. "I'll tell you outside."

I gripped her hand, my own pulse quickening, and we went downstairs and pushed through the mass of drunk students. But then the music cut abruptly, plunging us into a moment of strange silence before panicked voices filled the void. 

"What the hell—?" Okkotsu’s shout cut through the din from behind us.

Then I saw the flashing lights—red and blue strobing through the windows. Fuck. 

"Cops!" Someone shouted, and the whole house erupted into chaos as people scrambled in every direction.

"Everyone freeze!" A voice boomed through the foyer. "Nobody moves!"

We reached the entrance as two officers shouldered their way through the front door. The bigger one looked like he benched trucks for fun, taking up almost the entire doorframe as he planted himself there.

"Listen up!" he bellowed, one meaty hand resting on his belt. "Party's over. Nobody leaves until we check IDs."

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I felt her tense beside me, those things hidden in her waistband might as well have been burning her skin. I could practically feel her panic.

"Look, officers." I stepped forward, forcing my voice into something professional. "There seems to be some confusion—"

"No confusion here," Truck-Bencher cut me off, the scar on his lip twisting as he frowned. "Got noise complaints, reports of underage drinking. Everyone stays put."

"I'm faculty at the university. These are my students and they're all over twenty-one. You're wasting everyone's time—"

"Nobody leaves until we say so."

"You really want to process IDs for over two hundred students?"

"You telling me how to do my job?" He shifted closer, chest puffed out despite me having two inches on him.

Withdrawal crawled beneath my skin like insects, each bite feeding the rage that built vertebra by vertebra up my spine. "Depends. Are you actually doing it, or just power tripping?"

"Back the fuck up." His hand dropped to his belt. "Last chance."

I felt her fingers digging into my arm, trying to pull me back. But the rage was a living thing now, burning away anything resembling sense or restraint. "Or what?"

The punch came fast. I dropped, and heard the sickening crack of bone against flesh—not mine. Some poor student next to me. For a heartbeat, everything stopped. Then chaos.

Bodies everywhere. Screaming. Shoving. Radio static cutting through the roar. Her hand in mine as we pushed through the surge. Her friends somewhere behind. Everything blurred. I can't remember when she let go of my hand.

I just remember the scream. Different from the others. Then her voice, "Get her on the ground!" I shoved through the mass of bodies. Saw the girl on the floor. Ice flooded my veins.

I knew that face. Higurama's intern. My patient. My responsibility.

I dropped beside her, my hands shaking so violently I could barely feel them. Her eyes rolled back. Withdrawal made everything too sharp, too bright. I couldn't think. Couldn't—

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. It was her voice. Fingers gripped my arm. "Satoru, look at me." I met her eyes. Steady. Unnerving. "Focus."

Everything snapped back into place. My phone was in my hand before I realized I'd moved. "This is Dr. Gojo from Jujutsu Medical. Twenty-six-year-old female, epileptic, pre-seizure presentation. We need immediate assistance."

My voice was mechanical, professional. Inside, my mind screamed. Why was she here? Had she been drinking? Were her meds interacting with something? I should know this. Should be better than this. Should be fucking better. 

Nausea rose in my throat and I'd never felt more like a failure in my entire fucking life.

Behind us, the fight continued to rage. A man’s voice bellowed, trying to restore order. Then Suguru was there, kneeling beside her, his hands gentle as he cradled her head. He murmured something, soft and low. The tenderness in his movements caught me off guard. 

"The ambulance is taking too long." His voice cut through everything. Before I could process it, he had her in his arms, head protected against his chest and moved.

─── ·✧· ───

I can't remember how we got to the hospital.

Everything blurred into fragments. Flashing lights, squealing tires, the weight of everything crushing my chest. Each breath scraped like broken glass. My hands wouldn't stop shaking until I swallowed three pills. Maybe four. I lost count.

The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too harsh, making my skull feel like it was splitting open. I wanted to crack my head against the wall.

Some part of me was still moving, still speaking in that detached doctor voice — rattling off medical history, medications, possible interactions. Years of training overriding the screaming in my head. But they never trained us for this.

Never trained us for how guilt tastes like acid in your throat while watching your mistakes breathe shallowly on starched white sheets.

They taught us to make clean incisions, to suture arteries, to restart hearts. But not how your own heart would seize when you recognize the face on the floor. Not how your girlfriend’s hands would be steadier than your own worthless trembling ones as you fumbled for your phone, your throat closing around the words "this is my fault", "please" and "I'm sorry."

Didn’t prepare us for withdrawal turning your hands into treacherous strangers while someone seized at your feet. For the shame that festers in your gut as you come down, struggling to remember basic fucking dosages through the need scorching through your veins.

They never warned us how love would carve you open worse than any scalpel, making you both butcher and victim, instrument and incision. Never warned us about loving someone while you’re falling apart. How it feels like drowning in open air, your chest cracked wide and your beating heart wrenched out into daylight, desperate and terrified and somehow still pumping, still fighting, still so fucking afraid.

Higurama's intern lay still now, the steady drip of the IV marking time like a metronome in the silence. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, my mind replaying the medications, the dosages, searching for the mistake I must have made. There had to be one. There was always one.

Perhaps he was right about me after all. Funny how even now, even here, I could still hear his voice so clearly.

"You okay?"

She sat across from me, swallowed by my spare clothes—an old t-shirt and sweatpants that draped loosely on her frame, a blanket draped over her legs. Anything was better than those clothes from before, those fucking stockings I'd personally thrown in the trash.

"Satoru?" she tried again. "You okay?"

I couldn't bring myself to answer.

"Talk me through her meds again," she said, resting her head in her palm. Her eyes, piercing and unwavering, never left my face as she waited.

I rubbed my temples, trying to focus through the exhaustion. "Standard anticonvulsants. Levetiracetam, 500mg twice daily. Added phenytoin after the first seizure." I fell back into my chair, scrubbing my hand over my face. "She couldn't tolerate the Levetiracetam, so I switched to Topiramate, 500mg thrice daily."

She was quiet for a moment. "Side effects?"

"Minor. Tremor in her extremities sometimes, but nothing she couldn't handle. It was working." I paused. "It was supposed to be working."

"EEG results?"

"Showed mild abnormalities. Nothing that would explain a seizure this severe." I scrubbed at my face again, harder this time. "I should have seen it. Should have caught something."

"Satoru." Her voice held that gentle firmness I knew so well. "You did everything right."

"Then why did she seize?" I stood abruptly, the chair screeching against linoleum. I turned away, unable to bear her gentle gaze. Outside, dawn was breaking in shades of grey. No color, no warmth, just an endless stretch of concrete and clouded sky bleeding into each other. "If I did everything right, why is she lying here?"

"Because sometimes that's just how it goes. You know this better than anyone," she said. "Medicine isn't perfect. Neither are we."

My reflection stared back at me, ghostly and distorted in the glass. Dark circles, stubble, hair a fucking mess. A doctor coming down from a high while his patient lay in a hospital bed.

"I should have increased the dosage earlier. Run more tests. I should have—"

"Seen the future?"

"I should have been better."

"You are already the best," she said, but it felt like a lie to me. "But even the best can't control everything."

Higurama's intern stirred slightly in her sleep, and we both fell silent, the moment stretching taut between us. I dragged myself back to the chair, sinking down with my face in my hands.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she whispered, leaning forward to brush a stray strand of hair from the girl's forehead. "Sometimes life just happens, and all we can do is be there to pick up the pieces."

I wanted to believe her. God, how I wanted to. But the truth sat like stones in my stomach.

"I hate this," I whispered.

"I know."

Silence.

"Do you blame yourself?" she asked quietly.

"How can I not?"

Because it's stupid, you know this. I could feel them in my bones, the words forming on her lips before she could speak them. "How did that ever change anything?" I said before she could start.

She leaned back, the chair creaking slightly. "Do you think we are terrible people?" she asked, her voice so soft I almost missed it.

I turned to look at her then, really look at her. Even exhausted and worried, wearing my old clothes, she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Like a drug I couldn't quit, a high I'd chase until it killed me. 

And what did that say about either of us? That I wanted to crack her open, crawl inside her skin and nestle myself in her marrow? Wanted to consume her, devour her, until there was nothing left but the two of us, fused together in the most depraved way possible?

It was as if we were always meant to find each other. But it was a penance, for both of us.

"I think I am what I am because of you," I finally said.

And it was the truth. She'd molded me, shaped me, just as I'd shaped her. We'd ruined each other for anyone else, stripped away the innocence and left only the filth and grit behind.

Her hand fell from her face, her eyes meeting mine. "And I am what I am because of you."

"Does that scare you?"

"I think one gets used to it."

"Yeah," I said finally, my voice rough. "I guess you do get used to it. Until you don't."

She frowned, but before she could voice something, Suguru stepped inside. 

He said we should leave, and maybe that was for the better anyway, though I couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was an edge to his voice. Anger, perhaps. But I couldn't blame him. Not really.

I grabbed her things, my hand finding its familiar place at the small of her back as we headed for the door. Suguru's voice followed us down the corridor. "What did you find in Zenin's room anyway?" he asked, as if it were something to be discussed in the doorway.

I walked ahead.

I didn't need to hear again about the unconscious women on the Polaroids. 

─── ·✧· ───

Too quiet.

He was never this quiet.

"How bad is it?" I asked, perched on the edge of the exam bed where the paper sheet betrayed every nervous shift of my weight with stupid crinkles. Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the linoleum floor.

I'd coughed up blood again earlier this morning. More than last night. The metallic taste had filled my mouth before I even opened my eyes. I'd stumbled to the bathroom, careful not to wake her—she needed the rest after we spent the whole damn night at the police station.

I stared at the red running down the drain. Way more than there should be. I'd blamed it on stress and alcohol last time. But now? It meant my liver was probably failing faster than I'd thought. Coagulation system breaking down, blood vessels becoming fragile. Textbook end-stage.

I called him then. He was still at the hospital, had slept there while looking after Higurama's intern. His face had gone pale when he saw me walk in. Guess I looked as bad as I felt.

We ran tests. All of them. Blood work, chest X-rays, the works. And now here we are. I watched him reading what I assumed was my death sentence, waiting for him to finally look up, while the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds.

But he kept his eyes fixed on the test results, holding himself with the careful rigidity of someone handling explosives. Another bad sign.

"Suguru."

He exhaled slowly, finally meeting my gaze with eyes that said everything before his mouth could form the words. "You should have started treatment sooner. We talked about this months ago."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I tried to wave off his concern. "What do the results say?"

His fingers tightened on the papers until the corners creased. "Your liver enzymes are through the roof. AST over 1000, ALT even higher. Bilirubin's climbing while albumin's dropping. Your PT/INR values—" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. Not just damaged anymore—failing."

I let the clinical terms wash over me. The doctor in me understood the implications perfectly. The addict in me wanted to laugh at the irony.

"Well," I said, forcing lightness into my tone, "guess I should have listened to you sooner, huh?"

Suguru's expression hardened. "This isn't a joke. Without immediate intervention—" He caught himself, but I could read the rest in his eyes as clearly as any lab report.

Without immediate intervention, I was dying. Fitting, really. That my body would choose to betray me just when I'd finally found something worth living for.

"How's the withdrawal going?" Suguru asked, setting down the test results.

"Managing." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how even that simple movement felt like too much effort. "Reduced the hydromorphone gradually. Down to about 5mg now."

"Satoru." His voice carried that familiar note of frustration, the one I'd heard a thousand times before. "You need to stop completely. Not reduce—stop. Your liver can't handle any more strain."

"I'm trying," I snapped, then immediately regretted the harshness. "Sorry. I know you're trying to help."

Suguru pulled up a chair, sitting down with a heavy sigh. "We need to start treatment immediately. The protocol won't be pleasant—high-dose corticosteroids, immunosuppressants, possibly plasmapheresis if things get worse."

"Sounds fun."

"It'll be brutal," he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "The side effects alone—you'll need to be monitored constantly. Multiple blood draws daily, frequent imaging. And absolutely no narcotics—your liver won't survive it."

I absorbed this, the clinical reality of what lay ahead settling into my bones. "So basically, I get to feel like shit while you stick me with needles and watch me suffer."

"That's about right. But it's either that or start planning your funeral."

"At least you're honest." I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll admit you tonight, get you set up in a private room," Suguru said, already reaching for admission forms.

"Monday morning."

He looked up sharply. "What?"

"I have a family dinner on Sunday," I shrugged. "Can't skip it."

"Are you insane?" Suguru's voice rose to fill the small room. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. This isn't something you can postpone for a damn dinner party."

"Monday morning," I repeated firmly. "I gave my word I'd be there."

"Your word won't mean much if you're dead."

"I can manage two more days."

"No, you can't." Suguru slammed the test results down with enough force to make me flinch. Since when is he always so fucking tense? "Your numbers are critical. Every hour we delay treatment increases the risk of complete liver failure."

"Monday."

"For fuck's sake, Satoru—"

"I said Monday. I need to do this, Suguru. Please."

He stared at me for a long moment, jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. Finally, his shoulders slumped.

"Fine. Monday morning, first thing. But if you show any signs of deterioration—any at all—I'm admitting you immediately. And no alcohol at that dinner. Not a single drop."

"Deal."

"I mean it, Satoru."

"I know," I said, trying to inject some levity into the heavy atmosphere. "You can do all sorts of things to me on Monday. Not like I have much on my schedule anyway."

"So Yaga has exempted you?"

"Temporarily relieved of my teaching duties until further notice." I tried to keep my voice light, but the words still choked me. "Apparently, licking your student's leg in public view isn't considered acceptable behavior. Who knew?"

"Everyone would have known that."

"Most people were too drunk to remember anyway, or too busy dealing with the police raid afterwards to care." I shrugged. "Silver lining?"

"This isn't funny. Do you have any idea how serious this is? Your career—"

"My career?" I almost laughed. "In case you missed the memo, my liver's failing. I think my career concerns just got bumped down the priority list."

Suguru fell silent.

"Besides," I added, "maybe it's for the best. Can't exactly teach while going through treatment, can I?"

"Yaga doesn't know about your condition?"

"No, and he's not going to. As far as he's concerned, I'm just taking some time to... reassess my professional boundaries."

"And when he asks why you're not fighting this?"

I sighed. "Let him think what he wants. I've got bigger problems right now."

"Like a family dinner you're insisting on attending despite being on death's door?"

"Exactly." I flashed him a grin, this one a little more genuine despite everything. "See? You're getting it."

"You're impossible."

"That's why you love me."

"That's why I'm going to enjoy sticking you with needles on Monday."

"Kinky."

His expression sobered, eyes searching my face. "You should tell her."

The mere mention of her sent a knife twisting in my gut. "No."

"Satoru—"

"I said no. She has enough to deal with right now. This stays between us."

Suguru shook his head but didn't argue further. He knew me too well to waste his breath.

"I will," I added softly, more to convince myself than him. "When I'm a bit better."

"This will kill her."

"I know."

Silence.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed. "For being an asshole. For everything. And... thanks for coming to the party with me."

"You already apologized."

"I mean it." I met his gaze. "You've always been there, even when I didn't deserve it."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of the friendship we'd shared before everything got so complicated. Before I'd dragged us both into this mess.

"Just don't die on me," he said. "I've invested too much time in keeping your stupid ass alive."

I pushed off the bed, steadying myself against the sudden dizziness that threatened to knock me over. "See you Monday."

"You're a stubborn idiot," he called after me. I didn't disagree. 

I stopped at the door, turning back. "Hey, what's going on between you and Higurama's intern anyway?"

Suguru stiffened slightly. "Nothing. Just concerned since she's my patient now too."

I studied him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze shifted slightly left—his tell when he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Sure," I said, too exhausted to push it further. "See you Monday."

As I walked away, I wondered if he knew how obvious he was. Then again, who was I to judge? I was hardly an expert at handling matters of the heart.

─── ·✧· ───

I paused outside our apartment door, my hand trembling on the handle. Withdrawal clawed through me, a living thing twisting my gut. Each breath was a struggle, my lungs constricting as if they'd forgotten their purpose. Just breathe, idiot. In, out. You're almost there.

Relief flooded through me the moment I opened the door. Her shoes were there, neatly arranged next to my scattered ones. Her coat on the hook. She was home.

Strange how that simple fact could lift the weight crushing my chest, made breathing a fraction less painful. No matter how bad things were, coming home to her felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long.

Dog bounded up to greet me, tail whipping back and forth, before darting off toward the bedroom. Smart boy knew exactly where to find her. I kicked off my shoes, let my jacket fall where it would, and followed.

She was there, sprawled across our bed in a sea of papers, bathed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. The sight of her stole what little breath I had left. Hair messily pulled back, drowning in one of my old t-shirts, completely lost in whatever she was reading. Beautiful. It was a beauty that made my heart ache.

Without a word, I crawled onto the bed, dragging myself up until I could rest my head on her stomach. I paused, remembering the bruises on her midsection. But before I could pull back, she gently tugged me closer and I surrendered, resting my head against her warmth. 

I wrapped my arms around her waist and her fingers found my hair instantly, like they belonged there, gentle strokes that made my eyes flutter closed and I thought, this was home. This was peace. Even as my body screamed for relief, even as guilt gnawed at me, here with her, I could almost believe everything would be okay.

"What are you reading?" I mumbled against her shirt, already knowing the answer. Why did she still throw herself into this project? Did it even matter anymore? But I already knew that answer too. Distraction.

"Research papers. For our project." Her fingers never stopped their magic. "Everything okay at the hospital?" I wondered for a second how she knew where I went, but then she said, "Antiseptic smell."

Did I always smell like that? Like the harsh, sterile scent of the hospital? I hated it. Hated how it seemed to cling to my skin no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands raw. Hated the way it reminded me of sickness and death.

I hugged her tighter, breathing in her familiar scent as that was so unlike the clinical smell of the hospital as I crafted the lie. Yeah, everything's fine, I told her. Had to check on something with a patient. Normal stuff, nothing to worry about. Standard procedure.

But even as I spoke, the guilt in my stomach twisted. The truth was, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep going like this. I could feel myself slipping, losing my grip on the things that mattered most and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd even make it to the end.

If I'd be there to witness the results of our research, to stand by her side as we perhaps do something great. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the intrusive thoughts, focusing on the feel of her beneath me, the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Her fingers paused momentarily in my hair, and I knew she sensed something off. She always could read me too well. But then she resumed the gentle stroking.

"You'd tell me if something's wrong, right?"

"Of course," I whispered, another lie to add to the growing pile.

I tightened my arms around her waist, as if by holding her close enough, I could somehow make up for my betrayal. As if loving her fiercely enough could somehow balance out the pain I was about to cause her. Monday felt both too far away and not nearly far enough.

Desperate for a distraction, I asked about how it went at the police station. She said it was fine, her friends were with her as they'd needed to clarify their statements, she explained, her fingers still weaving through my hair. Everything had been too hazy right after the party.

She mentioned they needed me to verify my own statement again too. I bit back the urge to say that they'd likely have to come to my hospital bed for that. Instead, I just hummed in response. Whatever it took to make that little shit pay for what he'd done.

"He won't hurt anyone else," she added. "We'll make sure of it."

Something about her struck me as odd. How could she be so unaffected by everything that had happened? Like we didn’t just discover that Zenin Naoya was—

"You're so calm about it." 

"And what would you have me do?"

I didn’t know. Maybe I should be grateful that at least one of us could keep it together. 

I turned my head, pressing a kiss to her palm. I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her, how sorry I was for dragging her into this mess, how I feared the rumors that would follow her through university halls. How fucking terrified I was. How much I loved her. But it all just crowded in my throat, tangled with all the other truths I couldn't voice.

Instead, I just held her tighter. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For what?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Or lie again. I clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping me from falling apart, pressing my face into her stomach, trying to blur myself into her very being. "Satoru,” she winced, a small sound escaping her lips. "You're hurting me."

"Please," I pleaded, tears pricking at my eyes. “Just… bear it for a moment. Please.” But then, a sudden tickle rose in my throat, and I sat up abruptly, he movement sending the room spinning.

"You okay?" she asked, sitting up as well, her hand cradling her side.

"Yeah," I managed, before another cough clawed its way out. I stood, turning away from her, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. When I pulled it away, blood glistened on my palm.

"Satoru? You sure you're okay?"

"Everything's fine." I curled my fingers into a fist, watching red seep between my knuckles. "Just need some water."

I should call him again. Should probably head to the hospital right now. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to seek help, to stop this madness before it was too late. 

But Sunday's dinner loomed in my mind. One last chance to fix things with her, to make things right before everything inevitably crumbled around us. Just two more days. I just needed to hold on for two more days and then I could let the chips fall where they may.

Even as blood painted the back of my throat red, I clung to that desperate hope, that foolish notion that I could make this right. I knew I was being stupid. Reckless. Playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. 

But then again, what did it matter anyway?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — welcome back, i hope this wasn't too intense, even tho i went through all stages of grief writing this chapter, but i'm quite happy with how it turned out. hope you all survived seeing things through satoru's eyes once more. writing from his perspective is always both challenging and thrilling in some strange way.

quick note, as this is somehow not obvious to some people: i understand that this story deals with controversial topics and might not be everyone’s cup of tea but this is purely fictional work, and i'm just here to enjoy a stupid little hobby. i am not looking for criticism. if the story makes you uncomfortable, feel free to block me and move on.

for those following the spin-off: yes, this chapter runs parallel to remedies and reasons chapter 04 ! if you want to see how certain events played out from a different angle, definitely check out the suguru spin-off.

and i want to thank you all for your incredible support. your comments, messages, and theories continue to blow me away. seeing how deeply you connect with this story and catch all the little details i sprinkle throughout brings me so much joy. your thoughtful analyses and wild speculations make writing this stupid story so much fun !! :''))

also a massive thank you to @/nanamis-baker who beta reads all these chaotic chapters, listens to my rambling about plot points, and talks me down whenever i'm convinced everything i write is terrible <3

& second quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.

next chapter we'll be back to our regular pov as we deal with the aftermath of... well, all of this. until then, take care of yourselves ! and as always, thank you for joining me on this chaotic journey and being patient with my slow updates <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

tags — @browrm @panteramarron @starlightanyaaa

@myahfig4 @rosebluod @bloopsstuff @depressedemosantaclaus @nanamis-baker

@tofumiao @shoruio @s3vtrue @rosso-seta @bnha-free-writing

@chiyokoemilia @bonequinhagojo @janbannan @mikkmmmii @yeiena

@coeqi @faustina @glenkiller338 @yenmrtnz @buni-bunnydoll

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[itsalwayslearning]

One thousand years. That was how long they said it had been since anyone had written about these sunken halls of igneous rock, hidden deep underground. The historian who had ventured here alone didn't expect to find anything much; just something - anything that could provide them the building blocks to help them uncover the secrets of the past. If they'd found nothing but the halls, that would have been fine. If they'd found some artefacts or records, as aged as they may be, that would be great. However, in the deepest room, walls of obsidian reflecting their torch light back as a shadow of itself, the historian found something far greater. They found a lingering soul.

A thousand years since anyone alive had been here. More, and you would have the day I first stepped foot in these halls, bound already by fate to remain for eternity. They asked me, so earnestly, what was the world like when I was alive? With eyes as innocent yet as seeking as a child, they pleaded with nothing much to offer except their limited experience. Knowledge of a way in. And out.

Over a thousand years ago, Destruction reigned. He had done so for centuries before, since the first tear in the sky appeared. We thought he would rule for centuries more until the sun faded to nothingness. Back in a time when soldiers were more plentiful than civilians, generals rode roughshod over fertile land, churning them into battlefields. Reasons for battles fell into distant memory, laid to rest with the bones who fell for a cause they once believed was righteous. Regardless, it became war for War's sake. Those who fell did not enrich the land, but were swallowed by it. Twisted and mangled, the land leeched the life from them, the very life they stole from it with blades and axes. Neither ended up more alive than the other.

Mages grasped and strangled the Radiance, the light of the world, and bent it to their will. With the excuse of "the pursuit of knowledge," they broke the light inside each other until only Dark remained. Arcane pursuit excused all manner of atrocities, rendered useless when no one was left amongst the ashes to make use of their knowledge; only onlookers who either feared Light more, or those whose curiosity would inevitably bring their own end.

Magic wielders were not the only ones overcome with Greed. As common folk starved and the idea of nothing grew closer, they scrambled and scratched and pinched and stole. Anything to avoid the idea of nothing, despite the fact they took from their fellows who would succumb to the very thing they feared. In that time, it did not matter. As long as One had something, there was no room for concern if others had nothing.

Power did not satisfy, no matter how much the people indulged. Always eating, never full. Always taking, never full. Always discovering, never learning. In a world made by Creation, Her ideals would would be her undoing.

Boundless creation was a problem that had always existed. A neverending tide approaching with more people, more problems, more suffering than a single world should take. In shame, She stepped away, leaving Destruction to right the balance, unaware it was the part of Her that was Him, the inevitable end to Creation, which set the events in motion. It was the part of Him that was Her, the little Creation he harboured, that kept the world suffering.

He had ruled for centuries. We believed he would rule for centuries more. From the state of the historian, I could tell it did not last. Hopeful. Horrified by the past, its acts so distant. There was something that gave them hope. "What about the gods?" They asked. "They couldn't have just stood by. They wouldn't."

They didn't, I reassured them. In the earliest of days, when souls were young and innocent, there were The Children. Kissed by Creation, they did not die. They did not falter in their ideals when faced with mortal dangers. That all changed with the Rise of Destruction. Facing their own corruption was Joy, Justice, Nature, and Knowledge. When He first rose into power, they tried to fight it. Joy brought Light where they could, standing by Justice's side to illuminate the righteous path. When She Who Knows fled, it all began to fall. The roots deep in the earth had already rotted, tainted by His touch. With a world harsh and unforgiving, there was no home for Joy. With a word and a curse, they were lost. As Justice lost his illumination, his targets became unclear. No colour, only black and white. There was still darkness to be culled, anything darker than the blinding light.

There were others, thought to be saviours as first. They stepped in, granted a Radiant aura people had only seen in the blessings from above. As above, so below, as the saying goes. Whether in plain sight or in the shadows, they were always here. They always would be, in one form or another.

Something to bring the young soul before me hope: there was always an end to Destruction. It was inevitable. Corruption would end or heal, fallen seas would rise again. The gods people knew became devoted to the good they craved to see. Gathered again, ideals one and the same, they turned their focus to the centre of our continent, where His throne stood tall as the day the magma spewed from the earth. Weapons drawn, Radiance gathered, the fight of generations followed.

The historian said they knew what happened next. Destruction fell but at a cost. In his fury, Justice was poised to strike the Elder God down in the name of his ideal, forgetting about his own safety. It would be his downfall. It was the sight of her Child being struck down that spurred Creation into action. A Light so bright, so strong, it drove Her counterpart deep within his own throne, smothered by the molten rock that spewed from its peak. As the heat fled with Her leaving, the dust cleared. Destruction was gone.

I had enlightened the historian. I held up my end of the deal. As they settled, trying to commit everything to memory, they relaxed. Occupied. Unaware.

I was not blessed with a kiss from Creation. I did not exude Radiance like Her Children, but I had been granted a gift. True insight into others minds, and how they turn. How they can be turned. The inevitable and the impossible were laid plain before me, the strings of fate to be pulled by me alone. The historian never asked how I came to be down here. I told them it was a sentence, in truth, but not entirely metaphorical. After all, who would They be if the Killer of Justice did not face God-made consequences? It was humorously mortal of them to seek revenge against the one who turned and corrupted them, too. It was the godly part of them that decided my fate, sealed by the seat of My Lord.

I had waited, knowing the day would come. People would forget their past. I would not. Through the centuries of servitude and the millennium of confinement, I held one thought. One faith. Things must end before they begin again. My time here must end, and I will raise Destruction, the natural balance to the world. The historian promised me a way out. I've waited a long while already, so I can wait a little longer, hidden in the back of my puppet's mind as I feel the sunlight on my face once again.

You have been imprisoned for so long that you have completely lost track of time. You are not even sure whether those who imprisoned you are still alive. When finally someone came to check on you they were surprised to find you, claiming that the dungeon has been unused for centuries.

[yxngbxkkie]

just a fight (b.c)

hello!! it's been an extremely long time since i've posted any fics on here (or written them)! but i finally got the inspiration to write one for our lovely chris 🤭 i saw a tik tok from the new album intro and came up with this idea. i hope you all like it 🥰

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

It's about the fourth time in an hour that Chris has checked his phone, the frown on his lips staying there as there's still no texts from you. He releases a sigh before attempting to refocus on the task at hand; recording.

The two of you have been in an argument for the past two days. Longest time the two of you have spent angry at one another. You didn't argue often, so Chris is becoming a bit panicked when you don't text him on the third day.

“Hyung,” Changbin's voice snaps Chris from his thoughts, turning in his chair to face the younger member. “Is everything okay? I've never seen you this spaced out.”

Chris provides a fake smile, going to reassure him that everything is okay when his phone vibrates. He picks it up immediately, his heart dropping a bit when it's not you. He swipes away the notification without any thought, not really in the mood to converse with anyone.

“I'm okay, I guess,” he mumbles, setting his phone back on the desk. “Uhm, Y/N and I had an argument three days ago and…” Chris trails off, biting his lip to stop himself from crying.

“Have you tried calling?” Changbin asks, motioning for the other staff to give them a minute alone.

Chris blankly stares at the computer screen, moving the mouse around idly. “I get sent to voicemail,” he tells Changbin, not moving his gaze once.

“I'll try calling. This can't go on any longer. You can't work like this,” Changbin sighs, standing up from the couch. The younger member pulls his phone out of his pocket, finding your contact before calling your number.

Chris can hear the phone ringing, his heart beginning to beat a million miles a minute in his chest.

“Bin?” Your voice comes through the receiver, causing Chris to gasp lightly. He finally looks over towards Changbin, seeing him hold his phone out.

Take the phone. He motions, holding the device out to him. Chris hesitantly takes the phone as you continue to call out for Changbin.

“Y/N?” Chris calls out your name just after Changbin leaves the studio. He can hear your breath hitch at the sound of his voice, and he begins to think you might hang up. “B-Before you hang up… can we talk? Please?”

Silence fills the space as he waits for your reply. He swallows the lump in his throat, wondering if he's fucked up one of the good things in his hectic life.

“I'm really sorry, y'know? I've always had the habit of keeping shit to myself. You can ask the guys,” he starts to apologize, staring at your contact name. “I was doing really well on keeping you in tabs of everything, but these past few weeks have been pretty stressful. And, I know that's not a great excuse, but being cooped up in the studio hours on end has brought me back to my old ways. I should've told you what's been going on, but I promise, if you don't leave me that I'll change. I don't want to lose you.”

His heart is in his throat as he waits for you to say something, anything. When he hears you start to cry, his first instinct is for him to run to your apartment. “Baby–”

“How are you so perfect?” You whisper loud enough for him to hear. You sniffle and clear your throat before speaking again. “I should be so mad at you, Chris. But, you– you make it impossible to stay mad.”

“I'm sorry?” He mumbles, furrowing his brows in confusion.

A chuckle comes from your end, and his heart skips a beat. “It's okay. Uhm, are you busy? Is it okay if I come to you, or,” You offer to meet up, making Chris's heart race.

“Y-Yeah, no, yeah, you can come by. I'll let the front desk know. Text me when you get here?” He asks, a smile coming to his lips for the first time in three days.

“Of course, handsome. I'll see you soon, okay?” You reassure him.

~

You're nervous as you walk into the JYP building. You know everything's going to turn out okay, but for some reason, the nausea is still there. The receptionist clears you through, and you step into the elevator. After pressing the button for the floor Chris is on, you decided to take some deep breaths.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, seeing a single heart emoji text from Chris. Your heart flutters in your chest, beginning to believe that everything will be alright. The door to the elevator opens up, and you step out, walking in the familiar direction of the studio they're using.

When you round the corner to go down the slim hallway, you find Chris standing at the studio door. You stop in place, meeting his dark eyes. The first thing you notice is the bags under his eyes. A frown comes to your lips at how exhausted he looks.

“Baby,” you mumble and start walking towards him.

“You look good,” Chris smiles at you, his eyes a little glossy. “I missed you so much.”

Both of you wrap your arms around one another, embracing tightly. You tightly grip the shirt he's wearing as he takes in the scent of your perfume.

“I missed you, too, baby,” you sigh, combing your fingers through his hair with your free hand.

Chris holds on to you as if you'll disappear once he lets go. He moves both of you into the studio before shutting the door, giving you some privacy.

You pull away from him, keeping your hands on his forearms as you look back up at him. “Everything's gonna be okay, okay?” You reassure him, gently stroking his arms.

He nods his head, clearing his throat before wrapping you up in his arms again. “I honestly thought that this was the end, y'know?” He mumbles into your neck, kissing the skin lightly.

“I'm in love with you, Chris. I don't ever want this to end,” you tell him while massaging the back of his head.

His hands slip under the hoodie you're wearing, a breathy sigh leaving his lips at the feeling of your soft skin. You bring your hands to his face, making him look at you before your lips meet his.

Chris moans into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening. “God,” he mumbles, pulling away for a quick second. He reconnects his lips to yours, putting some more passion into the kiss. “I love you.”

You can't help but giggle, resting your forehead against his. “You make me feel like I've got a high school crush, you know that?” You ask him while placing one of your hands to your chest, feeling how fast your heartbeat is.

“I feel the same about you, baby,” he grins, dimples on full display. Chris grabs a hold of your hands as silence fills the room. He intertwines your fingers, keeping his gaze on them.

“You okay, baby?” You ask him quietly, squeezing his hands. “Talk to me.”

He lifts his head, the smile still there, and he nods. “I'm okay. I'm just– really happy that you're back and that we're okay,” he releases a deep breath, bringing your hands to his lips, peppering the backs of them in kisses.

“I'm afraid you're stuck with me,” you joke with him.

“I wouldn't want it any other way, baby,” Chris pulls you close to him, capturing your lips in another kiss.

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n @foxinnie8

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Hey I love your works and I was wondering if you could write a fluffy head cannon about dad Sam monroe with it being Sam's first Christmas as a dad for bunnycember. If this is possible then thank you and if not then I don't really mind. Thank you.

Author's note: anything for you nonnie

SAM MONROE who made a rocking horse for his little boy;

“Sammie,” you murmured, drawing your knees up to your chest as you inched closer to your boyfriend, watching him wrestle with the instruction manual. “We can just buy one, you know. You don’t have to do this yourself.”

Sam glanced at you, irritation flashing in his blue eyes as he flipped the booklet around like it would suddenly make sense. “No way. I’m not gonna be that kind of dad. This thing says it’s easy to put together, and I’ll be damned if I can’t handle it. Although…” He squinted at the pages again, his jaw tightening. “I’m convinced the idiot who wrote this wasn’t speaking human.”

You bit back a smile, watching as his frustration turned into sheer stubborn determination. “But,” you started hesitantly, trying to find the right words, “are you sure he even wanted this? I mean, he’s barely speaking yet…”

Sam turned to you, dropping the manual to the floor with a dramatic sigh. “Y/n,” he said, dead serious, though his lips twitched into a small, cocky smirk. “I saw it in his eyes, okay? He practically begged me for this damn rocking horse.” His voice softened, pride lacing every word as he added, “And what my little man wants, he gets. End of story.”

SAM MONROE who insists he’s 'not into Christmas', but the way he gently wraps the lights around the tree while explaining to his son why the star goes on top says otherwise.

SAM MONROE who you find in the nursery. He’s got the baby cradled in one arm, a book of Christmas stories in the other. His voice is low and soft as he reads “The Night Before Christmas,” pausing every so often to kiss your baby’s head and whisper, “I’m going to make every Christmas better for you, little guy.” but lets be honest, I think Sam would pass some parts from the book(s) cause for him it'd be too cringy and he'd just add something that isn't in the book but he came up with

SAM MONROE who gets stressed about finding the perfect gift for your son, even though he’s too young to remember it. He drags you to a dozen toy stores, debating the merits of a stuffed animal versus a set of wooden blocks. “It has to be something meaningful,” he mutters. In the end, he settles on a plush bunny

SAM MONROE who complained that it’s “embarrassing,” after you picked out an adorable reindeer onesie for your son yet you catch sam taking about a million photos of the baby wearing it. He even changes his phone wallpaper to one of those pictures, though he’ll deny it if you call him out.

SAM MONROE who woke up earlier than you’ve ever seen him, eager to see your son’s reaction to the gifts under the tree. The baby is more interested in the wrapping paper than the toys, but Sam doesn’t care. He sits on the floor in his flannel pajamas, helping your son tear the paper while grinning like a kid himself.

SAM MONROE who surprisingly insists on starting a new family tradition—baking cookies together on Christmas Day. You both end up covered in flour while the baby bangs a spoon against the counter. The cookies are misshapen and slightly burnt, but Sam calls them “perfect” and he sneaks one into his son’s tiny hand, ignoring your protests of the late hour

SAM MONROE who has his little son on his lap during decorating of cookies - he'll so gently hold the boy's puffy hand, aiming it so the frosting wouldn't go somewhere else than on the cookie. He ends up putting some icing in the his and the boy's mouth to 'make sure it tastes good'

SAM MONROE who helps his little son build his first snowman - and even takes hundred of pics from different angles but if you'd (or anyone) catch him, he didn't do them. He'd also lift his boy so he could stick a carrot to the snowman's head

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @rssmary @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @r0b-in

[miya-cs]

A little courage and good communication.

Reader x Max Verstappen

In which the reader always blames himself for any uncomfortable situation, but is learning to deal with it.

Warnings: none very serious. The reader thinks too much, is a little anxious and pessimistic, but everything works out in the end.

(Yeah, I'm dealing with my traumas through fanfics, my psychologist will never know)

Traduzido do português pelo Google tradutor (tentei revisar, mas, ei, sempre dá alguma coisa errada, desculpe)

***

Tension fills the Redbull motorhome. Your hands are clenched as you keep your eyes steady, watching the Team employees from one side to the other.

Max has barely spoken to you today. From the morning when he woke up early and came to the garage alone, to the fact that he didn't even come to see you after you arrived.

You see, it's not that you depend on his attention, but… Your anxious mind starts to remember every action you've taken in the last few days, trying to find something in which you could have hurt your boyfriend.

Was it because you didn't wait for him for dinner? But Max himself said you could have dinner because he would be late. Was it because you didn't do anything after he had bad times in free practice? When Max arrived, upset about the race, you didn't even know why, but, as always, he always said everything was fine.

You believed him and left him alone in the room, because you knew he liked that so he could reflect on what he could or couldn't improve in the race. But… he was fine, wasn’t he?

You keep watching. Maybe you could get him a drink? Or maybe just go talk to him and wish him luck in the race? What to do?

You feel your eyes watering, and it irritates you. You’ve always been very sensitive and, due to some situations in the past, you’ve learned to hate that side of you.

Why cry over something so silly? Just because your boyfriend hasn’t paid you any attention all day? What an idiot.

You remember Christian’s words, after Max introduced you to the Team after a few months of dating in private.

“Do you really think she” – his gaze took in yours completely, a little cowering next to Max – “will be able to handle all this? Formula 1 isn’t just a sport, Max, you know that”.

Max vehemently defended you, and so you were made official on Redbull and Max’s Instagram. But, after more than a year together, you wonder if, perhaps, Horner was right.

You take a deep breath, remembering your psychologist's words: the best way to stop thinking too much is to get things straight. Talk. Ask questions. Face it. You're not psychic and not everything you think is correct.

Right.

Your eyes scan the garage again, finding Max on the other side, analyzing some screens with graphs. The grading will start soon and then you'll only be able to talk to him later.

You wonder if it's better to resolve things first. What if something happens and he's still upset? What if he's just waiting for an apology from you?

Finally, you decide to go to Max. Your steps are hesitant, and they get even worse when one of the mechanics points at you, Max's eyes quickly finding you.

He frowns as you approach, noticing your hesitation.

"Is everything okay?"

"Can we talk?" You say, and Max nods, his features serious. You follow him to the corner of the room, away from the noise of the garage and the employees.

“Um, I… I wanted to know if I did something to upset you?” You get straight to the point, knowing Max prefers things that way. “It’s just that you didn’t talk to me right today, and you were acting weird, and I wondered if I did something wrong? If I did, I’m sorry. You know I can be inattentive sometimes and…”

“Schatje,” Max interrupts you. His hands come up to your face, resting on your cheeks as he lifts your gaze to his. “Why the hell would you think you did something wrong? The car has been a mess since the last race last week and I’m trying to improve my time before the race tomorrow. That’s all.”

“Oh…” You blink, his words melting over your mind and washing away all your worries. “So it’s not me?”

Max rolls his eyes, before placing a quick kiss on your lips.

“No, Schatje,” he murmurs, and your shoulders slump as a sigh of relief leaves your lips.

“That’s great,” you smile, and Max can’t resist kissing you once more. “Get back to work then, Maxie. Good luck. I’m sure you’ll still be able to get the best out of your car in qualifying today and in the race tomorrow.”

Your words make him smile. “Have dinner together later?” your boyfriend asks.

“Room service. I don’t want to go out anymore today.” You answer and he just nods, before saying goodbye.

You keep smiling as he walks back to the mechanics. Your therapist would be so proud.

But before her, you were so proud of yourself for having the courage to solve things by talking instead of allowing your mind to create all the worst possible scenarios and suffering for something that only existed there, in your head.

Sometimes, to solve things, all it takes is a little courage and good communication.

[inc0mple]

🗝️ ”Keys Are People, Too” 100 Chapter Q&A ⭐️ (ongoing!)

(Last edit: 12/20 10:40 CST)

Hi! :) If y’all don’t know me my name is Inco (it’s not but shh) and I write a fanfiction for Cinderella Boy called Keys Are People, Too. It’s not finished, it’s ongoing and rapidly approaching 100 chapters XD (yes we are like four chapters away but shh rounding) (I PROMISE WE’RE ALMOST TO THE LAST ACT). So because of an ask from @isitamia and, we’ll say the 100 chapter milestone… tada Q&A??

I don’t know how many people are going to engage with this but that’s totally okay :) I love ranting about stuff and I’ve put a lot of thought into this story, so it would be cool to have an outlet to answer some questions where they don’t get forgotten in AO3 comments. And if you guys also have general questions about writing advice/things like that, I am not an expert but I do also like talking about stories.

So please ask! I’m not planning to close this at any specific time—I was thinking y’all could comment questions under this post or via reblogs (I might miss them in reblogs though) and I will edit this post to answer them, and also reply to you so you know your question is answered. This might get like 10 notes and that’s fine haha (I have zero idea how many people regularly read my story beyond the ones who leave comments), but if there are a lot of questions I’ll try to categorize them. Really just a place to drop info for fun :)

Q&A below ⬇️

I tried to make it organized. It's... kind of organized. Kind of.

Plot/Characters

"What key archetype isn't one of the siblings? Do we get to know their archetypes soon?" asked by @spookieee28 12/20

I'm not gonna say the archetypes at this point in time because it risks spoilers. You will find out by the end of the story and hopefully by that points all of the archetypes should be relatively clear. Some have already been mentioned like the chapter "Heralds and Thieves" for Jade and Cooper, I think (?) Cora has been mentioned as the Innocent archetype, etcetera.

"Which character do you struggle writing the most and which feels easier for you, if you have preferences?" asked by @isitamia 12/20

"Do you ever struggle with keeping Cinderella Boy's canon characters in character?" asked by @isitamia 12/20

I'll answer both of these together. Chase is pretty easy for me because I just channel chaotic gremlin energy and it seems to work. Buddy is OKAY although I am struggling right now making him vulnerable while still retaining him Buddy-ish-ness if that makes sense? Deacon is just Deacon... I am sorry, I feel like I don't really do anything to characterize him, he's just there as a sounding board XD I will say- I daydream situations for CB ALL THE TIME which gives me a lot of comfortability with the canon characters and considering what they would do and say and how they would react. I do have a little bit of difficulty characterizing the human keys so I just kinda went like "oh WELL that's because, UUHHHH, the key siblings don't match the keys exactly! That's it that's the answer!" because I felt like Silver wasn't quite Silver-ish and stuff. As for struggling writing the most I have two main answers.

BRONTE. For those who maybe haven't read this but are scrolling through it anyway, or aren't there yet, Bronte is the "human" version of Bronze and I kinda accidentally eliminated him from the story until like... the 80th chapte ror something like that. I had a lot of trouble actually writing his dialogue and scenes with Chase. It just did not have Bronze's snarky energy. So that was tough and I feel bad because I really feel like I did not do him justice :c

DUKE RAVENELL!!!!!! Ravenell hates me. He gives me so much trouble primarily because I just plunked him in at the beginning and didn't give him a real personality beyond a few vague notions. I've really had to sculpt his character as I went and it's especially difficult because Ravenell is intended to do a lot of plot device-ing. He perpetuates a lot of themes in the story and he is a HUGE character foil to Chase, because he often reflects the opposite of Chase's (and Idonea's) values and intentions. I want him to be morally grey and I am constantly fighting a BATTLE with this man to make sure he isn't too likeable or too hateable. I posted on Tumblr like a week ago really just asking for a diagnostic and the response made my day because people are all OVER the place about this man, some people love him, some will never forgive him, some are like "he's alright but there's something off about him and I can't help but distrust him" and others are like "I know he keeps making mistakes but I can't help but trust him" and I LOVE IT. Fortunately I think he's finally in a place perception-wise where I want him. I want the confusion. So badly. Only now I have to continue to fight this stupid tug-o'-war to keep him properly dividing until the end of the story XD

Behind the scenes

"How did you come up with the plot for KAPT? Was it just a little thought that popped up in your head one day, or did you have like inspiration or something?" asked by @xcitrix 12/20

"Did you have an idea for how you wanted the story to end when you first started writing or did you come up with more ideas while working on it?" asked by @lapileaf 12/20

I'mma answer both of these (and any others if they are asked) in kinda the same go if that's alright. In August I was wanting to write some fanfiction for CB, and one idea rotating in my head was, what if Chase went into a nonfiction book? Like he thought it the most effective way to study for a history project, or he saw a mention of Ex Libris, or something. So, completely directionless, I drabbled out the first chapter of KAPT where they find the book in the museum and... adopt it. And then it sat there in my Google Docs for like two weeks while I worked on a different fanfiction, Violets and Chains. I tried to return to it a little bit and got through the first anthology chapter where they're in the Chartesia battle, but that too did not have a plot behind it, I was like "myeh... trebuchets... uh... and now there's a guy... oh maybe they're PRISONERS..." And then brain did not work and I gave up. Eventually got myself together, BS-ed the rest of the scene, and then sat down and essentially ranted to myself about potential ideas until I figured out the plot.

More ideas have kept cropping up as I've worked on it. There are certain puzzle pieces that are foreshadowed in even teh first ten chapters that I didn't even mean to foreshadow because I hadn't thought of the yet - the plot was generally mapped out but has defintely been refined and added to as time goes on. Eventually you get into the flow of a story and everything just starts clicking into place, like you yourself are theorizing about an external work. Keep in mind that because I am publishing it as I write each chapter, KAPT is a first draft, and I have to hatch out plot points and main parts of the story as I write and make my best effort to recover any loose threads or things like that. It's a fun exercise!

"Do you plan to stick to the story you have already till the end or is there a possiblity you'll have to change some things if we get to know more about canon Ex Libris/Buddy lore while it's still ongoing?" asked by @iwikpines 12/20

There are some new bits of information that are kinda iffy for KAPT, but ultimately because KAPT takes place inside a book most of the Buddy/Ex Libris lore is not applicable. Regarding Buddy's situation I am going to go ahead like I was planning to originally, and I'll add a disclaimer when time permits. I don't think either way throws a wrench in the plans too much but I would rather be confident in the themes I've already set up as opposed to trying to hastily recover new lore in the last third of the story, if that makes sense.

"How did you come up with your ocs? I know some, like Jaime, come from another original story of yours ... but what about characters like Ravenell, Galeus, and Rose? What inspired you? How did you decide their personaltiy, their struggles? Did you take inspiration from yourself for anyone, similar to how Punko took inspiration from herself for Chase? Do you follow any specific process to come up with ocs, like follow a list, scheme, or coming up with hypothetical scneraios?" asked by @isitamia 12/20

A lot of the characters are cameos from a passion project I've been working on for years called IFI (no I will not tell you what it stands for) - Jaime and emma are from there, as well as several others including Alexei, Nishan, Mattheo, Kelitia, Indie (the Marchioness), King Aarius, and King Olivyn. So those are just plunked in and then Jaime decided to become part of the plot. As for the other original characters made specifically for KAPT, they just kinda got plopped in for one reason or another (I wanted Rose to connect to the Chartesia lore, Ravenell to have a foil for Chase, and Galeus because, well, there had to be a king) and then I slowly worked to build connections, themes, and character. Often times I don't specifically sit down and think "this character will be this way", it just emerges naturally from their dialogue, like I'm chiseling something out that was already in the stone like an archeologist, as opposed to carving my own new sculpture. I've always written that way and it makes it difficult when I am required to add structure to my writing or explain why I do things the way I do. I will say it is all VERY inspired from my own life and beliefs; Rose exists as a confidante in the story, and many of her more preachy dialogue pieces are things I'm getting out of my system. So yeah, not really a lot of structure to it, they just appear... and I figure them out as I go... most of my characters are in some way facets of myself or the way I percieve life. As I get more experienced with writing I'm sure I'll be more intentional with them, but for now, they are Athena and I am Zeus.

"How do you post daily" (kind of) asked by @isitamia 12/20

To give an actual answer for this because I know it's a lot to post a 2-4k chapter PER DAY - I am a student and have a LOT of downtime in class where I can't really do anything but write. That is how. Also, I have taught myself to be a prolific writer because that is the thing in my life I can always rely on when other things are unstable.

"How did you extend the story so far? I love the plot and it's kinda insane how you were able to develop it so much, at this point it's a full novel and I kinda live for it LOL. Also how long would you consider one act?" asked by @shyve3 12/20

Two parts to this question, I will answer them both;

I didn't mean to. I am really bad about being concise; I can't. When I write and get passionate about a story there's so much I want to stay and I can rarely fit it into what most people consider a pallatable length. I just get going and... idk... unstoppable force or something lol. And yes KAPT is at least the length of a typical trilogy XD ITS BEEN FIVE MONTHS

Regarding the act question, I ORIGINALLY said KAPT would be three acts, with the first ending when Chase goes down into Rose's "tomb" for the first time, the second ending with the Bronte part, and the third being the final one. It is actually more like four now, with the "second" act split into two at the masquerade ball. We are so close to being onto the actual final act, which should be a 4th of the total fic, so we have maybe 30 chapters left (?) (we'll see lol)

I don't have a specific length, it's just the way the story tends to ebb and flow if that makes sense?

General stuff

"Do you have any advice as a writer?" asked by @iwikpines 12/20

I AM SO BAD ABOUT THIS because I really do just go type type type and words appear. I know there's more to it than that but I've spent a lot of time writing and not a lot of time learning how to write so I have the experience without the actual education behind it. Write what you care about :) I mean NO DUH but like - your best stories will come from the heart. You will find prolificness (is that a word?) in PASSION. If I didn't care about Cinderella Boy or the themes I'm trying to communicate in KAPT would I spent my days writing a chapter a day ABSOLUTELY FRIGGIN NOT I'd be writing a different story. So yeah - write what you love and your audience will find you. What the world needs is a buncha people doing what they love really well because it's what they care about. Also, I didn't include your full comment here, but I am excited to read your fanfiction! <3 Please post it on Tumblr when you also post it elsewhere!

[jweekgoji]

I keep laughing when I think about the scene where Motorcycle!Reader is so small that they don't have their own charging chamber and have to live in someone else's charging chamber because after all they are so small that they don't take up much space.

TFO!Chars/Motorcycle!Reader [hcs]

tw: none, i guess. word count: ~1600 additional tags: gender neutral reader, cybertronian reader, motorcycle!reader. characters included: B-127, Optimus Prime, Elita-One, Megatron, Sentinel Prime.

That is both a curse and a blessing in my opinion, but well, it depends on whom the tiny reader is stuck with 😋

I mean, >B-127 didn't even have his own place to sleep. All the yellow bot had, was a conveyor belt, which I doubt it was really comfortable, haha. Well then, after just ending Sentinel's regime, the ex-cogless group at least have some places to stay.

When Bee found out you'd be living with him for a while, he was overjoyed! First he made many, many new friends, gained the ability to transform, started working for the government, and now...he has a roommate? A real roommate? The one who can open their mouth when 🐝 talks to them? The day couldn't be any better! (Not that Bee wasn't happy with Steve's company...).

To be fair, Bee himself isn't exactly a bad neighbor either. It all very much depends on what kind of personality you have. If you really get along well with him, despite his extremely emotional state, which sometimes seems to never end, then good luck!

Sharing a chamber with him is going to be an absolute challenge. We remember that he talks in his sleep, don't we? And if Shockwave was so sick of Bumblebee in that short time, imagine how you have to recharge, but now all you can hear, instead of the silence you crave, is constant mumbling into your audio receptors.

Sometimes he's just mumbling about what a cool day he had with Optimus or what an intense training session Elita gave him.

Sometimes you notice how his servos only pull you harder against him. For a moment, you'd probably sigh wearily or try to make some space between you until he starts whispering softly about how happy Bee is to have you in his life. He genuinely, really genuinely loves you. After cycles of being alone, he really misses your company. Will you decide to move him away from you nevertheless?

The next morning, surprisingly, he has no memory of what he told you at all.

> Optimus apologizes to you so much when he finds out that now, unfortunately or thankfully (?), they don't have any time or resources at all to build new quarters. The new Prime has so many new responsibilities that he doesn't even know where to start! He has to clean up and fix Sentinel's mistakes, not to mention his divorce with D-16 Megatron, which has caused him a lot of trouble. But that's okay, our favorite Prime has a solution for that!

And as a good, true leader...yes, yes, you will be the one sharing the room. Lucky, huh? Oh, lucky you.

Optimus is actually one of the best candidates to share a chamber. I find that most of the time, he doesn't have much time to go to his room and fall asleep. You often fall asleep alone, only to wake up later...alone. Was he with you? Did he come in at all? In response to this, you sometimes notice him passed out at his desk. You should definitely tell Elita about this to scold him about such a bad habit.

Actually, he'd be happy to share the charging chamber with you. The thing is, he's extremely shy.

When you fall asleep with him, there's just not enough room! Yeah, you're a pretty small bot, he's just so huge. It takes the two of you a long time to finally find the only comfortable solution.

With you on top of Optimus, you can put your helm on his chassis. The soft shimmer of the Matrix of Leadership doesn't bother you at all; if anything, it calms your nerves. All night long, your leader may never move from his position. He's so afraid he might accidentally hit you if he rolls over or decides to stand up...poor Prime, even Megatron didn't set such dangerous traps for him!

The first few nights, Optimus doesn't sleep much. He's nervous; he thinks up to the late night, but in the end, he can't resist you, and you two can get your well-deserved rest.

I think after Prime, the best candidate for your roommate would be >Elita. I like to think she always sleeps in “mom's pose” (if you know what I mean).

She can lie on her back with her servos on her chassis and not move a muscle all night. Other than that, she's a completely silent sleeper. Sometimes, you can stay up late at night; your shared room is unlit, and you don't want to turn on the lights so as not to disturb her. If she finds out you've been out the whole night instead of recharging, she'll kill you!

You swear you didn't even make the slightest creak, and just then, you see those bright blue optics staring at you in the darkness. Without even seeing her face, you know you're in trouble...She has very sharp hearing, unfortunately for you.

Elita isn't the tallest bot; sure, she's still taller than you, but her frame is pretty slim, unlike the others'. She is not the type to cuddle, even if you are extremely close to her. The most you can expect is her servo around your waist or shoulders.

You can tease her about it, but she'll try to deny everything, saying “just don't want you to fall and hit the floor 🙄” of course we all believe you, Elita!

I can see D-16 being a similar type to Optimus, but Megatron is a different story. I have no idea where our young Decepticon leader went with his guards, but at least they have a few cycles to spend building a base, especially one with all the comforts.

Megatron himself is not a fan of sharing, and when he realizes the problem, he doesn't even ask you if you want him to or not. You will share the chamber with him, period. Should you be worried or happy...?

Megatron, especially if we're talking about a young and inexperienced leader who was only recently forced to leave Iacon, is in need of support. He won't show it in front of anyone, not even you. But you know him enough to know what is troubling him.

He is so isolated, betrayed and saddened, he is afraid to open up to anyone else. And yet, he genuinely wishes someone could just hold him.

Megatron rarely sleeps. 24 hours a day, all he has on his mind is what he should do next. It used to be so easy; the mere thought of it makes him grit his teeth. When there was Sentinel, all that was required was to just follow the protocols. Now, with hundreds of high guard members expecting him to do something, he's lost.

At some point, Starscream or Soundwave will remind him of the importance of rest, and without any enthusiasm, he'll join you.

Now, the two of you are extremely awkward.

Of course, you can't tell much from his looks. Is he asleep? Or still lying there with his optics closed? This awkward silence makes you afraid to move. But the truth is, Megatron himself doesn't know what to do. You're so small compared to him; by some miracle, the two of you can fit, but it's so extremely uncomfortable.

Eventually, he can't stand it and just lifts you up to lay you on top of him. Luckily for him, you have no intention of moving away from him. Perhaps you're afraid; maybe you're okay with this change in positions. Either option is fine with him.

He repeats in his head that this is only temporary...when resources become available, you will get your own separate quarters, and you will be able to sleep separately. And yet, he doesn't want that. Your presence around him, for whatever reason, makes him forget his worries for a while, and he can finally rest.

You may disagree with me, but >Sentinel, no matter how sexy man people try to show him to be, would be just a terrible roommate! If he can even be called a roommate? Sometimes, he forgets that you're resting here too, and even if you remind him of that, he'll pretend to “listen” to you, only to forget after a while.

In fact, he could easily order a separate room for you; he's got plenty of them in his tower, but he's like.... no. He wants you around just because he can. There's no other reason.

I think he's more or less tolerable at first? He likes to keep something small next to him; imagine it like the cybertronian equivalent of plush toys, but only that toy is you. And it seems he may see you as such.

Every night, he can grab you at any time he wants and hold you against him. One time he just held you by his side; another time he decided to put his servo around you; tonight he wanted you on his chassis! The worst part is that his berth is quite spacious. And you can lie on the very far side, only for him to snatch you whenever he wants. Not very funny.

Recharging with him is pretty uncomfortable because those damn wings keep hitting you in the face every night. He's a pretty big bot on his own, and his wings are another big nuisance. Of course, he's not that terrible. Still, his room is very large, and you're probably very cozy, but Sentinel...sigh.

It's funny, but I like to think of him mumbling in his sleep too. Only this time all you can hear from him is about how often he praises himself. Wow.

[autonomousroboticorganism]

sparkmate (TF One Sentinel Prime)

pairing - Sentinel Prime x F!Reader

summary - Sentinel has never showed any interest in sparkmates, or at least that's what you assumed. turns out, you're wrong.

warnings - another mech pushes you/slight violence

a/n - i am delusional when it comes to this bot so expect a lot of delusional fluff about him in the coming days

Arrogant. Narcissistic. Obnoxious.

These were all words that could be used to describe Sentinel Prime. Along with crazy, weird and insufferably handsome. You couldn't imagine there being any femme who wasn't crushing on the leader of Iacon, and you were no exception.

But it wasn't like you could ever mean anything more than an advisor, a friend, to him. Because he didn't pursue romantic relationships, as far as you knew. It was an unfortunate fact you would have to live with, made difficult by being in his presence all the time. Everyday.

You watched your friends find sparkmates, and felt happy for them. Though every time they tried to set you up, it ended in disaster.

You only had one mech in mind, and that was Sentinel Prime.

It was just so hard to get his attention.

You various attempts didn't work, and you had pretty much given up and resigned the idea of ever being his sparkmate when something you did unintentionally got his attention.

You were talking to one of his elite guards, discussing some new security measures, when that guard began to hit on you. You, not knowing he was flirting, carried on speaking to him, accepting his compliments thinking they were said kindly.

Sentinel was looking for you, wanting a second opinion on his new paintjob, but that quickly darkened into wanting to get you away from that guard asap when he saw what was going on. The Prime was easily jealous, especially when it came to things, and a certain Cybertronian, that belonged to him.

"(Name)!" He called cheerily, but when he grabbed your arm his touch was anything but cheerful. It was hard, almost hurtful, as he pulled you away from the brave guard. "Let him know he's fired, later."

You gaped at the Prime, "What? Why? It wasn't even his mistake-"

"You misunderstand, dear (Name)," his voice was sickly sweet, like something malicious lurked behind his tone. "He's not fired because of that."

But he didn't elaborate, he simply kept leading you away from the guard. Away from all his guards, in fact. To a much more private area of his tower, one that had your jaw dropping when you entered. You never thought you'd ever see it.

His berthroom.

"Uh, what are we-"

He cut you off, "I heard your friends have started looking for a sparkmate for you. Do you want one?"

"I, um-" Being here was disorienting enough, but his question completely took you out. You didn't think he'd ask that, let alone care about your love life.

"Do you," He moved closer, repeating himself but slower, "want one, (Name)?"

Your processor whirled, trying to figure out what to say. You didn't know what the right answer was to that, or what his reaction would be if you admitted the truth, that you did want one.

So you did the next worst best thing.

You said, "I want you."

Then you clapped a servo over your intake, optics going wide. It took Sentinel a minute to process what you had just blurted out, before he smiled.

"Naturally."

"Look, Sentinel-"

"Open up," he tapped your chassis, and began to do so with his.

Your optics widened even more, and slowly you opened your chassis up. Your spark buzzed excitedly being so close to his, and when he moved closer to you there was no hesitance and no resistance in the bonding process.

When it was over, and your sparks were back in their chambers, you stared at him in disbelief. Not only had you just become his sparkmate, but you felt all the possessiveness he felt over you.

"Perfect!" He beamed, "Now I don't have to worry right? You're mine, and only mine."

"Worry..?"

Sentinel could be a lot sweeter and softer than most would assume. He was an egotistical maniac, of course, but your bond revealed all the affection and love he felt for you.

"Enough. Stop working, sweetspark."

Sentinel pulled you away from what you were doing simply to hold you. He loved attention, especially from you, and right now he needed yours.

"But Sentinel, you wanted-"

"That can wait."

His arms wrapped entirely around your frame, pulling you against his chassis as he buried his faceplates in your neck cables.

"This feels good."

You felt your faceplates heat up, "Yes, it does."

"We should do this more often," he pulled away with a very cheerful smile.

"Sentinel, have you never been given a hug..?"

"If you mean what we just did, then no," he shrugged it off like it was nothing. "I haven't exactly been close to anyone, in case you didn't notice."

"Hmm," you hummed, then hugged him again.

Once he realised touch was a sign of affection, you noticed him do it a lot more. From placing a servo on your lower back to holding your servo, Sentinel had to be touching you in some way.

Primus forbid anyone else touch you, though.

"(Name)! It's been so long!"

Before you could even register who the voice had come from, a mech was in front of you and reaching out to hug you. You stepped back, a bit uncomfortable when you saw that it was one of the mechs your friends had set you up with.

"Oh, uh, hi," you greeted uncertainty. You looked around, hoping this wouldn't get Sentinel's attention. Because this really was nothing.

The mech grinned, "So I've been thinking...last time was fun, right? I enjoyed myself, you enjoyed yourself...why don't we try again?"

"Actually I'm Sentinel Prime's..." You trailed off when he began to look afraid, and your frame went rigid when you saw a familiar shadow engulf the shaking mech. "Sentinel."

"My love!" He exclaimed dramatically, making sure to shoot the other mech a glare before grabbing your chin and pulling your face towards his. He kissed you possessively, putting on a show for the mech who'd tried to touch his sparkmate. "My name sounds so good when you say it, you know that?" He mumbled as he pulled away.

The mech was long gone. But so was Airachnid.

"What are you going to do to him?"

"What do you mean?" Sentinel smiled, digits ghosting over your jawline.

"..."

"Although, it was nice to hear you say you're mine."

"I tell everyone that."

"Really? Even better!"

He may have odd ways of showing it, but he genuinely cared for you. He genuinely loved you, even if he didn't know how to express it very well.

Not many dared to hurt you after word spread of you being Sentinel's sparkmate, but the few brave ones who tried?

Disappeared without a trace.

"You rejected me? Me?!" Another one of your failed attempts at dating approached you one day, anger written all over his faceplates.

Your eyes widened, but you didn't have the time to react since he was already so close. His hands shoved your chassis, leaving a few scratches, and you tumbled backwards onto the ground. Also leaving scratches.

Everyone nearby froze. Not because your sparkmate was approaching, but because of the mere consequences this mech would face when Sentinel found out.

"(Name), why did I have to learn from Airachnid that you were harmed today?" Sentinel asked when he entered your shared berthroom.

"It was nothing," you told him, turning to face him.

He looked genuinely concerned, and you thought your optics were deceiving you. Until he inspected you upon reaching you.

"Scratches aren't nothing," he glared at the marks. "Who did this?"

You relented and gave him the name and description of the mech. There was no use trying to stop him, he would just find out from Airachnid anyway.

"Are you even going to tell me what you have planned for that one?"

"Let's go get you a nice new finish! Maybe my colours?"

You literally become his prized possession. All he asks for in return is your undying love and affection, which you already give him. Sentinel might seem self-absorbed and uncaring, but with you, his precious sparkmate, he's the opposite, and more.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Car Troubles Part 2 – Tyler Owens

Part 1

Tyler's POV

As the sirens filled the air, I looked around. I scanned the area, desperately trying to find somewhere I could take Y/N to keep her safe.

"We gotta go," I said as I hopped off the hood of Y/N's car. I turned toward her and gently helped her down.

"Where?" She stuttered, her voice barely above the wind and the sirens. The fear in her eyes made me panic. I couldn't even focus on the fact that my hands were still on her hips. I looked past Y/N and saw somewhere we could go.

"Follow me," I said, grabbing her hand without thinking.

"Where are we going?!" Y/N yelled over the wind as I pulled her into the motel parking lot. We stopped when we saw a family in their car. I heard Y/N whimper when I let go of her.

"Come with us!" I yelled at the family. "We gotta get somewhere safe."

I helped the little kid out of the car and picked her up. I carried the little girl as I ran back to Y/N. As I passed her, I grabbed her hand and pulled her with me.

"The pool? Are you sure?" Y/N yelled when she figured out where I was taking them.

"Trust me," I said as I put down the girl. I helped Y/N into the pool and then handed her the girl. I turned and helped the mom and dad. As I helped them, Y/N waited for me.

When I climbed into the pool, I instantly grabbed Y/N's hand and pulled her to the other end of the pool. "Wrap your arms around the ladder and, no matter what, don't let go."

I watched as she wrapped her arms around the ladder. I stepped behind her and wrapped my arms around her and the ladder. My stomach flipped when Y/N wrapped one of her arms around mine. We held on tightly as the wind got worse.

"Hold on, Y/N!" I tried to yell loud enough for her to hear.

"Tyler!" She yelled. I could feel her shaking in my arms.

"Just hold on, Y/N! I got you!"

I didn't let go of her until the wind slowed down and the sirens stopped. When it was past, I looked down to see Y/N clearly in shock.

I hated the fear in her eyes, but I was glad I was here.

Reader's POV

I couldn't tell if the sirens had stopped because my ears were still ringing. Embarrassment replaced my fear when I realized I was still in Tyler's arms. I looked up at him right as he looked down at me.

"Is it gone?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"It is," he nodded. "Are you alright?"

He finally let go of me and I slowly let go of the ladder. Tyler gently grabbed my hips and helped me stand up. He wrapped one of his arms around my waist and led me out of the pool. Once we were out of the pool, he walked us away from the motel. A nearby police officer saw Tyler helping me walk and ran over to us.

"Are the two of you alright?"

"We're fine," Tyler answered for us.

"Are you sure?" The cop asked, glancing toward me but my eyes were focused on the ground. "She looks like she's. . ."

"It's just a bit of shock," Tyler cut off the cop. I felt my heart starting to slow down as he tightened his arm around my waist. "She's fine. I can take care of her."

Without saying anything else, Tyler pulled me away from the cop. I wasn't sure where we were going but I didn't really care. I couldn't stop thinking about how tightly I was holding the ladder and how tightly Tyler was holding onto me.

If I hadn't been so scared, I would've overthought the way his arms were wrapped around me. I would've overthought why he had his arms wrapped so tightly around me.

"Tyler," I shakily said his name. My voice made him freeze.

"Y/N?" He panicked.

"Thank you," I mumbled as I turned toward him.

"Are you okay?" He asked, looking me over. When his eyes returned to mine, they softened as they saw the tears. "Y/N?"

My knees gave out but Tyler instantly caught me. He pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me.

"You're okay," he whispered. "The tornado passed. We're safe."

"That was. . . We were. . . The storm was. . . How do you do this all the time?" I finally got out.

"Do what?"

"Chase storms," I said, looking up at him. "How do you willingly chase them? They're. . . They're terrifying."

"There's a bit of a difference," he chuckled.

"What?"

"When you're chasing, you're prepared," he explained. "You know what to expect versus being caught up in it."

"So," I said, clearing my throat as I wrapped my arms around myself. "Before the tornado, you were saying something about wanting to tell me something?"

"Oh," he chuckled awkwardly, "yeah that. . . I was just going to say that I'm really glad your car stopped. I mean, I'm really glad I was driving by."

"I am too," I smiled softly. "If it weren't for you, I would've had no idea where to go during a tornado."

"It's not that," he said, his tone changing as he closed the gap between us. My breath got caught in my throat as he grabbed my hands.

"Then what is it?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"I'm glad that I was driving by and pulled over to help you," he whispered. "I'm glad that we got to see each other again. I'm glad that we ran into each other after all these years. I've really missed you, Y/N."

"I've missed you too, Tyler."

"I'd like to keep this going," he said, slowly leaning in.

"Maybe without the tornado and hiding in an empty pool?"

"Exactly," he smirked. Tyler's eyes glanced down to my lips. When his eyes returned to mine, he leaned in.

Soon, our lips gently touched. The second they did, Tyler pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me. When we broke the kiss, Tyler kept his arms wrapped around me.

"Want to see if that diner down the street is still standing?"

"You're gonna have to drive," I shrugged. "The tornado took my car."

[themattress]

The Dragon Prince's Biggest Flaw

Now that I've finished Season 7 (the end of the Mystery of Aaravos arc and quite possibly the series if they don't get a three season renewal), I once again must reaffirm the biggest albatross around The Dragon Prince's neck. It's not the lore and worldbuilding so reliant on side material, or the never-ending Avatar: The Last Airbender references, or the inconsistent animation quality, or the tonal whiplashes, or the sketchy pacing that results from all seasons being only 9 episodes long. It's the fact that while most of the heroes are likable enough, their conflicts aren't as interesting or satisfying as the villains' at best, and their goals and beliefs are downright not preferable to the villains' at worst. And this season highlighted that again!

Callum doesn't end up going dark or dying despite all the build-up, Rayla gets closure with her biological parents and then gets to have her adoptive parents back and status back and doesn't end up needing to kill Callum, Ezran is pulled back from his tyrannical path by Aanya and forgives those he was angry at, Runaan is among those forgiven and gets to find out he didn't kill King Harrow after all, Soren doesn't have to find out troubling truths of his past or confront the mother who abandoned him or have to kill his sister, Terry keeps his innocence and doesn't have to be burdened by Claudia dying, Lujanne doesn't die, and Janai doesn't end up needing to make the hard choice of executing her brother. The only sacrifice made by a hero is by Zubela, who at least gets to be with her husband in death and tell her son she loves him before dying, with said son appearing to be just fine afterward. Ezran practically boasts about how nobody had to sacrifice anything in the end despite having prepared to!

Meanwhile, Claudia loses her innocence, her brother, much of her mental health, her leg, her biological father, her boyfriend, her adoptive father, and if I'm reading it right even her humanity. Viren gave up everything to atone for his sins and died a painful and lonely death as he reiterated that he's "a servant", as if his problem was that he didn't "know his place" and dared to want more rather than his actual heinous actions in the pursuit of what he thought was justified. Aaravos lost his biological daughter, spent countless years crying over it, spent countless more years imprisoned, and now he has been temporarily killed and separated from his adoptive daughter in the process. (Oh, and Karim was squished to death, but fuck that guy). The villains actually lose things, they actually have to make sacrifices to achieve what they want! This makes them more compelling than the heroes, even if their aims aren't always on the morally up and up...but this season screws up that caveat as well!

Not only is Aaravos' plan at worst something that will create hardships that are perfectly endurable, but at best it's something morally justified because it strips power from a cosmic order that we have been shown is corrupt, composed of self-righteous bigots who will execute a child for daring to share magic with a race they deem inferior and unworthy of it. While the heroes want to create a better world, their solution doesn't address the root causes for the problems in any meaningful way. It's supposed to be framed as them acknowledging the hurt but moving on from in rather than let it bind them to the past, but that only works with the Karim plotline. Aaravos not moving beyond his hurt isn't binding him to the past, it's making him fight for a future where such cosmic atrocities can't be inflicted again...and more to the point, it's making him fight for a reality where his child's unjust execution isn't rendered meaningless. He refuses to accept "bad shit happens and we all just have to move on" when the ones making the bad shit happen move on without paying a damn consequence for their actions. And he isn't even a hypocrite about it: he knows he's also doing bad shit, and that's why he plans to die at the end! He can be with his daughter and his victims can have justice.

Meanwhile, this season is full of heroes also doing bad shit that they justify as for the best, with the difference being they have no self-awareness about it and, as said before, pay no sacrifices for it. From Callum trying to use dark magic and commit the very kind of vile act Viren was demonized for, to Rayla betraying her allies by breaking a rightfully convicted criminal out of prison, to Ezran going full Oppenheimer with the creation of a dangerous new weapon....and, perhaps worst of all, Soren, Terry and co. magically disguising Lujanne as Claudia's long-lost mother in an attempt to trick her into standing down from helping Aaravos. Yes, to get her away from Aaravos they resorted to something far more underhanded and manipulative than anything Aaravos ever tried with her. Why should I root for these guys!?

Honestly, I think if there is one scene that perfectly encapsulates the problem, it's Terry's big Heel Face Turn moment. Aaravos tells Terry the whole dark truth with the explicit purpose of helping him grow and helping him and Claudia be a better couple by putting them on equal ground with one another. And the words he says to Terry in this scene are absolutely correct:

"The true heart is a gift of childhood. For a few wonder-filled years, we each have innocent eyes to experience the world's beauty, in a simple way. Terrestrius, you were lucky. You held that innocent want for longer than most. I have seen generations of humans and elves accept the darkness that lurks in all of us beside the light. There is no black and white, only shades of gray. We must all carry complexity. But please, believe me: that there is beauty in this burden. Your heart will be a little heavier, but now there will be no more half-truths, Terrestrius. We will do what must be done."

All of this is right! Note that Aaravos isn't saying you have to discard your inner child or the good qualities it grants you completely. He is simply saying the truth that you cannot stay in a childlike state of being forever, you must also be willing to acknowledge and accept the darker parts of the world, of human nature, of yourself. If not, you can't do what you must.

But rather than do that and work through things with Claudia, Terry totally backtracks on his pledge last season that he'll never leave her and will always stand with her, all because he is scared of having to grow up and lose his innocence, to take the black with the white and see things in shades of gray, to work toward something bigger than himself that requires him to step outside his comfort zone. And it all feels so phony and unjustified, for three reasons:

- 1. First of all, he killed a man. Does anybody else remember that? He killed Ibis from behind in his third appearance in order to protect Claudia. After that he helped take and hold Soren as a hostage, steal a map from a dragon's tooth, and actively assist in releasing Aaravos despite even his own apprehensions about it. Claudia killing Sir Sparklepuff didn't seem to phase him all that much either. So the notion that he still has his innocence in tact and hasn't lost it already feels like narrative gaslighting. The breaking point being Claudia lying to him and using him (even though just talking to her deeply about it would reveal that Aaravos told her to, since again his plan was to break his innocence once it served its purpose so that he and Claudia could be equals in a better relationship) makes him feel selfish, especially given that he knows about Claudia's abandonment issues and how it will feel if another loved one walks out on her, this time after having sworn not to do so and even staying with her after she left him specifically to avoid this scenario! I'm having trouble feeling sympathy for him here.

- 2. Secondly, even if we accept his decision to leave, why couldn't he just stay on his own and take care of the birds? I mean, he could have stayed with Aaravos and Claudia and just taken the birds with him, but if he really felt he needed to split, why join their enemies? Why go out of his way to side with the people working against Claudia just as Soren had done, once again making her feel betrayed in the process? The justification that he's doing it with the assurance that Claudia won't be harmed doesn't hold water, since one of his new buddies almost kills her later and then shortly after that Soren starts talking about how she's too far gone and may need to die. Did I mention that both of those happen after they try to deceive Claudia with a fake version of her long-lost mother? Which leads to the third and final point...

- 3. Yeah, instead of just going and finding his and Claudia's mother even if it made him uncomfortable, Soren, along with Terry, Corvus, Lujanne and Allen, decided to use a magic spell to disguise Lujanne as her and have her play out an emotional reunion with a vulnerable Claudia in order to manipulate her into leaving Aaravos. When leaving her, Terry said to Claudia "You didn't trust me to make my own choice! You used me! It's not how you treat someone you love...it's not how you treat any person! And if I let you treat me that way, I'm not sure I can really be me anymore!" Yet here he is, not trusting Claudia to make her own choice and using her despite loving her. Is THAT you, Terry? Or have you changed into someone you don't even like, which was your reasoning for not staying with Claudia? Either way, you've blown up your entire rationale. You're just as morally gray as Aaravos and Claudia, except unlike them you lack the maturity to own it, preferring to stay a man-child.

And that's the show's fatal flaw in a nutshell. It wants to be morally complex, except it also doesn't want the heroes to actually embrace their own moral complexity and suffer the consequences that comes with it, which ends up turning them into pious hypocrites who can't acknowledge their hypocrisy or that the villains might have a point with what they're seeking to achieve, who breeze through the show unscathed while the villains actually have to suffer for fighting for what they believe in. It wants to be Avatar: The Last Airbender, but instead it's as if Monk Gyatso was revealed to still be alive and reunited with Aang, if Katara got closure with her mother's spirit, if Yue attempted to sacrifice herself but then the problem is solved differently so she gets to live happily ever after with Sokka, or if Zuko got his scar healed....by Azula no less, who then still goes on to suffer a mental breakdown anyway. Actually, let me rephrase it: she suffers a mental breakdown after she gets scarred herself!

If a third arc happens, I'll watch it if I hear good things about it. But until then....

[diazpatcher]

s15 let's go.

I'm.not ready to end the show but fuck I wanna see how it ends

I forgot that Cas still has his powers so that caught me off guard lol

what the fuck?????????????????????

"he didn't deserve this" a minute ago you were ready to kill him 😐

"I wouldn't starve 😐" CAS I LOVE YOU

Cas just doing this 🧍‍♂️ while Dean and an injured sam try to find a way out of the mausoleum 💀

JACK????????????? HELP WHAT 💀

"I'd do the whole eyes thing but uh, no eyes" lmao bestie go off 💅

"with that stupid dumb trenchcoat"💀

s15 is starting off strong 💪

"were twinsies" the gen z slang is finally there

loving that Demon already

oh those poor girls

so, it's s1 but 10 times worse.

Crowley Jr.😞😭

"big bag of salt" "and a human heart."🧍‍♂️

"Sam" WHY IS HIS HAND SO.CLOSE TO HIS CROTCH.

"move your exquisite ass, please."

DEANS HELL.MENTIONED "it was art." BRO

"You shoot me.😐"

Rowena wanting to fuck Ketch slay

DEAN RECOGNIZING CAS FOOTSTEPS 🫠

Mom come pick me up the angel and the hunter are fighting help

"We'd call it live." BABES "we ran our own moves"

Why is it giving divorce era 😔

"That we actually had a choice" Just fuck already.

"Whag about all of this is real. We are." AHGGGAGGG

Ketch wanting to fuck Rowena is also such a mood

KEVIN???????? what is this season 💀

Chuck is so embarrassing help. and Amara smelling his bs and knowing he wants something big sister go off

Dean knowing that fake Jack is behind him is so !!!!! baby you're so smart

THAT WHAT

"typically minellial" lmao

"souls go down to hell, heaven can't take em." BESTIE YOU CANT JUST SAY THAT

s15 is so weird 🤨

WHAT IS THIS FLIRTINT EMBARASSING HELP why is ketch grunting like that 😣

ofcourae Rowena knows Jack the ripper 🫠

KETCH NO he died cause he was horny

"Mr. Ketch." 👀

Kevin the soul catcher 😭

Are they sacrificing Keving once again, Ah no. okay.

The demon is so funny I love him <3

Cas not being able to heal ketch, did did Dean use God's gun.....

Belthagor I keep forgetting his name. 😔

Amara being done with Chuck is so funny. Amara go off queen 💅

But what I don't get is if Chuck can do anything why can't he just make another Amara... like a different Amara

Episode 3

Rowenas plan sounds nice but idk it can't be that easy..

Belthagor constantly yawning cause hes bored I love that for him

Rowenas pretty eyes <3

Oh no. no no Rowena????????????

Rowena being scared is so scary cause she is immortal 😔

Dean acting like he doesn't have a flask on him lmao

tbh atp I would kill myself if i was in spn

Wait, don't ghosts turn into demons after a while in hell.....

Rowena and Sam <3 MY SWEET BABIES 😭😭😭😭

Dean's gun <3

Dean being a soldier through and through SOMEBODY SEDATE ME I BEG

Ghostpacolypse LMAO "glorified fanboy" DEAN 😭 💀💀

"You don't have eyes" 😡

Liliths WHAT

ARE THEY GOING TO HELL OMG

Healing spell <3 babes I lovey youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

"DIBS ON SAMUEL" WITH THAT LOOK 🫣🫣🫣

oh it's gonna be Dean again isn't it....

"Yeah Cas will go, you've been to hell before" news flash Dean, all of you have

Is, is belthagor evil? ....

KETCH NO.

Cas going to hell not knowing if he's gonna come back....

ARE WE FINALLY GONNA SEE HELL

Cas and Bel DEAN YOU PETNAME LOVER

FINALLY HELL OMG

"I wanted your company" 🥹 Kill me now.

"Sam and Dean are using you, don't mistake that for caring about you." KILL ME NOW

CAS????????????????????????????????

enochian in hell???????? omg

Belthagor is giving major evil guy

"It's not working🧎‍♀️" lmao "their verses Cas I think they need to be sung😃"

AND WE DONT GET TO HEAR IT ARE YOU SHITTING ME RN

"You're voice is like an angel" 😃

CAS BABY NO.

I KNEW IT I KNEW HE WAS EVIL.

"heard there was a vacancy" lmaoooooo

Dean actually getting away unscathed is this real?????

SAMWENA HOLDING HANDS KILL ME

Cas you have to go please. please please. NO. NO no

QAIT NO. No IS THIS.

JACK?????????? WHAT WHAT WHAT. omg. Cas having to kill his son KILL ME NOW.

anytime anyone on this show cries all I hear is "pretty when you cry."

ROWENA No. NO NO No. PLEASE NO. PLEASE BABY NO. "death is an infinite vessel."

"Because dear," KILL ME NOW

I BEG PLEASE. "AND IT HAS TO BE YOU THAT KILLS ME."

"I don't care about anything enough to take my own life." HELP ME.PLS

Why WHY GOD WHY. Oh no. ROWENA NO.

I CANT EVEN TBINK WHAY FBE FUCK.

Also Dean parenting Sam once again im.gonma chew off my arm

Destiel Divorce era 😞

"Why is that something always seem to be you " I DISNT WANT TO BREATH ANYWAY "you used to trust me." KILL.ME

"my powers are failing and you don't even care. I'm.dead to you." KILL ME WHILW YOUR AT IT WHAYVTHE FUCK

IM PHYSICALLT UNWEL THIS IS THW WORST

lowkey Dean looks so good in thay last shot omg

i caved and started watching supernatural and Jesus fucking christ why are they so funny

[vaxxman]

Oh I'm sad to see people didn't like comic 7, I thought it was very well done.

This isn't an invitation to an argument, I just want to say my opinion because I'm seeing a lot of people criticising the last chapter.

We got a lot of answers and everything that seemed conveniently placed for plot was completely in the scope of how the previous stories have worked before. I thought it was funny that soldier lived in a cave of Australium. It's just as convenient as Medic having a deal with the devil and the mercs being unable to die. Or Grey Mann having a daughter who no one wants to punch in a fist fight. Or Sniper's parents coincidentally being involved with the sinking of New Zealand.

I think it was a very good choice to not let the mercs do anything plot driving in this chapter, because this conflict was never a conflict that could have been ended by the mercs. They wouldn't even have cared, heh. We've known that everything was carefully orchestrated by the Admin, so it could only have been resolved by those who are part of the bigger conflict. Hence Miss Pauling, the Admin and Saxton do most of the plot. Everyone else already had a lot of screen time in the previous chapters, but none of their stories were truly contributing to the actual conflict at hand, so the story can't come to an end until we actually see the person who's been pulling the threads actually come to terms with what she was doing. I'm very happy that her ultimate plan turned out to just be a pointless act of revenge, since we've all known from the start that the gravel wars are pointless. This is just one more dimension deeper into how pointless it is.

Managing to resolve the story and making sure all characters receive a happy end the way they did was more than I had hoped for comic 7. But just to summarise how I think everyone received their peace of mind across all comics:

1. Sniper: Finds out he's adopted -> figures out his step parents were his true family after all

2. Spy: Really wants to tell Scout that he's his dad -> actually manages to say the words, even if he wasn't honest with his appearance

3. Soldier: Delusional hater of commies -> marries a Russian woman and stops claiming racist things, because Zhanna as a person was more important to him than whatever he believed about Russian people. Still weird, not with less delusion but genuinely a sweet father and husband. Exaggerated and maximally silly way of how to actually change people's racist opinions in real life.

4. Scout: Upset that he can't get laid and thinks he has to be More Man -> glows up by becoming a dad who steps up and is less preoccupied with getting the girl of his dreams. His kids are what matters to him now and he becomes like his mom

5. Heavy: Worried about his family in Siberia -> his sisters show him they don't need him to protect them all the time and everyone moves to America so he can be with them. His sisters get to live freely.

6. Engineer: Is involved with the conflict since his grandpa, and is contractually unable to stop it -> tells Miss Pauling to sink all Australium in a trench so this never happens again

7. Saxton Hale: Wants to go back to the time when he was still actively doing things, gets his company stolen -> gets his company back but realises it doesn't make him happy. Leaves his company and joins Maggie again because fighting alongside her was what he's always wanted since we got glimpses of his past

8. Miss Pauling: Thinks the Administrator has a great plan that desperately needs her -> learns the plan was nothing at all and decides on the spot to end it by not giving Admin any more Australium because she realises she has been feeding into the conflict

Medic, Demoman, and Pyro never had a personal conflict to resolve. Medic had his moments to shine by sabotaging TFC and being in hell then coming back. Demoman had his arc with his liver leaving him and defeating the robots due to the alcohol in his blood. Medic scooped out parts of his brain to keep him unquestioning about his eye. Pyro is just a very simple character, and I say that with no judgement at all. Pyro is happy with arson, but also with a Dalmatian as their pet.

Everyone is still friends with each other and have their own little families. They come together to celebrate Smissmass at Scout's place. I think Saxton's last line "or do you want to live forever" was so well placed, being a nod to the meme from Expiration Date, as well as pointing out that, obviously, things have to come to an end we should embrace that ending when we see it's time.

And as always. If anyone doesn't like that any of these things, we are still free to make our own stories and reinterpret characters.

[agentrouka-blog]

Not that i want Sansa Antis to attack her even more, but i just wondered why they always blame her for Ned's death (he would have died in KL anyways), but they never bring up Jeyne Poole. Like, i was thinking, is Sansa partially responsible for what happened to Jeyne Poole? The only thing that Sansa going to Cersei accomplished is that Sansa could be taken into custody instead of Ned sending her and everyone from his entourage back to WF. If that had happened, Septa Mordane, Jeyne, etc, wouldn't have been in KL for the Lannisters and Baelish to get their hands on them. Obviously, the Lannisters and Baelish are the ones who actually did the crimes and I hate when people put just as much blame on Sansa as they do on them, but: in my head, Sansa has always been unfairly maligned and mostly blameless. But would this be something she could be blamed for? Would she consider this when she finds out about Jeyne's fate? On the other hand, if Sansa hadn't talked to Cersei about Ned's plans to send them back to WF, they would have ended up in WF without Ned or Catelyn, ready to fall into the hands of Theon and or Ramsay.

That's wrong, actually.

Here is a helpful timeline (halfway down into the post) by @istumpysk that gives us insight into what happened when.

The boat Wind Witch was going to leave that evening.

Ned was getting himself arrested that morning, and the slaughter of his household commenced soon after.

Absolutely nothing Sansa did had any influence over anything other than MAYBE giving Cersei the identity of the ship they were leaving on, quicker than they maybe would have gotten it from questioning anyone else. But - again - they were never making it to that ship in the first place.

And it's even doubtful the captain would have taken escaped Arya away that evening all by herself and delivered her to Winterfell when the guy who hired him has just been arrested for high treason, even if Cersei (or spying Varys or Littlefinger) had not known which ship it was. The same would be true for Jeyne and Sansa if - for some unfathomable reason - they had not been in the Tower of the Hand as Ned instructed and somehow escaped the slaughter undetected. Which is ridiculous because we know how difficult it was for adventurous Arya to get away. She had to kill a witness to do it. Jeyne Poole is clearly apprehended with ease and placed into confinement in Maegor's Holdfast with Sansa that night.

And even Arya didn't make to the ship there by the time it was supposed to leave. They made a trap for her that she recognizes as such many days later, surprised the ship is still there.

So.. no. Sansa is absolutely not to blame for anything that happened to Jeyne Poole. If she did blame herself, she would be wrong to do so. That's what makes people's desire to blame her so ridiculous. It relies on not actually reading the text and understanding what happens.

[peppermintquartz]

Chris opens the door and embraces Deacon in a warm welcome. He hugs her back with one arm, the other holding flowers and a case of beer. It feels almost like old times.

"It's been too long, man," she chides. "Come on in. Street's so excited, he's gone out to get this amazing tiramisu we found on one of our dates."

"You didn't have to go to that much trouble," Deacon says, smiling. "Oh that smells great."

"My aunt gave me a surefire chili recipe. We've tested it several times, it's definitely good."

"And you look good. How's everything? The shelter doing okay?"

"Yeah," says Chris. "Thanks to Nichelle, I got in touch with some sympathetic ears and they've been super generous, and I've been able to find a steady roster of volunteers. Plus, with our rep, we're left alone for the most part, and anyone trying anything gets warned off fast by the ones running the block."

Deacon makes a face. "Not sure if that's the safest way to go about things."

"Gotta work both sides of the law now," Chris says with a shrug. Deacon means well but he's still a straight white man who has always lived in privilege. "But my girls are all on the straight and narrow. I've fourteen of them with me, and six have found sponsors to help them to get work permits, which will help with getting full documentation. I'm helping another two cooperate with police because they were smuggled here after being sold by their parents for cash, and the rest... well, we'll get there." She grimaces before grinning. "Sorry. I get excited talking about my work."

"No, no it's good. I'm happy for you." Deacon hands her the colorful bouquet and the beer. "It's great that you found your purpose."

Thanking him for the gifts and rummaging around for a vase or jug for the flowers, she asks, "So how come you're here alone? I was under the impression that it'll be you and Annie. Wine?"

"Water, please. I'm driving." Deacon sits down in one of the chairs around the dining table. She wonders what he notices about the place on his second visit. It's a cozy apartment, despite the industrial elements; she especially likes the new potted herbs Street has insisted upon, even though neither of them can tell a cabbage from a lettuce.

"I, uh, I wanted to chat with you, actually. Not, not chat." Deacon says as he rubs his wedding ring. "I want your advice on something that I need you to keep secret."

An odd feeling tickles the back of her neck. She sits down in the chair beside him, wondering if she should hold her friend's hand. "Sounds serious."

"I think it is." He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, like he's planning to dive into the deep end of a pool. "Chris, how and w-when did you know you're bisexual?"

Chris' eyebrows shoot up. That is definitely not a question she was expecting. "Uh. Okay. For me, I was fifteen and really into a boy, a classmate." Enrique Garcia, she recalls, lean and athletic with the cutest freckle on his right cheek, with a shoulder-length mop of gleaming dark curls. "And then, one day, I met him and his older sister Alina at the mall. She was really nice when we talked and my mind kinda went a little insane thinking how pretty she was and how much I'd love to kiss her."

"And that was... That was how you knew?"

She shrugs. "Some reading up and some very confusing dreams later, I kinda figured it out." She angles her head and studies Deacon. "Are you...?"

"Fifteen, wow." Deacon chews on his lower lip. The tips of his ears are red and he can't meet her eyes. "Maybe I'm too old for this."

"You met someone who's causing you to question everything you knew about your sexuality?"

He ducks his head, still fiddling with his wedding ring. "Yes," he admits quietly. "And I know, I know it's not good, I'm married and I have Annie, it's just really..."

Chris smiles and holds his forearm. "Confusing."

"So confusing," Deacon agrees with a brief chuckle. His voice sounds so unsure and lost that it's disorienting for Chris. That isn't the Deacon she has known for the past decade. "Annie is the perfect woman for me. Like, once I met her and got to know her, I knew she was the one I wanted to marry and have a family with. And I thought that was it. That that is all I would ever need or want."

"But now you've met someone. Some guy."

Ducking his head, Deacon bites his lip and shakes his head. "I'm over fifty, Chris. I shouldn't be having sexuality crises at this age. But, yes. I met some guy."

"He's that special, huh." Chris hopes she doesn't sound judgmental. Having been through this with her own family, she feels for him. And a part of her feels honored that someone she respects so much will choose to come out to her. "Am I the first to know?"

"Yes." He clears his throat. "I never thought I would be interested in a man like that. And yet... I feel happy whenever I see him. I worry about him at work. I hear a song on the radio and it'll remind me of him."

There's something that Deacon is hiding. After so many years as a cop and now helping scared women, she's learned to read between the lines.

Still holding his forearm, she says, "Thanks for trusting me with this, Deac. I'm so honored by your trust."

He sniffs and finally looks at her, his eyes dewy with a hint of tears. "Chris, am I bisexual?"

"You could be," she says. "I can't answer for you. I'm not some mind reader for queer people. You might be attracted to women in general and one guy in particular, and that's normal. Sexuality is a spectrum and the great thing is, you get to define yourself. It may feel overwhelming-"

"Understatement of the year."

"-but I can point you in the direction of some websites or resources you can refer to. Don't be surprised if any are angled at teens, though. Most people who are questioning tend to be young."

"Unlike this old geezer," Deacon jokes weakly. She squeezes his forearm as she grins, then lets go of him.

"You're never too old to learn new tricks, Deac." Taking a deep breath, Chris leans closer and says, "I'm gonna ask something that may be invasive, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but you may feel better if you do."

Deacon sighs like he knows what's coming and looks at her.

"Are you seeing this guy?"

The guilt that flickers over Deacon's face tells Chris enough.

"Oh, Deac..." She pulls him into a hug.

"I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to know about that," he murmurs.

She squeezes him and pulls back enough to smile at him. "I'm your friend, Deac. But you know you can't have him."

He nods, pressing his lips tightly together. "I know. I wish... I don't know what I wish. But Chris... Chris, I'm so happy when I'm with him." There's a waver in his voice. "I didn't know that I could even be this happy with anyone."

Not even with Annie.

The words are not said, but she hears them as clear as day. She hugs him again.

They hear the keys jingle and Deacon straightens, rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes while clearing his throat.

"Hey, Deacon!" Street comes in with an insulated bag and Chris stands up to welcome him with a kiss. His dimples deepen and his eyes light up. "Hey babe. Deac, come here, bring it in."

Deacon smiles and hugs Street. The mask has fallen back in place over Deacon's face and Chris makes sure hers is present too.

"I'll go plate up dinner," she says with a smile, kissing Street again as she passes him and takes the tiramisu from his hands, leaving the two men to catch up. Deacon won't tell Street what he told her; that's not the friendship they have, and she knows he trusts her not to tell anyone what he's revealed to her.

It's not her secret to tell, and Deacon will need time. He'll do the right thing, she's sure. She only hopes he figures out what the right thing for him will be.

[idontknowanametouse]

Ok, I know nobody liked JJK's ending, but after a long time thinking about it, I changed my mind. Not because of powerscaling or anything like that, but because of Gege's hopepunk message.

Let me explain: most people think, or at least thought when they started it, that JJK was a grimdark story. For those who don't know:

Grimdark is a genre in which the world is dystopian or hopeless, ammoral and violent, generally with a lot of death and sadness and no good ending to be seen.

Hopepunk is a genre/philosophy in which, even though there is darkness and death and sadness, there can be a good ending through the character's fight, kindness and a general hope that, even though things are dark, they can be better.

Now that it's explained, let me dissert:

When we first see the jjk world, it is very dark, with horrible curses that haunt all characters and that are originated from bad feelings, which is something humans can never get rid of. The characters' power comes from curses and there is no way to definitely stop all of this (hence why Geto lost his mind). People die due to curses everyday and, even with the best efforts from everyone, you can never stop it definitely. It looks like a pretty grimdark setting.

This is continuously reinforced to us over and over, until... that one scene in Shibuya where Itadori kills Mahito.

Itadori, ultimately, forgives him. He forgives the one who's killed people he loved and who will never regret his inhuman acts towards innocent people. And yet, Itadori forgives Mahito. He forgives the one deemed to be unforgivable because he understands Mahito is not able to change because he is a curse. It is not his fault to have been born that way, and he even apologizes for having to kill him. Because he understands none of them has true fault in their acts, but he still need to kill him due to this understanding that Mahito will never change and therefore needs to be stopped before he hurts more people.

This scene is forgotten for a while, until the very polemic ending.

This scene does not happen again because Mahito and Sukuna are different. Mahito is a curse, Sukuna is a human. Mahito can't change his nature, but Sukuna can.

We get the Itadori and Sukuna talk and we see how much Itadori has changed and evoluted since the start. Before, he wanted to be able to save everyone. To hurt all of those who hurt others. But he is not like that anymore. He understands he can't save everyone and that those who hurt others must be stopped, not hurt.

He went through a lot of suffering. He thought he saw Nobara and Nanami die and also had just saw his teacher and his brother get killed by Sukuna.

And yet, he does the extremely powerful thing to choose to not hate Sukuna because he felt way too much hatred towards Mahito and learned that it didn't help at all. He even pitied Mahito back then for not being able to change at all.

He talks to Sukuna and realizes Sukuna is a humand and therefore can change, he just doesn't want to. And he pities Sukuna because of that. He choses not to hate him for that, but feel sorry for him.

And when he manages to reach for Megumi and finds out Nobara is alive, he realizes that he hasn't lost everything. He still has them. Megumi realizes that too. He's lost his family, but he still decides to go on and try to live.

And, when Sukuna is defeated, Itadori gives him a chance to change one last time. He knows Sukuna won't regret, but he can still change. And, even as Sukuna doesn't change, Itadori doesn't hate him.

I think jjk's ultimate message is: there are problems we'll never be able to get rid of completely. There are bad things that will happen and that we can't stop. There will be sadness and pain and violence and death. But even when the world and the people are cruel and horrible and hateful, we need to put all of our strenght into not hating. Into trying to be better. Into trying to overcome our pain and living on. Because, even if you think you've lost everything, maybe you haven't. Maybe you are just blinded by sadness. And even if you did lose everything, you can try and live and go on again. Itadori's hope, love and forgiveness saved his heart, his soul, his friends and his world. And everyone worked together for their world to be better.

BTW this was all thanks to this amazing song:

[epickiya722]

So... 16 pages... I'm guessing each character gets 4 pages each?

My predictions for these bonus epilogues are...

Uraume might get a chapter focusing on how they met Sukuna and/or maybe their POV of after their death. Maybe a glimpse in the fight they had with Hakari.

Nobara probably reconnecting with Saori and/or Fumi. Personally, I hope to see her connect with both in Tokyo. Saori finds her and Fumi actually moving out that village.

Now, I'm surprised Panda is getting an epilogue, but I figured it's because he didn't get a lot of focus. Like, he was absent from the story in those last few arcs which makes sense given his status. I'm guessing for him, probably some more depth of his relationships he has with his siblings and Yaga and how he's mourning them. Maybe even Inumaki cameos given they're practically besties. And shocker, but also maybe something with Kusakabe given he felt indebted to Yaga.

Okay, Ozawa, I never thought we'd see her again. Something is telling me we'll get her meeting Yuji again. Last time she was in the story, she decided not to tell Yuji about her feelings since she didn't want him to like her for her looks. If she does meet with him, ooh... kind of hard to guess, but probably this time around she might get over her feelings? I'd like to see her come to loving herself. Maybe have a heart to heart with Yuji? And maybe Yuji tells her something about how she never had to change her looks because she was fine the way that she was before. She may even meet someone new and decide to start over because, this time, she got over her feelings for Yuji.

These are just guesses now!! Just predictions!! Don't take them to heart or anything.

Now, if you asked me who I wanted to see an epilogue on? Well, Nobara I think should have one and one on Uraume? Yeah, give me that.

Shoko, Ijichi and Utahime are three characters that come to mind. I would have liked to see more on how they're coping with the deaths that have happened. How is Shoko and Ijichi doing dealing with the deaths of Gojo and Yaga?

How is Utahime doing with two of her own students having died since the Shibuya arc?

Jumping from that, how is Ino doing dealing with Nanami's death? How about Todo? How is he doing after the death of two of his schoolmates?

Two other characters I would have loved to see get an epilogue are Inumaki and Miwa. Both of them were almost absent for the latter half even during the final fight with just small appearances. Even so, their time counted and really just left me wanting more for them. Inumaki, we really don't know a lot at all about him. I'd like to see his POV of things. Same for Miwa. For Noritoshi, we were able to get a happy ending with him being with his mother, stepfather and brother. What about Miwa and her brothers? And how is she dealing with the death of two of her schoolmates, one she had a close relationship with?

One more character l would have liked to get an epilogue for is Uro.

Listen, listen! I know she was just a character for the Culling Games Arc, but I would have liked to see how she's coping after everything. The last we saw of her was her alive. What happened to her?

Now, just my opinion! Just my thoughts.