#not escape arc but still something i wanted to write for a while

[incognit0slut]

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

[jungkoode]

5 SECONDS TO FREEDOM | prologue

˗ˏˋ debts unpaid ˎˊ˗

"In Tokyo's underground, there are only two currencies that matter—respect and reputation. When someone threatens to take both, you don't just race them. You destroy them."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 3.5k

content: street racing culture, debt collection, first meetings, midnight races, dangerous driving, Spanish endearments as provocation, the dynamics of Tokyo's underground scene, and your first defeat in nineteen months.

✧ author's note ✧

Soooo here we fucking go.

I've been obsessing over this story for months—I think we all know that lmaooo I think I posted the teaser like a couple months ago and I was devastated because it barely got 50 notes. But you know what, this was still in my head so I did write some drabbles—and I kind of shaped the prologue, which is what you’re gonna read below hahaha.

“But Kiki we just sent you 45 asks telling you to rest” AND I SAID SIKE??? No actually, I’m okay I promise! Usually writing different stories is what prevents me from burning out, because I get frustrated with the same storyline so it’s like… I write something else and my brain goes ‘yay thanks’. You know, ADHD—shiny new toy, mind dances to the music.

Anyways, so. I love this. I love this because as always I get to experiment with different personalities and psychological backgrounds and what I fucking love about these two is the masks they wear and how opposite they are. He’s cocky and arrogant, but in a different way FMU!jungkook is. She’s determined and ambitious, always pushing for more, but still very distinct from all my other Y/N’s because she’s handling different situations (you’ll see in later chapters).

And Hachiroku and Jaque aren't just racing personas—they're escapes. And what makes this delicious is that they're running from opposite lives. One from privilege, one from struggle. Both finding freedom in the same five seconds at the starting line.

And yes, the cars matter. They're not just vehicles; they're extensions of identity. The AE86 is legendary for a reason—not the most powerful, but perfectly balanced in the hands of someone who knows exactly what they're doing (sound familiar?). Meanwhile, the R34 Skyline is raw, unapologetic power held in check by someone who understands precisely when to unleash it.

AS ALWAYS—READ THE AUTHOR INTRO AND TW listed in the index post. This is a must before reading this story.

Fair warning: this isn't going to be a clean race. These characters are messy. They make decisions that will make you want to scream at them. They'll crash into each other's lives and leave debris everywhere, and the kind of attraction that feels like a guardrail giving way on a mountain pass.

But that's the point, isn't it? The most interesting stories happen in the dangerous curves.

So buckle up. We've got a long road ahead.

Ready? Light’s about to turn green.

Also. Notes for this one are pretty high, that’s intentional. Like I just wanted to post the prologue to have it out for a bit but I still need to work on the arcs and major plot points. So I don’t have the story fully shaped out for now, which is why I want this to rest and check for engagement and reactions. Seriously—don’t crash out, I know this one will take time and that’s absolutely my intention!

Edit: prologue takes place 6 months before the main storyline!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Respect isn't given in Tokyo's underground—it's paid in cash or blood.

You roll the cherry lollipop against your teeth, counting seconds in your head like engine timing.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours since you left Kalo and his overpriced Supra in your rearview on the Hakone downhill, his taillights disappearing around the corner while you took the perfect line through the hairpin that everyone else brakes too hard for.

It's nighttime at Daikoku.

You cross one leg over the other, letting your heeled boot dangle casually off the edge of your AE86's hood. The mini skirt wasn't a random choice. Neither was showing up without your racing gear.

Because tonight isn't about driving—it's about collecting.

"Kalo's nowhere to be seen," Maya says, leaning against your car's hood, arms crossed. "Dipped hard."

You don't bother looking at her, just shift the lollipop to the other side of your mouth with your tongue. The neon from nearby signs reflects off the polished black and white paint of your 86.

"What?" Maya catches your expression. "I'm just saying. Word is he's been avoiding this spot since you embarrassed him."

"While still flashing cash at that club in Roppongi," you add, voice flat. "Buying drinks for anyone who'll listen to his bullshit version of what happened on the mountain."

You tug at one of the layered chains around your neck, watching the crowd that's gathered tonight.

The usual suspects are here—wannabes with more money than skill taking photos of each other's cars, veterans huddled around hoods talking suspension setups, scouts looking for the next race.

Everyone except the one person who should be here with your money.

"So what's the plan?" Maya nudges your shoulder. "Just gonna sit here looking pretty until he magically appears?"

You roll your eyes. "Since when do I just sit and wait for anything?"

"Fair point." She grins that wolfish grin of hers. "So?"

"So I track his ass down." You twist the lollipop stick between your fingers. "He owes me fifty thousand yen. But more than that, he owes me the respect of paying up and admitting I smoked him fair and square."

Maya snorts, exactly as you expected. "Called it. Knew you wouldn't let this slide."

"It's not about the money." You straighten up, adjusting your cropped leather jacket. "It's about the principle. You lose a race, you pay your debts. That's how this works. You don't just disappear like some amateur who can't handle defeat."

"Especially not when he talked all that shit beforehand," Maya adds, picking at her black nail polish. "What was it he said again? Something about how no girl could ever handle his—"

"'No girl could handle my power on the downhill,'" you quote dryly. "Right before I passed him on the outside of that corner everyone brakes for."

The memory brings a slight smile to your face.

The shock in his eyes when you appeared in his side mirror where no car should have been able to fit.

The desperate overcorrection that sent him nearly scraping the guardrail while you smoothly accelerated away.

"Exactly." Maya pushes off your hood. "So what's the first move? Hit his usual spots?"

You pull the lollipop from your mouth with a pop. "Already did. Club Seventh in Roppongi. The garage where his uncle works in Setagaya. That ramen shop he's always at in Shibuya."

"Stalker much?" Maya raises an eyebrow.

"Thorough," you correct her. "There's a difference."

A brief silence falls between you as you both watch a metallic blue GT-R roll into the lot, bass thumping hard enough to vibrate the pavement.

Not Kalo's crowd—these guys run with the Yokohama crew.

"Kenji might know," you say finally, referring to your mutual friend who somehow knows everyone's business in Tokyo's racing scene. "He mentioned Kalo's been hanging around some new spot in Meguro the past week."

Maya pulls out her phone. "Want me to text him now?"

"Already did." You tap your boot against the bumper of your car. "He's supposed to meet us here in—" you check the time on your wrist "—fifteen minutes ago."

"Typical." Maya rolls her eyes. "That guy couldn't be on time if his life depended on it."

You're about to respond when you spot a familiar face weaving through the crowd. Kenji, with his signature sunglasses despite it being well past midnight, making his way toward you.

You straighten up slightly, not wanting to appear too eager for information.

"Ladies," he greets with that irritating smirk of his, adjusting his sunglasses even though there's absolutely no need. "Looking dangerous tonight, Y/N. Someone's not here to race."

"Just tell me what you know about Kalo," you say, cutting through his bullshit.

Kenji leans against your car without asking—a liberty you allow only because he's useful.

"Direct as always. That's what I like about you."

"Kenji," you warn, patience already wearing thin.

"Fine, fine." He holds up his hands in surrender. "Your boy's been hanging at this new garage in Meguro. Place called Midnight Rush. Trying to get in with that crew that runs the Wangan on weekends."

You raise an eyebrow. "The twins' territory? That's desperate even for him."

"After what you did to his reputation?" Kenji shrugs. "Man's gotta find somewhere to start over."

Maya laughs. "Not how this works. You don't just reset when you lose."

"Exactly." You shift your weight, boot heels clicking against the pavement. "So he's there tonight?"

"Should be. They're prepping for some big run tomorrow. Word is there's serious money changing hands. He's trying to buy his way in."

The conversation halts as the distinctive growl of an approaching engine cuts through the night.

Not just any engine—something with a tune you've never heard before.

Sharp. Aggressive. Perfectly balanced.

Heads turn as a midnight purple Skyline R34 GT-R glides into the parking area, before coming to a stop under the harsh parking lot lights.

"Who the hell is that?" Maya straightens up, suddenly alert.

Kenji's expression shifts from boredom to interest in an instant—a rare change for him. "New player. Goes by Jaque."

You study the car, assessing rather than admiring.

Aftermarket body kit, but tasteful. Custom wheels. The stance is aggressive but functional.

Whoever built this wasn't just throwing money at it—they knew exactly what they were doing.

"Jaque?" you repeat, keeping your voice neutral despite your curiosity. "What kind of name is that?"

"Latino guy. Showed up about a month ago." Kenji lowers his voice, shifting into the gossip mode he lives for. "Been cleaning up. Undefeated so far."

Your eyebrow rises slightly at that.

Undefeated is a bold claim in this scene.

"Never heard of him," Maya says, voicing what you're thinking.

"That's because he's been running mostly on the Wangan line. Outrunning cops, taking stupid risks. The kind of shit that gets you noticed fast." Kenji's eyes remain fixed on the car. "Word is he beat Hayato's record on the C1 loop last week."

That gets your attention, though you're careful not to show it.

Hayato's record has stood for three years.

This guy has broken it in a month.

Who the fuck is this?

Your question is answered when the driver's door opens, and the crowd's murmur intensifies. A figure emerges, oozing the confidence of someone who knows they belong anywhere they choose to be.

Not tall, but with a presence that fills the space around him. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and a smirk that suggests he's already three steps ahead of everyone else.

"He drives like he's got nothing to lose," Kenji adds, a note of genuine respect in his voice that you rarely hear. "Like he doesn't care if he crashes or dies. It's... I don’t know man. Something else."

You watch as the driver—Jaque, apparently—leans back against his Skyline, surveying the crowd like he's taking inventory.

His gaze sweeps across the parking lot, until it lands on your group.

Or more specifically, on you.

He gives you a small nod, as if acknowledging territory.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," Maya mutters, nudging your ribs.

You shrug, unimpressed. "Looks like another ego with a nice car."

But you don't look away, and neither does he. It's a standoff of sorts, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact.

You've played this game before with countless racers who thought they were hot shit.

You've never been the first to look away.

"Don't dismiss him so quickly," Kenji warns, surprising you. "I've seen him drive. I’m dead serious, it’s not normal."

"Nobody's unbeatable," you say, finally breaking the staring contest to look back at Kenji.

Just because you had to look back at Kenji.

"Maybe." Kenji shifts uncomfortably. "But this guy... he doesn't race like a normal person. It's like he's got some kind of death wish, but with the skill to back it up."

You scoff, though something about Kenji's tone—the genuine concern beneath his usual bullshit—gives you pause.

"Death wish or not, a car's a car, and physics is physics. There are rules to this game that nobody breaks."

Maya's watching you with that knowing look she gets when she can tell someone's gotten under your skin, even just a little.

"You want to find out, don't you?"

"I want to find Kalo and get my money," you correct her, though your eyes drift back to the Skyline against your will. "That's why we're here."

You scoff at Maya's knowing smirk, about to tell her to shut it when fragments of conversation float over from where the newcomer stands. One word cuts through the ambient noise of engines and chatter.

Kalo.

Your head snaps toward the source.

The Skyline guy—Jaque—leans against his car, talking to a small circle of racers. His hands move expressively as he speaks, gold bracelet catching the neon light.

"Kenji." You cut him off mid-sentence. "Who exactly is this guy talking to?"

Kenji follows your gaze. "Nobody important. Some Yokohama kids trying to get noticed." He adjusts those stupid sunglasses. "Why?"

"He just mentioned Kalo."

Maya straightens beside you. "You sure?"

No mistaking it. Not when you've been hunting that name for two weeks.

"Excuse me," you say, already moving.

Maya sighs behind you. "Here she goes again."

You don't look back. Your boots click purposefully across the pavement, moving slowly. Not rushing—you never rush. But determined.

Three guys surrounding Jaque glance up as you approach, their expressions shifting from interest to wariness. They know who you are.

He doesn't turn immediately. Keeps talking, voice carrying a rhythm unlike anything you've heard in Tokyo. An accent that doesn't belong here.

Only when you're close enough to count the stitches on his leather jacket does he acknowledge your presence.

And even then, it's just a partial turn. Forty-five degrees. Neck cradling slightly to look at you sideways.

Performative, if anything. Like he knew you were coming before you did.

You cross your arms, weight shifting to one hip. His mouth twitches upward at the corner, eyes traveling from your face down to your boots and back up again.

Not subtle about it at all.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this sight?" Velvet slides from his lips.

One eyebrow quirks upward, the slightest movement. His Japanese is fluent but different—consonants softened, vowels stretched in places they shouldn't be.

You narrow your eyes. "You mentioned Kalo. What do you know about him? What's your relationship?"

He studies you for two full seconds. Not answering. Just looking. Like he's trying to read something written in small print.

Then he chuckles, using two fingers to move a thin strand of dark hair that's fallen across his view. The movement is unnecessary. Theatrical. Done for effect.

"Why so serious, princesa?"

It’s Spanish, the last word. You know that much, know from the way the word rolls off his tongue, deliberate, inserted where it doesn't belong. Like he’s testing boundaries, hoping for a reaction.

"I asked you a question." You keep your voice unimpressed.

"And I asked you one too."

He turns to face you fully now, leaning back against his car with the casualness of someone who's never been afraid of anything.

"But since you came all this way... Kalo. The Supra guy, right? The one who races like he learned driving from a video game?"

The description is so accurate you almost smile.

Almost.

"I hear he owes someone money," he continues, watching your reaction carefully. "Someone who smoked him on the mountain course two weeks back. Embarrassed him so badly he's been hiding like a scared rabbit."

His three companions take subtle steps backward, no longer interested in being part of this conversation.

Smart.

Maya appears beside you, silent backup. Though her presence changes nothing in his demeanor.

"And how would you know about that?" you ask.

He shrugs one shoulder.

"People talk. I listen." His accent thickens when he adds, "Es lo que hago." (It’s what I do)

"Is that right?" You don't react to the Spanish. "Interesting that someone who just showed up knows so much about other people's business."

"I'm observant."

His eyes lock with yours.

"For example, I observe that you're not here to race tonight. That outfit? Those heels?" He clicks his tongue. "You're here to collect. To make a point."

Something cold slides down your spine. Not fear—you don't do fear. Something else.

Being read so easily isn't a sensation you're familiar with.

"What's your name again?" You ask it like you've already forgotten, though you haven't.

"Jaque." He says it with a slight emphasis on the second syllable. "And you're Y/N. The 86 driver who hasn't lost a mountain race in what, two years?"

"Nineteen months," Maya corrects automatically.

You shoot her a look.

Jaque's smile widens. "Nineteen months. Impressive."

"If you're done wasting my time," you say, turning slightly, "I have a debt to collect."

"From a guy who isn't here."

He pushes off his car, closing the distance between you by half a step. Not enough to be threatening. Just enough to make his presence unavoidable.

"And won't be. Not tonight," he adds.

"And you know that how?"

"Because I passed him on the expressway heading in the opposite direction. About twenty minutes ago." He taps his wrist where a watch would be. "Running scared, looked like."

You clench your jaw. If he's telling the truth, you've wasted your night. Another dead end in your hunt for the coward who owes you.

"So you just happened to recognize a stranger's car?" Maya asks, skepticism heavy in her voice.

"A white Supra with that terrible aftermarket body kit and the Rising Sun decal on the hood?" He makes a dismissive gesture. "Hard to miss. Hard to forget, unfortunately."

That description matches Kalo's car exactly; and the sick feeling in your stomach tells you he's not lying, as much as you'd like him to be.

"Well," you say, voice cooling by several degrees, "thanks for the information."

You turn to leave, disgusted at having your time wasted. First by Kalo's absence, now by this newcomer who clearly just wanted to get your attention. Another night, another waste.

"I'll pay you double what he owes you."

The words stop you mid-step.

You turn back slowly, measuring every movement.

"Excuse me?"

Jaque's expression hasn't changed, but something in his eyes has.

They’re gleaning.

"Fifty thousand yen, right? I'll make it a hundred." He says casually, like offering to buy a coffee. "If you beat me."

Maya makes a small sound beside you, something between a scoff and a laugh.

"And why would I race someone I don't know for money I don't need?"

You almost laugh. As if this is about the money. You were born into more yen than he’s ever seen—this is about respect. About principle. About owning your loss when someone beats you clean. No excuses. No saving face. Just bow your head and pay what you owe.

But he’s not done.

"Because you're curious." He says it like it's obvious. "Because you've been the best for nineteen months and you're bored. Because you want to know if I'm as good as they say."

"As good as who says?" You roll your eyes. "I've never heard of you before tonight."

"Then I must be doing something right." His smile shifts, becomes syrupy. "But if money doesn't motivate you, how about this—I win, I get to run with your crew. Race in your territory."

You can't help it—you laugh. Short and dismissive.

"That's not how this works. You don't just buy your way in." Your eyes flick to his car. "No matter how pretty your GT-R is."

"I'm not buying," he corrects, that accent slipping into his Japanese again. "I'm earning. Difference."

You narrow your eyes.

Maya leans close to your ear. "You're not seriously considering this?"

You should walk away. This guy is nobody. A newcomer with a nice car and too much confidence. The racing scene sees them every month. They come, they crash, they disappear.

But.

Something about the way he stands there, utterly certain of himself, gets under your skin.

Like he already knows your answer before you do.

And maybe it's the wasted night. Maybe it's two weeks of hunting Kalo with nothing to show for it. Maybe it's just the need to put someone in their place.

"One race," you hear yourself say.

Maya's head whips toward you in surprise.

"One race," you continue, "and when I win, you pay double what Kalo owes me, and you don't bother me again."

"And when I win," he counters, not missing a beat, "I race with your crew. Simple."

"If," you correct.

"When." He doesn't back down.

One calculated step closer brings his scent into focus. Leather, naturally, but beneath it something that doesn't compute. A scent that belongs to ryokan inns and meditation halls, not this arrogant foreigner.

Hinoki.

"You're awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me or how I drive."

"And you're awfully defensive for someone who's supposedly unbeatable." His voice drops lower, meant for your ears only. "What are you afraid of, princesa?"

The Spanish word again. A barb. Challenging.

"Afraid?" You match his tone. "I'm trying to save you the embarrassment. And the money."

He laughs, so genuine that it catches you off guard. "So it's settled then. You and me. Tonight."

From the corner of your eye, you see Kenji approaching, drawn by the developing scene. Others are watching too.

Word travels fast in this world.

"Fine." You extend your hand, a formality in this world of verbal contracts. "My terms. My course."

He takes your hand. His grip is firm but not aggressive. Just right. His palm warm against yours.

"Your course," he agrees. "But I pick when."

You raise an eyebrow. "When, then?"

His smile widens, showing teeth. "Now."

Death has a rhythm.

Tonight, it sounds like Daddy Yankee.

The mountain is yours—every curve, every shadow, every inch of guardrail. You've memorized each crack in the asphalt like the lines on your palm.

Yet as you sit at the starting line, engine purring, the midnight purple Skyline beside you blasts "Gasolina" loud enough to vibrate your windows.

He's not even looking at the road.

Jaque's got hand on the wheel, the other tapping the window frame in rhythm.

Kenji stands between the cars, arms raised.

You grip your steering wheel tighter.

Focus. Calculate. This is your mountain. Your rules.

"Ready!" Kenji shouts.

You check your gauges, settle into position, drop your breath rate. Your 86 is an extension of your body.

"Set!"

Jaque turns to you—actually turns his head away from the road—and winks.

Winks.

What the fuck is his problem?

Your jaw clenches so hard you hear teeth grinding.

"GO!"

You snap into the first gear immediately, launching forward as your tires bite into asphalt. Perfect traction. Perfect release. Your 86 shoots ahead exactly as calculated, exactly as it always does.

The Skyline stays even.

First corner approaches—tight right-hander with a nasty camber that catches amateurs by surprise. You brake at the perfect moment, downshift, feel the weight transfer as you clip the apex.

Textbook. Flawless. The corner you've taken hundreds of times.

The Skyline mirrors you exactly, staying in your blind spot. The bass from his music is still thumping through the night air.

Second corner. Third. Fourth. Each attack perfect, each line immaculate. And still, he's there. Not gaining, not falling behind. Just... present. Like a shadow you can't shake.

"What the hell is this guy playing at?" You mutter, taking the next hairpin with a controlled aggression that should give you an advantage.

Should.

Doesn't.

The Skyline follows, its midnight paint swallowing the moonlight instead of reflecting it. Through the next three corners, it continues—you lead, he follows, neither gaining ground.

Until the straightaway.

The road opens up, and you floor it. The 86 responds instantly, pushing you back into your seat. This is where your lighter weight should shine.

But the Skyline surges forward, twin-turbo engine unleashing a growl that slices the night.

He passes you.

Not aggressively. Not dangerously.

Just... efficiently.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time in nineteen months, you're staring at someone else's taillights.

"No fucking way."

You push harder, finding speed you rarely tap into. The gap closes slightly on the approach to the next corner—a sharp left with a cliff drop on the outside.

No guardrail. No room for error.

Normal people brake early here.

Jaque, as it turns out, is not normal people.

You don't brake until the last possible microsecond, throwing the 86 into the corner. The tires scream, traction at its absolute limit. You can feel them searching for grip, dancing on the edge of adhesion.

You exit the corner a car length behind him.

"Come on!" You slam the gearshift, pushing for more.

The next section is technical—five corners in quick succession. Your territory.

It's where precision matters more than power.

You close the gap. Corner by corner, inch by inch. Three more and you're on his bumper. Close enough to see his fingers still tapping against the frame slightly to the rhythm.

The next hairpin is your chance. The inside line is risky—there's barely enough room—but it's your mountain.

You know exactly how much space you need.

You dive for the gap.

For one beautiful moment, you're alongside him. Equal. Your front bumper inches past his door.

Then he does something impossible.

Instead of defending the line—instead of doing what any rational driver would do—Jaque throws his car into a drift so aggressive it sends the back end swinging wide, nearly touching the guardrail.

The move creates an arc that cuts you off, forces you to brake or crash.

You brake.

The maneuver costs him speed, should give you another chance to pass on exit.

But before you can capitalize, he's already accelerating out of the drift, the Skyline's all-wheel drive finding traction where none should exist.

"What the actual—"

The move was insane. Suicidal. The kind of thing that ends with twisted metal and sirens.

And he pulled it off like he was parallel parking.

For the final stretch—three corners and the last straightaway—you throw caution aside. Push beyond limits you usually respect. The 86 responds, giving everything it has.

It's not enough.

The Skyline crosses the finish line two car lengths ahead. You slam your palm against the steering wheel.

The taste of defeat is metallic in your mouth, foreign and despised.

You bring the 86 to a hard stop, tires protesting at the sudden deceleration.

The music still pounds from his car. That same goddamn song.

You throw open your door, adrenaline and anger propelling you forward. The cool mountain air hits your flushed face as you storm toward his car.

Because that last move? It wasn't just reckless—it was deadly. The kind of stunt that gets people killed on these mountains.

Words build in your throat. Sharp words. Words about respect for the mountain and death wishes and arrogance.

His door swings open as you approach. The music blasts louder without the barrier of glass and metal. He slides out with that same casual grace you saw when he called you princesa, when he winked before accelerating.

And something stops the words in your throat.

He shakes his head slightly, dark hair falling across his eyes before he pushes it back with one smooth motion. His other hand remains on the Skyline's roof, some golden ring catching the moonlight.

When he turns to face you, there's no triumph in his expression. No arrogance.

Just... satisfaction.

Like he's found something he's been looking for.

His eyes meet yours across the short distance. That smile appears again—not the cocky smirk from earlier, but something more genuine. Lips curved just slightly at the corners.

"Thanks for the adrenaline rush, mami," he says, voice carrying over the pounding beat of Daddy Yankee.

You've never hated Spanish music more in your life.

goal: 500 notes

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw @jkrailme @graydolan12

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[tealvenetianmask]

I want to talk about a kind of troubling reaction I've been seeing to both Apology Tour and Ghostfuckers among parts of the fandom. The person is usually a reaction youtuber but sometimes someone writing on tumblr or twitter. They say something along the lines of "oh, I'm glad Blitz is being forced to confront his crimes/traumas/pain. This is the only way he will finally heal."

That's not how healing works.

I know that reaction youtubers don't always have the most developed takes because they're . . . you know . . . reacting in the moment. But I think it's still worth talking about.

I'm going set aside the people who seem to believe that Blitz needs to be punished for his crimes, and address those who genuinely think that getting a tidal wave of his own trauma in his face is what he needs to heal.

There's an attitude in contemporary culture that traumas are something people need to confront. As in, put on a brave face and dive in like a big boy. I blame capitalism, rugged individualism, and all the pieces of media that tie up a character's arc neatly by having them confront their darkest fears and insecurities. It can put a nice bow on things, but it isn't really how healing from trauma works.

Apology Tour:

Blitz gets confronted by a shit ton of people who hate him, at least some of whom are his exes, who he feels he's personally damaged. The decor and party games are all about killing and torturing him. Verosika confronts him about how much he hurt her. Oh, and then he sees the love of his life, who he's just recently pushed away, making out with another guy- proof, in his eyes, that Stolas is happier without him. And this all reflects the underlying fears he already has about who he is as a person (shown to us by Truth Seekers).

So what was the takeaway? Blitz came to the conclusion that he doesn't always want to be like this (good, but like . . . worth this much pain?). He flops on his steering wheel (relatable). He stops trying to reach out to Stolas (uh oh . . . ). He spends A MONTH spiraling in his own misery and making a mess of all aspects of his life until he's dragged out of it by a caring friend.

The party doesn't empower Blitz to change. It knocks him down and fucking traumatizes him (seriously, images of Stolas from the party show up later in his trauma reel) too much for him to be able to do actually work toward said change. I suspect that if left to his own devices, he would have kept spiraling for quite a while longer. It's one thing to want to change, and another to try to do so alone in the aftermath of a pile-on.

Ghostfuckers

After Blitz drags himself out of his hole of cheesy ice cream and despair to "play sex ghosts" (escapism, again, still knocked down by Apology Tour), infester demon Rolando picks him out as an easy target and assaults him, yes, assaults, with horrific images of his worst traumas and fears.

Not to state the obvious, but Rolando isn't interested in helping Blitz heal. He's trying to kill the guy. He wants to engulf Blitz in his trauma to the extent where he's consumed by it and loses the will to fight back. And as some excellent posts by others have pointed out already, he very likely would have succumbed if not for Millie's support.

Millie helps Blitz get through the onslaught by telling him about what makes him great and how he's improved her life and showing him love and care. And by literally beating the fucking infester out of him. Because there's someone in him who's hurting him, who's re-traumatizing him against his will. She takes him away from the reel of horrible memories.

So . . . do I think that confronting traumas can play a role in healing? Sure. But only if it's consensually (which neither of these situations are) and when the person trying to heal is ready. And most likely in small doses. No one's going and successfully confronting every horrible thing that's ever happened to them in one go.

And in my humble opinion, it's not going to work (for anyone, but especially not for Blitz) alone and without a healthy dose of kindness and compassion (both external and internal).

Blitz has a long road ahead of him toward healing, and it's going to be hard work on his part but also require love and support from the people in his life.

In a wonderful moment near the end of Ghosfuckers, Blitz and Millie work together to get Blitz's wrecked van unstuck and push it back through the portal into Hell. I love it because it's so simple and it kind of tells us everything we need to know. This sweet and salty gremlin has a lot of work ahead of him, but he doesn't have to do it alone.

[kxsagi]

Omg omg can we get an oneshot with my amazing and wonderful bbg shidou ryusei.

Basically what I want in the fic is him and his gf doing Dutch oven, where one of them farts and traps the other one under the covers. Ik for a fact shidou the type to d that🙏🙏😭 ilh nevertheless

“𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐝”

a/n: I WAS LAUGHING WHILE WRITING THIS 💀

you knew dating shidou ryusei wasn’t gonna be a normal experience. 

he tackled people on the field for fun. he made bets on who could do the dumbest shit before practice. he tried to convince you to let him bleach your eyebrows “just to see what happens.” and of course, he once ate a ghost pepper on a dare, then kissed you right after – eyes watering, lips on fire, your mouth burning in the name of “passion.” 

so really… this was your fault. you chose this man. 

but no one, no one, warned you about bedtime shidou. 

you thought the danger ended when the sun went down. oh no. 

you were lying in bed, scrolling your phone while he laid beside you like a demon in disguise, shirtless and smug. you should’ve noticed something was off when he started giggling to himself like a kid who just learned the word “stupid.” 

“what are you laughing at,” you asked, side-eyeing him with suspicion. 

he shrugged, grinning like the little freak he was. “nothing ~ just thinkin’ ‘bout how much i love you.” 

which was sweet. suspiciously sweet. 

and then– 

it happened. 

a sound ripped through the air like a trumpet in hell. 

“RYUSEI.” 

“it was a love tap,” he said proudly. 

before you could escape, the blankets slammed down over your head. you tried to lift them, but he held them down like his life depended on it. 

“NO NO NO, LET ME OUT,” you shrieked, kicking wildly under the covers as the hotbox of death surrounded you. “YOU DUTCH OVENED ME YOU ACTUAL DEVIL–” 

“mwahahaha!! now you have to love me through the pain,” he cackled, gleeful. “you said you’d love me at my worst. this is my worst. sniff it in, baby.” 

“i’m gonna kill you!” you hissed, muffled from beneath the blankets. “i’m gonna tell your coach you sharted in bed and made me suffer! i’m gonna bury you and your dumb platinum hair!” 

he was howling with laughter now, letting you go only after he got “emotional damage” on camera. 

you emerged like a war survivor, disheveled, eyes wide. “we’re breaking up.” 

“no, we’re not.” 

“YES, WE ARE.” 

“babe c’mon,” he whined, crawling up behind you like a koala and wrapping his arms around you. “it’s just a lil’ fart. gas builds trust. it’s natural. intimate. like holding hands, but stinkier.” 

“you’re deranged.” 

he pressed his face to your shoulder. “but you still love me.” 

“… i don’t know why,” you muttered. 

“’cause i’m cute and i make your tummy feel funny.” 

“you made my tummy feel violated.” 

he just laughed and kissed your cheek, absolutely no remorse in sight. “next time, i’ll let you do it to me. equal rights, equal fights. give me the gassy revenge arc, baby.” 

and that’s how you knew you were doomed. 

because somehow, somehow, you still smiled. 

god help you. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[revelboo]

may you PLEASE write more starscream x reader heheheheh.... ive been eating them up ever since i came across ur blog

I’m glad you like them! That last anon question made me think of something I’m going to have to deal with eventually, though. I mostly write paranormal romance and my intention was to use Tumblr like my note board in my office- that’s what these snippets are- scenes I want to get down so I remember them and can expand them into a coherent story later- I have an AO3 ready for when I start doing that, but because of what the story arc will eventually lead to, it’ll be 18+ I’ve been avoiding writing anything… er, let’s say “spicy” here since I really don’t know the demographic on Tumblr and I’m not interested in corrupting/ mentally scarring preteens or kids. Though, to be fair, I imagine putting a warning up over there is exactly as effective as adding one here.

Everything is Alright Pt 27

Starscream x Reader- trust

• How can you ease him with such a small thing? Just a touch, given freely. Because you might care. He needs to believe that, needs this to be real, not all just an act to save yourself and stay in his good graces. Needs someone who needs him. The truth, though? He doesn’t know and that doubt lingers in the back of his processor as he lays flat on his back, a servo tracing along your back as you sprawl on him alongside his canopy. He can feel every little shift of your small frame against his, your breathing and the beat of your heart. Those sensations now familiar as the pulse of his own spark.

• He’s calmer now, but quiet and that doesn’t sit well with you. It genuinely hurt him that you’d assumed the worst. And even if he hadn’t hurt anyone, you’re sure he still destroyed someone’s home. It’s a reminder that he doesn’t actually care about humans. For whatever reason, you’re the exception. The one left holding his leash while knowing you can’t actually hope to rein in his behavior. Can’t hope to control him. That servo traces the curve of your shoulder. Down the line of your spine. Every stroke seeming to calm that awful anger more. When he vents, the warm air washes over you, stirring your hair. And if you have his leash, he has yours. How can you ever try to really escape when you know he’ll go on a rampage? You’re not even sure that you want to anymore and when did that happen? With that realization comes the one that whispers that you can’t keep writing it off as Stockholm’s. You do care for him as stupid as it probably is.

• Rumbling softly when your head lifts, the slide of his servo pauses because you’re staring at him and he isn’t sure what to make of that look on your face. “What?” He growls, immediately wary. His wings try to shift even though his position restricts them when you carefully stand, a hand on his canopy for balance as you walk closer to his head and sit on his plating where his chassis and neck meet. Still staring at him and he has to tuck his chin to see you.

• That confusion edged with annoyance is almost cute as he frowns at you. Trying to figure out what you’re doing, just like you are. There’s so much you want to say. To ask in that moment, as fragile, new thoughts flutter through you. And it passes, because you can’t risk ruining what you have. It matters to you more than it should. So you just lay a palm on his face, lean down and press a soft kiss to his warm, metal chin. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper instead of those dangerous, soft things you can’t let loose.

• Watching you retreat back to your original spot on his chassis and then lay down on your side with your back to his canopy, he doesn’t move. Not until your breathing eventually evens out and he’s sure you’re not awake. Then slowly so he doesn’t disturb you, he touches his chin, warmth spreading through him at that little display of affection for him. Venting, he lets his head fall back to stare at the ceiling as something stirs in his spark, kindling in the quiet and he lays a hand over your little frame to keep you safe.

Previous Next

[haruchx]

Confessing To Him 𖹭.ᐟ

ᯓ★- pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo x Fem!Reader

ᯓ★- synopsis: You have been close friends with Sanzu for a long time and you have a crush on him. You can't keep this crush inside and decide to confess it to him, and it ends in an unexpected way for you!

ᯓ★- warnings: romantic tension, kissing, hair pulling, cursing.

ᯓ★- w.c: 1.5k+

ᯓ★- h/n: Instead of Bonten Sanzu, I wrote it more by focusing on the Sanzu from the Kanto Manji arc. But you can imagine it as suitable for the Kanto Manji, Toman or Tenjiku arcs. It depends on your imagination! Don't hesitate to point out any mistakes you notice or parts you don't like, enjoy reading!

You had arrived at the beach, even though Sanzu wasn't silent at all throughout the journey. He was not someone who talked to anyone often, but when he was with you, he forgot what it meant to be silent.

Tonight was the night, you were going to confess your love to him.

"Did we have to talk by the beach? Couldn't we talk about this VERY IMPORTANT topic somewhere else?" Sanzu was still asking the same questions, but it was obvious that he was doing it to annoy you.

You couldn't quite stop the sigh that escaped your lips, but that excited smile never left your face. "You've been asking the same question for hours. When will you shut up?"

"I thought you liked my voice." Sanzu said this in a half-smug, half-playful tone, but then couldn't help but laugh. When the two of you sat down on a bench a short distance from the sea waves, he sighed, leaned back on the bench with one arm behind you.

"So, are you gonna start talking? I'm still in my gang uniform and i feel uncomfortable, y'know?"

"I told you that you can go home and change your clothes first if you want but you refused. So don't complain." You were trying to gather your sentences in your mind because making such a confession to Sanzu made you feel like you were in the middle of hell.

Just as you were about to start talking, Sanzu spoke again.

"Is it a bad thing? Or a good thing? Or an average thing? Hell, you're so quiet. Speak up." Sanzu huffed and leaned his head back as he closed his eyes, looking even more attractive than usual.

"If you shut up I'll talk, you smartass." This was the only sentence that could come out of your mouth. Even though you spoke with such confidence, deep down you felt like you were going to throw up from stress.

"But please... even if your answer is 'no' after I say this, don't end your friendship with me." Your words and tone of voice sounded a little too vulnerable than necessary, and Sanzu's expression changed.

"What the fuck you mean by that? Did you crash my car and come to want money? 'Cause my answer to that would definitely be no."

"No, Haru--"

"Oh my! Are you going to try to set me up with someone again?!"

"Listen-"

"OR ARE YOU GOING TO SET YOURSELF UP WITH SOMEONE AND CAME TO ASK FOR HELP FROM ME?!

Finally you couldn't stand it, Sanzu wouldn't stop talking and you couldn't get your sentences together. You snapped at him with a frown on your face that he found cute.

"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH FOR A DAMN MINUTE!"

Sanzu wasn't angry at your sudden outburst, on the contrary, he was amused and remained silent while trying not to laugh, nodded. You were silent for a long time and it was starting to become difficult for you to even breathe because of the stress. But you knew you had to do it. How much longer could you keep it inside anyway?

"I know what I'm about to say is ridiculous and I know you won't be interested in such things, but keeping some things inside me... is starting to get very difficult. I wanna say it, confess it quickly and relax."

Sanzu listened to you silently, his gaze, those blue eyes, never leaving yours for even a second. "Just say it already, you're taking it too long. Like you're writing a damn poem or something."

You lowered your gaze to your lap, took a deep, shaky breath, and finally spoke.

"I love you."

You couldn't even look at Sanzu at that moment, but he didn't understand anything at first and scratched the back of his neck as if you had said the most normal thing in the world. You felt the need to correct yourself immediately, words coming out of your mouth quickly and one after another.

"I mean - not a friendly love. More like.. a romantic love - yes, romantic ! I.. am in love with you. I wanna be your girlfriend, Haru, and I want you to be my.. boyfriend. not just a.. friend."

Sanzu froze for a moment as he listened to you and had a dumbfounded expression on his face. His eyes widened for a moment but then he burst out laughing unexpectedly. He thought you were joking. You thought he was making fun of you because you didn't expect him to laugh like that. He began to wipe away the tears flowing from the corners of his eyes from laughter.

"That was a funny joke, and you said it very seriously! You're really getting good at making jokes."

When Sanzu looked at you and saw that your facial expression was a little sadder and more serious, he realized that you weren't joking and his own facial expression became serious as well. He turned his body completely towards you, his eyes searching yours.

"Are you.. serious? Are you in love with me? You must be crazy. Do you think I.. look like the ideal boyfriend model?"

You knew that Sanzu wasn't the ideal boyfriend model, everyone said that and your friends always warned you about him. But this was love, you weren't one to hold back your feelings. After sighing, you were finally able to look into his eyes. No matter how hard it was, you managed to speak in a serious and determined tone.

"Who cares if you're an ideal boyfriend model or not? Everyone falls in love with men who fit those molds anyway. I didn't put you in a mold to love you. I just... love you. I want to be yours, I want you to be mine."

Sanzu just stared into your eyes for a few pretty seconds, letting all your words to sink in. As he watched you, that classic, slightly flirty, slightly smug smirk he only showed you appeared on his face. He extended his right hand towards you, lifted your chin with his index finger and thumb, and tilted his head to one side as he spoke.

"You try to sound very serious and determined, but deep down i can tell you're dying of stress. Still... I think you've managed to bring out the feelings I've been trying to resist for months."

The moment you raised your gaze to Sanzu's eyes, you were suddenly frozen by the lips touching yours. Sanzu leaned in, his eyes closed as he kissed you. There were no feelings such as hunger or lust in this kiss. In his kiss, the traces of a feeling and love that had been suppressed for months were obvious. He was weaving all his love into a single kiss. What was the purpose to resist him, push him away? You surrendered yourself to him and leaned towards him, deepening the kiss.

Sanzu moved a little closer to you while still sitting at the same spot, placing one hand on the curve of your waist while the other tugged at your hair from the back of your head. His tongue ran over your lower lip, asking for permission to enter. Your hands had already found his neck and your fingers were caressing some small spots. The moment you parted your lips, Sanzu pushed his tongue inside, a low groan of pleasure and love escaped from his lips. He tasted you slowly, your tongues tangled in a passionate dance, as if he was devoting all his time in the world to you.

When he finally pulled away, you were both a little out of breath, and his hand that were in your hair came up to your cheek and caressed it with a gentleness that you had never seen from him before.

"You know what you're getting yourself into, confessing your love to someone like me, asking me for my love, right?"

Just one touch from Sanzu was enough to activate every nerve in your body. He was the missing piece of your heart.

"I know, I accept it all and I'm ready. I just want your love."

Sanzu smirked as he listened to this but it wasn't like his usual smirk, it was softer and more full of love. He kissed your cheek and without pulling his face away, he murmured into your ear.

"You already have my love, you just realized it a little too late. I am yours now, and you are mine. You are the only girl my eyes see and my heart beats for."

"My sweet darling."

[your-unfriendlyghost]

“Under the Drive-In Fence”

Jk jk- Halloween art no. 2: Over the Garden Wall au, anyone?

(kinda a collab w/ myself- I drew most of the background a few years ago but didn’t do anything with it lol. Did update it a decent amount tho for this)

“The ol’ black train’s a comin’, scraping ‘long the iron. You don’t need no ticket, boys, it’ll take ya in its time…”

-

Concept is that since the Unknown in Over the Garden Wall is basically a pretty autumnal purgatory, it’s where our boys Johnny and Dally went after dying.

From Johnny’s pov, he woke up after meeting Dally in Windrixville here in the forest with Dally. And also with some mysterious burn scars that he doesn’t remember getting.

Dally claims not to know where they are, only that they “jumped onto a train” and are somewhere vaguely “north of Tulsa”. Johnny buys his story at first, but it slowly becomes clear that Dally’s lying- and plus, Johnny keeps having dreams where he remembers bits and pieces of the hospital and the fire and all the other shit that went down.

Dally, however, knows they’re dead. He remembers everything- hazily, but enough to know for sure. So he tells Johnny that they’re just trying to get to his “Ma’s place”, when actually he’s just trying to keep Johnny from moving on and going to…whatever it is that happens after purgatory.

Their arcs, I imagine, go something like this: Dally learns to accept that the after life is a mystery and that he has to be okay with that if he ever wants to escape these woods- all while experiencing the sort of peaceful experiences he never got to have in life, from weird festivals to live music to sunsets.

Johnny, on the other hand, learns to come out of his shell a bit- the weird world of the Unknown is easy for Johnny to slot into, as he’s observant and insightful and often figures out the mysteries before Dally does. He also learns to accept his death, but not before tromping around the woods for a while with one of his best friends.

As for the Unknown, I imagine it’s a bit more of a mix of old New England and old southern/southwest culture than just New England inspired alone. Like maybe the woodsman is an old cowboy or ranger or something, yk? Just so it still has some Oklahoma-ish-ness to it lol.

Idk, those are my thoughts on it right now! Might draw/write more about it later, idk, but in the meantime that’s good enough- Let me know your thoughts on it!

[ladykakata]

Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich are honestly good influences on each other

I swear I'll write proper posts sometime, but it's been swilling around my head with my other thoughts, so I might as well put it down here.

Mickey and Ian are chaotic nonsense idiots, and yet I cannot argue they don't have a good as well as bad influence on each other and that develops as they age (and constantly get pulled back together whenever they break up lmao).

Ian's influence on Mickey

It's a running joke that Mickey in the early series is this filthy goblin just running around being a hoodlum and ... yeah, he is lmao. But it's very notable as the series progresses that he starts becoming cleaner and dressing nicer the more time he spends with Ian. The man specifically wore a shirt to see Ian in the mental ward ffs. Not only that he actually *tries* working a normal job and socialising, something he is deeply uncomfortable with, but does it for Ian's sake. It doesn't escape my notice that he specifically wants to work with Ian whenever he can, probably tying in to my earlier point that he is only completely comfortable around Ian.

If you told S1 Mickey he would be helping his paraplegic father into the house and getting home nursing for him, he would wonder what kind of sick joke you were playing. But he does, something that even surprises Ian at first. Ian inspires Mickey to talk more about his feelings, he openly admits to thinking about missing Ian, whereas before he threatened to cut Ian's tongue out for saying that Ian missed Mickey. The idea of Mickey changing ANYTHING for anyone else is foreign ... but not if Ian suggests it to him the right way.

Ian's non-judgemental or at least lightly judgemental treatment of Mickey allows the man to be far more comfortable with himself. Though still highly defensive, I think it's telling Mickey is completely unashamed to be a bottom in front of Ian, and Mickey can make socially awkward gestures or gaffs and Ian doesn't upbraid him or make him feel like shit for doing the 'wrong' thing. Hell, as much as Ian was utterly, UTTERLY confused at Mickey's groomzilla episode, he mostly kept his confusion silent and simply reined Mickey in when he was losing his temper with vendors. The flower shop scene has Mickey blithely retorting that while Ian was gay, he 'just likes having another man's dick in my ass'. Ian in the same scene was tensing his jaw at the homophobia from the florist, and normally Mickey is quick to snap at anyone who considers him gay ("You calliin' me gay?" before slamming a bar owner's head into the counter), he simply bats it away as he's more focused on the flowers he wants and only becomes aggressive when the services are threatened to be withdrawn. Ian was always sure and comfortable with his sexuality and had little to no tolerance of homophobia, whereas Mickey was in either strict denial or profoundly uncomfortable and highly secretive.

Mickey's influence on Ian

The most obvious one is that Mickey was Ian's guardian during his bipolar struggles once Mickey finally realised what a problem it as, and he was determined to nurse Ian until he recognised (to his horror) he couldn't deal with this on his own and Ian really did need professional nursing and help.

What strikes me in a lot of scenes, both before and after that arc, is that Ian almost has Mickey as a constant in his life. It's a topic more for aspects of Ian's personality, but Mickey was the person Ian turned to when he had no-one else in S1, when he was in the 72 hour psychiatric hold he explicitly says 'Mickey is waiting for me'. Ian's life is constant chaos, much like Mickeys, and Ian is the sort of person who needs and thrives on structure when his brain isn't acting out. Mickey was a constant, someone to always come back to and someone he could rely on. In a way, I also see Mickey as someone who can be the impulsive one of the pair, letting Ian take the role of the mediator. It's easier for you to resist your own stupid impulses if your override kicks in because someone else is doing something foolish.

As much as I joke that Ian is the only person Mickey listens to, the same happens the other way around in the bipolar arc. During Ian's Military Police hallucination, it was Mickey who broke through the delusion after the shock of almost attacking Debbie brought Ian abruptly back to reality. Even as Mickey at first acts with his typical aggression ("There's nothin' out there! Fuckin' look!") and literally dragging him to the front door to prove the other side is the same, he gently reassures Ian that everything is alright and herds him upstairs to get dressed. Mickey made sure to get explicit instructions on Ian's medication and even measured it out for him ("Shut up and take your pills, bitch" is still one of my favourite lines).

I had more thoughts but my brain is soup and I still want to do a post on Ian's mental health and how he interacts with the world.

Send a prompt or aspect of these two if you want to hear me talk absolute garbage about these lovesick idiots

[quelarie]

My canon Astarion ending is obviously non-ascended, because our vampire boy deserves to escape the cycle of abuse and self-destruction and his ending is so so sweet.

But LISTEN, Ascended Astarion has so many delicious angsty scenarios..

Evil couple who rules Baldur's Gate (for those who watch Critical Role imagine something like the Briarwoods,"I broke the world for you").

Power hungry couple who constantly fight each other for dominance (maybe with Durge who accepted Bhaal?). They argue, hurt each other, hate-fuck, then the next moment profess eternal love. Then do it all again.

Good!Tav who made him ascend out of love and then realize too late that Astarion has changed and they can't go back to what it was before. But they love him still and accept their role as consort, never leaving his side..

My favourite: Good!Tav who failed to persuade him to renounce the ritual. After the ascension they break up with Astarion and become reluctant allies (obviously Tav still loves him but not like this). After a while Astarion realizes that he has everything.. except the one thing he wants the most. So he tries to get Tav back at all costs. This has so much potential for an enemies to lovers arc

Just from a writing and meta perspective it's fun to speculate.

What do you guys think?

[rainb0ws-h4t]

Another imagine cuz Ion think I'm surviving this week

tw: minor death, gore(?), idia is slightly sadistic

Note: I haven't exactly played through Ignihyde's arc yet, so I hope this isn't too innaccurate + this is a really rough idea and I don't feel like writing much dialogue for this one

__

An amazing and fascinating discovery of a new type of phantom was discovered by the Styx headquarters.

Although fascinating, the phantom was— er.. terrifying. It evolves completely by itself, the blot within it causes it to shape shift into any type of form while still remaining as blot. One problem they encountered was that they couldn't properly research it because of the hostility it displayed to any human contact.

Unfortunately, they lost a researcher because of that. Their body was completely unrecognizable, as the phantom tore it up inside it's enclosure. Retrieving the body was just a nightmare, as freezing the phantom would be of no use. It can adjust its body temperature to its liking. However, the phantom shows no hostility or violent reaction towards other phantoms, seeming to have the ability to recognize its own species.

This new species of phantom soon reached the ears of the Head and Chief Engineer of Styx. They gathered all high ranking members of Styx, including Idia Shroud (who was dragged into it unwillingly) and brainstormed ideas on what to do with the phantom and how would they research it properly. Of course, they all discussed the risks of the phantom that could possibly escape it's enclosure and cause havoc to the citizens.

Idia was fascinated by the discovery of the new type of phantom, reading through all the reports written by the researchers in charge. Seriously, he held possession over a level 1000 boss?? The strength the blot monster possessed almost reached god level!

During the meeting, Idia red through the reports of the phantom. He muttered something like, "We could always use a simulation for research.." He didn't think anyone would hear him, but his mother heard it clearly.

"What was that, Idia? A simulation you suggest?"

Idia jumped in his seat at being recognized, "H-huh?"

His mother placed a hand of her chin and thought about it for a second, "It could definitely work. We gather as much information as we can about the phantom and recreate it in a simulated program."

Everyone in the room whispered to each other, appearing to be agreeing to the idea. Idia sunk into his chair, seeing as how everyone agreed with his idea. But some part of him did feel a slight sense of pride for suggesting it.

One last problem, they needed a real world place with many people for a realistic result. Idia figured he could just let them figure out a place by themselves, not really willing to participate in the ongoing conversation anymore.

"What about NRC? Many students with magic abilities. It'd be interesting to see how they would fight back indeed." His father brought the idea up. Idia lifted his head up immediately at the mention of his school. As much as he wanted to interject, everyone in the room didn't even appear to be against the idea. What plan were they even strategizing? Sending a level 1000 boss to fight a bunch of level 1 noobs?

It wasn't long before the plan was finalized, and his mother and father started contacting the headmage for approval.

Before he could return and rot back in his room, his mother's voice stopped him.

"Idia, you mustn't tell anyone about the plan."

Not like he had anyone he wanted to tell except Ortho— who probably already knew through the cameras in the room.

"Yeah, I won't." Idia scurried away.

He wasn't entirely fully on board with the plan, but—

It would be a nice educational show to witness, seeing everyone trying their best to defend against the beast with their underleveled magic.

__

You walked to the main path with Grim on your shoulder. Crowley abruptly announced a festival a week ago, telling everyone to decorate nicely and how there would be a pleasant surprise awaiting us. Although you doubt any "pleasant surprise" coming from him would actually be pleasant.

Odd thing you questioned though was how the water in the cafeteria, or practically all liquids in the school, seemed to be off colored... The color was akin to a deep sleeping potion you learned about in Crewel's class. You honestly didn't want to consume any of it at all, but you gave into the temptation and drank it anyway. You assumed it was just a false alarm, seeing as how you didn't seem to suffer any symptoms of the potion.

Today was the day of the festival. The main street was decorated beautifully. You could also hear a few students groaning and complaining about the late notice of the festival, causing everyone to hurriedly decorate just in time.

Grim only kept blabbering about the food that they might have, but you've adapted to it by now. His voice only serving as a mere reminder that maybe you weren't all that alone in this world. Your eyes spotted a familiar redhead and bluelette in the distance. They appeared excited for the festival, you could vaguely hear about them discussing what the surprise might be.

"Yo, prefect!" Ace said. "Looking horrible as always." He says with a smirk.

"Ha-ha." You voice out, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Wanna head in now? I remember hearing from Epel that Vil should be the one leading the program— besides Crowley." Deuce chimed in.

"Sure, let's go." You nodded your head and followed them inside the building. As expected, it was also decorated nicely. Not too exaggerated, but also not too minimalistic.

Apparently, from what you could remember, this festival was just suppose to be a relaxation from exams ending. Funny, exams ended a month ago. Another set of exams presenting itself next month.

You only stuck around Ace and Deuce, eventually finding Epel and Jack who tagged along you guys. You were thankful Grim stayed put when you promised food, and you had to sacrifice your wallet when you all stumbled across a stall.

You actually had a great time running around and participating in the small activities the different dorms had set up.

The headmage eventually gathered everyone to the main part of the festival. A giant box(?) behind him, covered by a large cloth. Crowley started a short speech about thanks and mentioning how generous he was to set up such a wonderful festival when he held no contributions at all.

He was now announcing the surprise, with students behind the large square holding the cloth, ready to pull it off and reveal the mystery. You could've swore you heard growling coming from it... You also doubt you would be excited for what was under that cloth anyway. If it wasn't money or necessities then you wouldn't be interested at all. Ace, Deuce, and Epel seemed intrigued though, with Jack just crossing his arms while silently observing everything. Even Grim ceased his incessant yaps and started paying attention.

A count down started and when it hit zero and the secret was unveiled, well....

It was a massive cage, imprisoning a large phantom. You all heard gasps and screams somewhere in the crowd, the swarm of people now looking unsure about the surprise. You stepped back in fear, you dealt with enough phantoms. The phantom seemed particularly aggressive, and you weren't certain the iron bars containing the beast were enough.

The bars slowing bending the more the beast charged at it.

"Please, enjoy the surprise my dear students." Crowley bowed before disappearing in a blink of an eye.

"Guys, we should leave." You stated, both firm and frightened.

"Don't tell me youre scared." Ace teased.

"No... the bars... It's.." Epel seemed to be too in shock. Watching the bars slowly break and the beast becoming more and more aggressive.

"We have to leave now!" Jack shouted, taking hold of you and Epel's arms.

"Myah!!" Grim grabbed hold of your shoulder.

You stared back and noticed Deuce dragging Ace with him. At some point, you could hear a loud crack as metal pieces flew everywhere. Glancing over one last time was a mistake, seeing the monster absolutely tear a fellow student apart. Their guts and blood spilling everywhere.

Screams erupted and chaos ensued. You could only keep running, to avoid falling behind. The violent scene made you wanna vomit on yourself.

"We have to get the headmage!" Deuce said as everyone came to a stop, somewhere near Ramshackle. "He can't just ignore the situation right now, right?"

"How?! The monster is literally next to the entrance!" Ace exclaimed, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

You couldn't believe it. The monster killed someone. And you didnt doubt more were already dead as you stood there.

"Did... Did any of you guys see that?" You asked, eyes still wide. The scene never leaving your mind.

"See what?" Epel wiped a sweat drop from his forehead.

"The monster... killed a student." Your words made everyone come to a stand still. You guessed that Jack already knew, with him being as silent as ever with wide eyes.

"We can't risk finding the headmage. We have to leave the campus." Jack says.

You didn't disagree. Even if you've dealt with phantoms more than a regular person should, that one... It radiated a much more darker and dangerous aura. You couldnt risk endangering yourself or anyone else.

Just as you were about to tell everyone to follow you to the gates, a sudden scream punctured your ear drums(figuratively) with how loud it was. You stepped back, so did everyone else, as a student tripped and fell on themselves. The monster from earlier just right behind him. You'll never forget the horror in his eyes as he stared at the monster before him. The beast dragged him across the floor before piercing his chest with a claw it formed with it's blot. Proceeding to throw the dead student to a nearby tree where he hung from it lifelessly.

Tears withered your eyes as you stared. Deuce grabbed your arm and ran further away from the monster. With Jack dragging Ace and Epel also.

What a horrible nightmare this was. Can you wake up already? Another bloody scream was heard, you could only assume the worst.

Your group eventually ran into the Botanical Gardens, relieved to see that it was still in top form. You could see Jack's ears straighten up and jogged towards a certain spot of the garden. We all followed after him, slightly weary from running for so long.

You could make out two familiar silhouettes in the distance.

"Housewarden Leona!" Jack exclaimed.

We all followed after him. Leona had small cuts on his arms and a very apparent wound on his forearm. Ruggie ripped apart a part of his shirt and wrapped it around his wound.

"Leona! Are you okay?" You crouched to his level, examining for any more injuries.

"What d'ya think, herbivore? Of course I am." He states. "Seriously, what's with that damn headmage abandoning us during situations like these?" He growled.

"What happened?" Epel approached with Ace. Deuce was behind us, keeping watch for that monster.

"Ah.. That beast grabbed one of our students and we tried getting him back and well..." Ruggie scratched his head, his pupils were slightly shaking. The two never did tell your group what happened, but the tension of the atmosphere made it clear.

"That beast managed to get a hit on me." Leona groaned as he tried shifting his arm.

"It looks pretty bad.." Grim whispered to you.

Epel scanned the garden, "I think... I think I can do something." He says before walking off to look at a few plants.

Deuce still seemed to be keeping an eye out.

"When are the authorities gonna come?" Ace leaned against a wall, distressed.

You suddenly remembered about the other dorms, "Leona, did you see Riddle? Or any of the other housewardens?"

"Give me a minute.." He said, placing his uninjured arm on his forehead. "I remember Riddle's collar appearing on the monster for a second before it burst. I didn't see any housewarden get captured when I left though."

You sigh relieved, but that didn't mean that they weren't in danger now. Who knows where that beast was.

"I'm back." Epel announced, a bottle in his hands. "I found the bottle in the shed. This should speed up the healing process but I'm not completely sure if it'll work..."

"Don't doubt yourself, best you apply it now so we can get moving." Jack says as you nod in agreement.

Ruggie moved the cloth off of Leona's wound, making Leona grimace slightly. Epel took out a handkerchief from his pocket and applied a bit of the substance on it. He dabbed it carefully over the wound before repeating the process for two times.

Epel used the handkerchief and wrapped it around the wound instead of the already bloodied one.

"...Thanks.." Leona mumbled.

Deuces gaze never faltered, remaining focused. The monster was big, so it shouldn't be hard to spot it from a distance. He narrowed his eyes as he noticed a few students running away from a certain direction, he stepped back. The monster appeared, running after the students.

"We have to go!" He yelled.

"Really?" You asked, standing up from your crouching position. Everyone's eyes seemed to have saw the monster.

"Myah! Just as I was about rest.." Grim stood on your shoulder, alerted.

Leona stood up and moved his arms a bit. "You're not so bad." He muttered to Epel. "Let's go." He commanded, with Ruggie dusting himself off.

We all fled to the opposite direction of the monster who was terrorizing everyone in the campus. You were behind the group, but you felt guilty running away when the friends you cared about were inside the school, suffering the damage that beast was causing. You stopped in your tracks, the group moving forward without you. They didn't notice you yet.

"Henchuman! What are you doing?! We'll get eaten alive by that monster!" Grim exclaimed, terrified.

"I can't, Grim... I have to find everyone else." You said, cradling Grim in your arms instead of your shoulder. "Grim, go forward with the group. I'll catch up like I always do."

Grim, although frightened for his life, shook his head. "No! I'll protect you!" He said with that grin he always wore, though you could tell he was scared with how much he quivered in your hold. You smiled back at him before taking off to the mirror chamber.

You remembered seeing the students leading the phantom outside the building, hopefully that'll but you enough time to make it to your other friends. you feel bad for taking Grim with you, risking both of your lives, but you would do everything in your ability to make sure he was safe. He didn't seem intent on leaving you while a massacre was currently ongoing.

You pray your friends were fine and unharmed. You wouldn't be able to live with yourselves if they were also part of the blood stains that painted the once pristine walls. What was suppose to be a relaxation festival, turned into a nightmare all in an hour. As you ran for your life, you couldn't help but think to yourselves why Crowley would surprise us with a phantom of all things?

Sure, he was a bit of a lunatic but there was no way he'd be that reckless with his students, right?

Right?

__

Hi I hope this was cool

It was an idea I had for awhile but I'm glad I was able to put it into worlds

Not sure if I'll continue this but I'll see cuz this is just an imagine not an actual fic

[missconchshell]

I just watched episode 4 of To Be Hero X, and I'm not quite sure how to feel. The animation was amazing as always, and I loved seeing the animation changes, they're stunning everytime. The boxing hero was also neat; it would have been cool to see more of his personality since we glimpsed his backstory, but I guess it gives fans room to speculate.

The fight was really well-choreographed, and the idea of Lin Ling being a normal human being who becomes a hero for the sake of someone he loves fits perfectly with the themes of this show and its messaging. My issue is just that his relationship with Moon always felt kinda hollow to me. I know that episode two tried really hard to establish an actual bond between the two, and there were plenty of moments between them that we as an audience never got to see, but unfortunately Moon has just felt like an actual character to me.

There are so many elements to her story and personality that I love. The concept of her being so tied to Nice in the public's perception that she can't physically leave him is absolutely fascinating. I love that she is more brash and blunt than her public persona, and that we got a quiet moment of her sharing her feelings. Plus, her desperately hoping to die in that fight was adorable. Still, her character just never clicked for me. Something about the writing and the way our time spent with her was all from Nice's perspective never allowed me to fully immerse myself in her character. She always felt more like a prop and source of motivation for Lin Ling, rather than an actual human being with complex thoughts and feelings.

I do love this show and I desperately want it to scratch that itch for me and become a new obsession, but if the characters don't feel real, it just won't happen. So when Lin Ling proclaimed that he wanted to be a hero for the girl he loved, I just couldn't get behind it. It felt wrong and forced. And I like Lin Ling, I want him to be happy and to follow his dream and be a true hero, but Moon being his motivation just feels like yet another superhero driven by his love of a woman who isn't her own person. It prevented me from truly feeling that inspiration and passion the show wanted me to experience in that scene, which was sad.

And then there's the end of the episode. While I would have been fine if they'd left Moon's whereabouts a mystery, I would have been happy to see her enjoying her freedom, maybe even missing Lin Ling, but content with the choice that she had made for herself. It would have reaffirmed her status as an individual, plus it would be nice to end Lin Ling's 4 episode arc by showing that his selfless choice to free Moon from the public eye was worth it, because the person he loved ended up happy, even if it was without him. Instead, what we got was her regretting her decision to leave and desperately in need of help to escape from a lonely existence on a deserted island. Yet again, she was just someone for Lin Ling to save. It was disappointing.

And to finish this scene off by using her death for shock value yet again really rubbed me the wrong way. Now, she feels like another fridged woman, only serving as motivation for the hero to seek out revenge, further cheapening her character. This poor girl never got to be free and happy, and now she never will.

I just feel really disappointed by her overall character arc, and really wish I didn't. This show has the ability to tell great stories, but, at least for me, Moon's wasn't one of them.

[zepskies]

hey love!! so in awe of your writing & writing style and i wanted to ask which fic of yours is your favorite?

Well hey there, my lovely!

Oh wow, you're so kind, thank you!! 🥰💜💜 That is a tough question... So I'm going to cheat a little bit and give you my top 3:

3. Smoke Eater (Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader)

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.  That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator. 

This was my first full AU series. It came from my love of Chicago Fire and medical and cop procedurals like it. Throw in a murder mystery, arson, former playboy Dean, and other angsty storylines in the middle of a whirlwind romance, and you got yourself a firefighter AU! ❤️‍🔥

2. Break Me Down (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

I feel like most people would expect me to answer this one for number one, but it's still very close to my heart. It was my first real foray into the complex, lovable asshole known as Soldier Boy (Ben).

And it was my attempt at creating a redemption arc for him through an "enemies to lovers" story, edgier than anything I'd done previously, thanks to the grittiness of The Boys world.

I've continued writing far past the original series because I just can't quit these two, and this version of Ben.

1. Midnight Espresso Series (Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized Latina Reader)

This is a collection of stories in the SPN fandom, and it's very personal to me! (I'm plus-sized and Latina.) Though I tried to make it so all readers, regardless of race/ethnicity or otherwise, could enjoy those stories as well.

It gave me the chance to pair Dean with a reader character who is also a giver like him, who looks out for and cares for him in the same way he cares for others, all while being a badass hunter herself.

From dramatic and angsty hurt/comfort to fluffy smut, I've tried to explore many facets of their relationship, while utilizing both my heritage/culture and my personal experience with body insecurity, body shaming, etc. Like BMD, this is a series I can always come back to and write more stories for. 💜

Bonus: The Honorable Choice - (Dean W. x OFC)

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

I haven't dropped this one yet, but I'm mentioning it because it's currently one of my favorite projects that I've worked on so far!

⬆️ Part 1 coming on 11/03 (Read it on Patreon now!)

[hellowyellow1]

Rewriting Adam from Hazbin Hotel

( Go check out the series it's not the best written but I do like it for all of its faults )

Okay, I’m going to be honest—the writing for Adam really pisses me off.Why does he talk like a frat bro? Adam is supposed to be the first human, and yet he speaks like a cocky twenty-something who just stepped out of a college party.

This man has existed since the beginning of humanity. He’s encountered every culture, every language, and yet his dialect is stuck in “wannabe alpha male” mode? That makes no sense.His language should be jumbled. He should be mixing Victorian English with British slang, maybe even tossing in some Australian or dead languages.

Instead, he sounds like a dude who sells protein powder on Instagram.And why does he act like he’s still in his twenties with zero wisdom? He’s literally been around since the dawn of mankind. The way he behaves—immature, arrogant, shallow—is a disservice to the potential depth his character could have. He should be unsettling, unrelatable, a man who has seen too much. Instead, he’s just… annoying.

So yeah. I’m rewriting him. Umbrella? Gone. Ingenue? Not happening. Let’s start fresh—with a new backstory.

✦ Adam’s Backstory ✦

Adam and Lilith were created from the same clay, meant to live together in the Garden of Eden. At first, everything was peaceful… until God gave them instructions on how to reproduce. Adam, being obedient, went along with it. But Lilith refused to lie beneath him during sex, arguing that they were created equal—why should she be submissive?

Adam believed disobedience to God was dangerous, even sinful. Lilith didn’t care. She fled the Garden in pursuit of independence.Adam reported her disappearance to God. In response, God sent three angels—Senoi, Sansenoi, and Semangelof—to retrieve her. But Lucifer intervened, helping Lilith escape. The two grew close, even forming a bond.

Fueled by bitterness, Lilith snuck back into Eden. She was shocked to find Adam with a new partner: Eve. In a twisted act of revenge, Lilith disguised herself as Eve and seduced Adam. During sex, she convinced him to eat the forbidden fruit, manipulating him with promises of love and happiness.Shortly after, she vanished. Adam and Eve were cast out of Eden for their "crime."

(Yeah, I took creative liberties here. I made Lilith a bit of a villain—not because I hate her, but because I think it’s unfair to vilify Adam while completely ignoring what she did. Plus, in many versions of the myth, Lilith isn’t even human. And beside eve is right there for a sympathetic woman who will get her own arc and personality.)

Everyone knows the story of Cain and Abel, so I’ll skip most of that. But I imagine Adam was severely traumatized after Cain murdered Abel. I think both Adam and Eve fell into deep depression—Adam more so, blaming himself for everything, especially for eating the apple that cursed them with mortality.He was abusive.

Let’s be real: he was the first man raised under the belief that sin deserves punishment. Given how many religious societies still justify abuse today, it’s not far-fetched to imagine Adam being harsh, even cruel.Cain bore the brunt of this.

Feeling unloved and burdened by guilt, he eventually took his own life in hopes of reuniting with Abel in the afterlife. Adam and Eve were devastated. This loss drove a final wedge between them—and between Adam and his daughter, too. (Deservedly.)

Eventually, Adam died. When he woke in Heaven, he and Eve slowly drifted apart. They had never truly wanted to be together, and Eve left. Adam was relieved, but also quietly sad. He cared for her—but he had never loved her. (He’s aroace, though he won’t realize that until much later.)And that’s Adam’s backstory: messy, tragic, and complex. Poor baby. (Kind of.)-

✦ Adam’s Personality ✦

Adam is ancient—wise, but emotionally stunted. He suppresses his trauma, believing Heaven should be paradise, and he should be grateful.He's the old.man that says “Sinners deserve punishment. God says so.” yeah he's that guy.

He refuses to question it.

He can’t question it.

On the surface, Adam is charming and diplomatic. As the first man, he often has to act like a gracious host to other humans in Heaven. He’s good at playing nice, even when he wants to be left alone. He can be sweet, but he’s also deeply passive-aggressive, especially toward Lilium (Charlie’s rewritten name in this version).

He’s learned dozens of languages over the centuries. His original language has long been forgotten, but he gravitates toward Arabic and English. Arabic reminds him of something ancient and comforting; English is just convenient. Still, he mixes up modern slang, old Latin phrases, and archaic idioms all the time. He needs Lute (an angel character) to help translate and guide him through modern conversations.

Adam has, in many ways, forgotten who he really is. He’s spent so long trying to please others—especially God—that he’s lost touch with his own identity. He’s paranoid about making mistakes again. He genuinely believes that if someone sins, they deserve Hell. He doesn’t consider that Hell might be unjust—he just trusts God’s judgment blindly.But underneath that blind faith is someone deeply insecure and afraid.Adam is persuasive. He seems confident. But really, he’s constantly deflecting, invalidating others, and denying his own guilt.

✦ Character Arc ✦

His arc starts with him as a villain—a man who enforces divine punishment without remorse—but slowly shifts. Through his interactions with Lilium, he begins to question things.He starts to see moral grey areas. He reflects on his mistakes—not just the apple, but his cruelty to his children, especially Cain. He realizes how toxic and abusive he was.

He starts secretly helping Lilium achieve her goals, even as he struggles with guilt and self-hatred.Eventually, he reconciles with Cain and becomes a wiser, more compassionate figure. Not perfect—but trying. He becomes his own person and a mentor to Lilium and others, learning alongside them.

✦ Final Thoughts ✦

I want Adam to be sympathetic, but let’s be clear: he was a terrible person. His story is about how even someone awful can grow. It’s a reminder that good people can do bad things, and bad people can be redeemed.Adam was corrupted by faith, guilt, fear, and centuries of pressure. But he was also a victim—of divine expectations, trauma, and his own ignorance. That duality makes him interesting.If I can write him properly, he’ll show that even the first man was broken—and that people like him still deserve the chance to heal and change

[pankielovesfan]

II SPOILERS!!! (Ramble about fan again)

I randomly started writing paragraphs about how fan's character arc was very much super-centric on how he was made by mephone but it was hidden SO well because it could be really easily played off as fan having an extreme attachment to the show. which he does. but I'll see if i can explain it better.

There's so many instances of Fan being "just a fan" and that's quite literally what his entire character is centered around, and his development is all about him becoming more than just a fan and exploring more about himself.

All of this??? SO clearly ties together with him being generated by mephone. And its not noticeable even if its in your face! IT ADDS A WHOLE NEW LAYER BEHIND EVERYTHING that still amuses me.

The scene where the prime shimmer says, "but beyond that, who are YOU?" with Fan saying he didn't know- IS SO PERFECTLY PLAYED OFF! Because of course it perfectly ties together with Fan not being able to see himself outside of his identity. You read it as fan being so dedicated to the show that he doesn't have an identity outside of it. But then it turns out he quite literally HAS nothing else. He's NEVER had anything besides being a fan. It makes everything so much more.... LAYERED AND IT'S SOMETHING I KEEP THINKING ABOUT!!! BEcause before this it's like. He was so obviously making his entire identity about what he loves in a very much neurodivergent way I will mention that, so it's not even a subtle thing that he quite literally WAS made to be a fan of the show!!! BUT YOU DONT EVEN NOTICE IT. GOSH

And WHY this works while still hiding the reveal is how persistent Fan is about still BEING a fan of the show and not seeing himself outside of it. Fan is smart. He seemed to KNOW there was more than just the show. He had already figured this out long ago but was in denial because it threatened his comfort. I'm sure the new episode tells you just how intelligent Fan is in reaching for conclusions and speculating about everything along with several other episodes where he could predict future episode plots. Yet when knowing there is more to the show, he refuses to accept it, he states he didn't want to believe Paintbrush because they Knew the game was "more", right? This means he Did know something else was going on. But he's avoiding it. Why? (Already very much seen in episode 13 and explained but I'm re-saying it all)

Fan obviously loves the show and is very attached to the show. He wants to stay in the comfort of playing the role he was meant to! He wants to keep being ii's biggest fan! He's so tied to his identity as a fan of the show and he doesn't want to let that go and embraces it so much that it's easy to think this was a conscious choice in his story. That he chose to indulge as much as he does in ii and he has no urge to escape the role he was meant to play. His whole story just makes sense writing wise- but the reveal twists this entirely. Contrary to a lot of people who feel they want distance from the show due to experiences and feeling trapped, Fan is still latching onto it! BECAUSE HE LIKES BEING TRAPPED IN THE ROLE HE WAS MADE TO PLAY!!!!

thanks for reading. goodbye

[occasional-yan-stuff]

Helloooooooo! I just read your Yandere! Otome Love Interest fic and I just want to make a request (if you do take requests hehe but it’s okay if you don't) of a what-if scenario.

What if the other Otome Love Interests reader has been with (the other four aside from Caspian) would unlock their memories too? From the first timeline where Isekai’d reader married Caspian to the most recent one?

Thank you! I love this fic of yours btw 💓💓💓

This is gonna be my very first part 2! I hope you like it!

Pt. 1 here

Yandere!Meta!Otome Love interest X GN!Isekai!reader X Yandere!Recently Awakened!Otome Love interest

details: reincarnation, love triangle, reader resents yandere, this one is pretty sad (idk why I'm writing so much sad stuff lately), reader is scared of yandere, yandere spoils reader,

warnings: Isolation, captivity, kidnapping, implied physical abuse, controlling partner, restriction of access to information, murder, implied blood, knives

It was two weeks into your third life with him. Your third time stuck in this house. It was almost starting to feel normal. The second time you reincarnated after finishing all the routes, you attempted to sneak out your window and continue as normal. Alas, he was right at the end of the ally way, and he caught up to you quick before dragging you back "home". The third time, when you woke up in your current life, you simply tried to avoid the plot all together and be a normal person in this world. This only lasted a few days before Caspian tracked you down and hauled you back to the mansion.

No matter what you did, he was inevitable. That was clear from all the escape attempts you had made in your first life in his home. Even though you had faced two deaths afterward, you could still faintly see some of the scars. Caspian valued promises and hated to see you break them. This reason did not feel like justification and you were sure that you'd never forgive him. You would also never try leaving again.

It was a morning just like any other morning and a breakfast just like any other breakfast. It was a spread so immaculate that you could almost forget that you were being forced to eat it.

"you look gorgeous, beloved," Caspian purred, admiring your body in the outfit he'd picked out for you. He always picked out your outfit. He picked out many things for you, what you ate, what you wore, where you slept, but there were plenty of other little freedoms you had as well. Nice things to distract yourself from the prison your life had become.

You could choose what hobbies you picked up and while he was initially dismissive, Caspian would always get you anything you wanted to support your hobbies. You knew him well enough to know that he would always come around and be just as invested in your hobbies as you were. That was a big part of his arc in the game after all.... The game. You missed how he was in the game. His yandere ending was fun and very hot but that was a bad end. You were stuck in a bad end.

Just like in your life in the real world, you turned to escapism. You had access to any book in Caspian's library, and if you saw a new one you wanted in the paper, he would buy you a copy of that too. Unfortunately though, recently, he had stopped giving you the paper to read. It was strange. This particular morning, you decided to ask about it.

"excuse me, dear," you shifted slightly as you called him that word. It wasn't something you enjoyed doing anymore but he got in a way when you weren't as affectionate with him as he was with you, "why haven't I been getting the paper recently?"

His purple eyes became sharp and his expression was cold. He swallowed a piece of steak before putting his knife down and speaking, "I don't need the outside world poisoning my beloved's mind."

You were about to say something in response but were interrupted by a knock at the door. This was strange. This hadn't happened in the past two loops. There were only ever 3 knocks at the door, and they always came much later. You began to rise to your feet, both out of curiosity and impulse, but Caspian placed a hand on your thigh, signalling you to stay put.

He got out of his seat and left the dining room. You worried what he would do if you left your own chair without permission, so all you could do was stay put and listen. The great door of the mansion creaked open and a familiar voice drifted into your ears.

"Where are they, Cass?" Leo's voice was full of anger, frustration, and perhaps just a bit of worry.

Leo was easily the most popular boy in the game. He had the most merch, the most events, the most voice lines, and he was the guy who the heroin ended up with in the anime adaptation. The first boy most players went for, yourself included, was usually Leo, and it wasn't hard to see why.

He was kind, and chivalrous, suave, and protective, the typical shojou prince. An unbeatable formula, really. Everyone wanted to be swept off their feet at least once in their life.

"Now now, is that any way of greeting your brother?" Caspian was attempting to diffuse the situation, but you could feel the tension in the air. It wasn't working.

"Where are they?" Leo said again, becoming even angrier.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's been wrong for the past two loops," the words came out through gritted teeth, "they haven't been at the castle and neither have you. They were supposed to show up two weeks ago."

The air was still for a moment. It was as if the world had gone completely silent. Even the background music that constantly followed you had cut out.

"what?" The word was so quiet you could barely hear it

"You broke everything, Caspian!" Leo raised his voice, seemingly to compensate for how quiet the other was being, "including me!"

"brother, please, I-"

"do you ever notice how de don't talk like normal siblings?" a pair of footsteps could be heard, one stepping forward, the other moving back.

"We talk like how siblings talk in books, Cass, have you ever noticed that?" the question came with an agitated sharpness.

"I suppose I never put any thought into it," he chuckled nervously. You could now see the two of them through the door way of the dining room.

"On some level, I think I understand why you did it," Leo was now backing Caspian into the dining room, "I don't like remembering the person I love marrying my best friends either." His smile looked broken. A crackling chuckle exited his lips.

"But youuu got to develop those memories, Caspian, didn't you?" His eye was twitching. He now had his brother backed up against the dining room table. His hand reached for the steak knife and your eyes snapped shut. "HOW DO YOU THINK IT FEELS TO GET THEM ALL AT ONCE?!"

There was a blood curdling scream followed by panting and a few moments of silence. You felt a wet hand touch your cheek as the smell of metal hit your nose. You slowly, hesitantly, opened your eyes. There was Leo, smiling down at you.

"Come on, lets do this the right way."

[bimir]

hidden inventory

when else have we felt both the most alive and almost dead? and what else lingers on your mind like it happened just yesterday, but also like it never happened at all? and where else will you find that passion, those moments that still feel infinite? and what is more painful than your teenage years?

*spoilers for the entire manga*

the hidden inventory arc is there to express exactly that: “two best friends, and the tie they lost forever.” to say that the dynamic between satoru and suguru isn't the central point of jujutsu kaisen is like saying the whole point of the manga is the fights. their connection, their relationship, whatever it could have been (definitely more than platonic in my perspective), their haunting storyline is the foundation of gege's jjk.

two teenage boys, 15–16 years old, both excited in their own way to come to the academy: satoru leaving the clan behind, dying to escape from his family; suguru moving into the dorms earlier than everyone, talking to his mom on the phone about his dreams. what they didn’t know was that, soon, they would become both the most important and the most devastating thing to happen to each other.

the new scenes and photos and sketches of their teen years literally broke my heart. they were so excited, drunk on their friendship, on their youth. satoru finally felt like a normal kid, finding everything suguru did to be cool, being silly together with shoko, taking as many photos as they could, always hanging out as if they were attached at the hip. they were kids together. the strongest one had once been just a kid who thought he would always have his best friend by his side. if only they had known...

i remember, before reading the manga and before the hidden inventory arc was animated, how confused and skeptical i was about all the people who claimed you wouldn’t be the same after satosugu. i really thought there was no possible way something could be that impactful. but god, wasn’t i wrong?

it’s been 3 years and they’ve never left my mind. and even if they do for a moment, they always come back stronger, with more heart-wrecking realizations.

satoru and suguru are literally all that. once the best of friends, then separated for 10 years, still thinking about and talking about one another. forced to “kill” each other, dying on the same day, one year apart. suguru wearing his gojo-kesa while trying to create a world where satoru wouldn’t have to be the strongest. satoru dreaming about the hidden inventory arc, waking up with teary eyes. kenjaku knowing the only thing that could stop satoru, even for a split second, was his best friend. satoru slightly smiling when kenjaku appeared in geto's body, maybe with a little bit of hope that his best friend was back, replaying fond memories of their younger years. suguru's body resisting kenjaku, trying to defend satoru because it was like "muscle memory" to him, even dead. satoru first doing after being released from the seal being to give suguru's body a proper burial, even if the world was in the middle of a cataclysm.

and lastly, satoru’s final thoughts were of suguru, in his monk attire, accepting his perspective, saying how unsatisfied he was: “if you were among those patting my back... then i might have been satisfied.”

i think i’ll end it here, but i could talk about the two of them for hours. one last thing i want to mention again is how sweet but also so deeply sad their high school photos were. as much as i like to bash on gege, he really did a great job writing about teenage years: how a few years can be so detrimental throughout your whole life, and how those moments linger on your mind forever