#note: fixed misspellings

[mirai-e-jump]

Figure King No.322 2024 Making Report of Kamen Rider Gotchard (pages and translation below, VERY LONG POST)

Publication: November 27, 2024

ft. Chief Producer Minato Yosuke (Toei), Heads of Documents & Literature Yamabe Koichi and Kaneko Shinichi (Ishimori Productions), Character Designer Kita Tojun (PLEX), and Producer of Toy Development Terakawa Ryo (Bandai)

Gotcha Youth Alchemy Journal Gotcha 1: The Combination of Rider and Youth

-Expanding on "touch points" and card demand-

"Fall of 2022…The broadcast of the TV series "Kamen Rider Geats" begins, where within the show, multiple people become Kamen Riders and take part in the survival game called the "Desire Grand Prix." Toei's Minato Yosuke was preoccupied as a Sub Producer, trying to establish the project of the new show "Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger," which would start in March of the following year. In October, the "Virtual Production Division" was established at Toei Tokyo Studios. King-Ohger was an ambitious show that implemented new filming techniques through the use of LED walls. Minato was pushing forward with his work while getting a feel for these new techniques, but was forced to leave the project halfway through. This was because he had been appointed "Chief Producer" of the new Kamen Rider production that would begin in 2023. After working as a production assistant at anime studio Madhouse, in 2019, Minato joined Toei as a "full time tokusatsu Producer." Since then, Minato's been involved as an Assistant Producer on "Kamen Rider Zero-One" (2019), "Kamen Rider Saber" (2020), and "Avataro Sentai Donbrothers" (2022), but this was his first major role as Chief Producer. Likely due to the fact that he was appointed Chief within a few years of changing careers from the animation industry, he said he received a great deal of support when launching the project."

Minato: Shirakura Shinichiro from the Character Strategy Division and Tsukada Hideaki from the Drama Division participated and looked out for me in the form of advisers. As you're well aware, Shirakura's writing style and Tsukada's writing style are the complete opposite. Shirakura's the type of person who moves the story along through human relationships. I think Tsukada's characterized by his mystery drama format, where the build up of events lead to incidents being resolved. I refer to them as "the dragon and the tiger" (laughs), but they're such opposites, that I felt as if I had been worked twice as hard in such a short period of time due to their intense criticisms.

"Shirakura's the Producer behind many Kamen Rider productions, including "Agito" (2001) and "Den-O" (2007), and he was the driving force behind the branding of the Heisei Kamen Rider series. Meanwhile, Tsukada's produced hits in the Kamen Rider series, such as "W" (2009) and "Fourze" (2011), as well as many other TV dramas. Both also have experience as Chiefs of Super Sentai productions, and are indispensable figures in the history of Toei's tokusatsu productions."

Minato: Because of the way things unfolded, the idea of using cards as transformation items had already been proposed by the time I joined the project. I was told that it could change, but since I was super into "Magic the Gathering" during my entire school life, I thought I was lucky that we were going with the concept of card Riders.

"Joining the planning team as the head of toys was Bandai's Terakawa Ryo. After working in Gunpla promotion for many years up to that point, he became a developer in charge of Digimon and other figures."

Terakawa: We also felt that the environment for "having interest in watching these shows" had changed significantly. The company had been conducting their own surveys and found that the recognition of Kamen Rider had been declining year after year since the start of the covid pandemic. Given this situation, we at Bandai thought that what we could do was to increase the number of "touch points" through the toys. This would lead to greater visibility of the characters, and that the more people knew about the show, the more interest there would be in the toys. At the time, when we thought, "What's the easiest item to give to children who have never heard of Kamen Rider?," we decided that cards were the way to go. Cards can be produced at a low unit price, so along with them being easy for children to hold onto, they can be handed out for free at various places. We thought that if we could distribute them at events, in stores, and even put up "peel off posters" at places like large train stations and participating stores, that interested people would peel them off and take them home with them. If they had an actual card in their hand, they may become interested in Kamen Rider and be encouraged to watch the show. We couldn't just give out transformation belts (laughs), but cards are easy to distribute to a large number of people. That was the main reason that made us focus on cards.

"The cards are the ideal "size" to get children to recognize the Kamen Rider characters."

Terakawa: So far, Kamen Riders that have used cards were "Ryuki" (2002), "Blade" (2004), and "Decade" (2009), but it's been over 10 years since they've been used as "linked" items. That's when I felt like, "In that sense, wouldn't this be like a new experience for children?" For starters, cards are items that the Showa generation of Rider fans have a high affinity for. Calbee also released products with cards in them to line up with the release of the film "Shin Kamen Rider" (2023).

"The reason behind the implementation of cards was partly due to the rising marketplace for trading card games."

Terakawa: Even now, the market for card games is quite heated. The trading card games of various companies, including Bandai's own "One Piece Card Game" and "Battle Spirits" series have become so popular, that domestic card printing plants are operating at full capacity and are unable to keep up with production. The user base for purchasing third party games is expanding across all generations, and that excitement is also being passed onto children. Cards take up alot of floor space in toy departments and are easy to sell in convenience stores. As an example, it's pretty difficult to sell a 2,000 yen buckle, but a 200 yen card pack can be found at any convenience store. If it's a card, it can be sold with candy at an affordable price. It can also be sold with children's clothing, or as a bonus in magazines and other items.

-Reiwa Rider's Card Battle-

"The project was started in response to the enthusiasm of the card game market, but developing a transformation belt with a card based gimmick was extremely difficult. Minato, who at this point was in charge of the entire production, says that Ryuki was the first thing that came to mind when he started planning the card Rider project."

Minato: It was one of the shows that led me to becoming an otaku (laughs). I was in my second year of middle school at the time, and I was so absorbed in this show, that I even sent in a call to "Telegong" (a service where viewers voted by phone to decide on how the show would unfold).

"Kamen Rider Ryuki was the third entry in the Heisei Rider series, which ran for a year starting in February 2002. It's a shocking show where 13 Kamen Riders are pitted against one another in a Rider Battle, fighting by using the power of monsters called "Mirror Monsters," and its tagline being, "Those who don't fight won't survive!" Its "death game" style, in which only the last one standing can make their wish come true, caused it to gain alot of attention, making it a highly successful and legendary show. Minato's superior, Shirakura, who was present at the planning meeting, was also the Chief Producer of Ryuki. In planning the card Rider, Minato was handed materials by Shirakura that served as a template during Ryuki's proposal."

Minato: When I read it, a section with a discussion of how to incorporate card battles into a Rider production caught my eye. For example, in the case of "Pokemon," Pikachu plushies and figures are popular, but merch that features the main trainer Satoshi isn't as popular. In the case of Kamen Rider, the Riders are the main characters, so it's the Riders that you want to portray in an appealing way. If he were to summon Dragreder (a Mirror Monster) and have Dragreder fight for him, the Rider wouldn't be as appealing. If the Rider himself doesn't fight, he'd just exist to summon Dragreder. That being the case, the Rider summons a Mirror Monster in order to borrow their power. They can use sheer strength to unleash a special attack from the weapons they hold in their hands, or perform kicks themselves. In short, it's structured in such a way that the Riders themselves become the main part of the battle. The Mirror Monsters don't speak, and are depicted as enemy monsters, but there's a reason for this. Within the materials, there was something written like, "We want children to like the Kamen Rider, not Dragreder."

"There hadn't been a Rider production with cards as the main item since Decade in 2009. Furthermore, there was no concept of "linked items" at the time, and cards for multiple transformations and cards for form changes weren't developed in a very particular way. The cards used by the Riders were included "one at a time" with the toys (although there were 10 included in the main transformation belt), and weren't designed with the assumption that people would collect a complete set. Some of them were commercialized in the Data Carddass game "Kamen Rider Battle Ganbaride" (trading card arcade game), but the difficulty of obtaining them was high because the cards were ejected one at a time, causing collectors to cry. More than 10 years have already passed since Decade. It can be said that the development of cards unique to the Reiwa era would inevitably happen."

Minato: Bandai wanted to sell the cards as if they were part of a trading card game (in packs), rather than in a way where the contents of the cards are known. In other words, it was designed so that you wouldn't know what cards were inside. Selling them like that, you're bound to get duplicate cards, no? We had to think of ways to use those duplicate cards, so we first thought of a way to fight in a deck building style. As an example, I had to create a situation in the drama where you could put multiple copies of the same card in a deck. Then, I wondered about energy cards. For instance, there's always an energy card in a pack, and you have to consume three energy cards to get a powerful attack. I thought it'd be difficult to sell a large number of cards without doing something like that. The act of building a deck may seem abit difficult, but I thought it'd be better to have a gimmick like that, since it could broaden the age range of the audience.

"Younger children would enjoy the flashy card battles, while the older ones would also enjoy “tactics at its finest” when combining decks. It's an ambitious concept that would certainly captivate not only young children and elementary school students, but also the older generation."

Minato: At first, we thought of dividing the cards into multiple categories, including transformation cards, attack cards, special skill cards, monster cards, and so on. I tried to explain that things like skill cards can be used in the development of the show's story or battles, and that each card has value because interesting things could happen when they're combined, but it was hard for people to understand.

"The design team was led by Kita Tojun of PLEX. He's a key Designer who's worked on the Kamen Rider series since "Build" (2017), as well as "Mashin Sentai Kiramager" (2020), and as Chief Designer on "Ultraman Blazar" (2023)."

Kita: Among the countless ideas, there was one to combine 3 cards. The idea was to create a deck with three types of cards, that being, "Material + Shape + Movement," and then perform a move. Being more specific, it'd be something like, "Iron + Triangle + Rotation = Drill." In theory, it's easy to understand, but it'd be difficult for a child. Then there were talks of, "How about a simple "drill" or "bike" card, and then combining the two to make a "Drill Bike"?" From here, we felt that it'd be alittle sad to just use the word "drill," so we decided to turn the drill and bike into a character. In "Kamen Rider OOO" there were the mechs called "Candroids" that would help out, and I thought it'd be a good idea to make it a character with that kind of vibe. Riders are known for their compound eyes, so we came up with the idea of giving every character "bug like eyes."

Minato: When I saw the illustrations of the drill and bike with compound eyes, I thought that what was depicted on those cards looked like small animals. And the fact that all of them are alive……it made me think that they were like Pokemon (laughs). In that sense, the illustrations on the cards were all monsters…… it started to seem like a good idea with the ways things turned out.

"This idea became the prototype for the "Chemies," but at this point, he said they hadn't reached a definitive decision. It was like wandering in a long tunnel with no end in sight. The steam locomotive that would lead them to the exit hadn't arrived yet. The planning team's struggles continued as they hoped for a breakthrough in ideas……"

-Transform with alchemy by shaking the cards-

"In addition to the cards and structure of the transformation belt, meetings were underway in regards to the concept of the main Rider. This was because the concept of the Riders and items were linked to the worldview of the entire show."

Minato: Shirakura would constantly ask me, "What kind of program will people watch each week?" A Kamen Rider engaging in card battles wouldn't leave much of an impact. That's because there's already been so many. If you were to say an "Office President Rider," the audience's imaginations would run wild. A novelist Rider, a devil Rider……your imagination starts to overflow, doesn't it? That's where the word "magic" was brought up. If you were to give some meaning to the cards, then in some way or another, the magical elements would fit. Magical cards are easy to visualize, aren't they? For argument's sake, if you have materials "A" and "B" and then combine them, you can create something new. This is something that came up at a meeting with Tsukada. However, it didn't feel right that there was no logic behind the magic. With that being the situation I chose "alchemy," as it felt like there were more rules.

"So that's why the concept was an "Alchemist Rider." With the word "alchemy" being agreed upon, various elements started to connect to one another."

Minato: I remembered that something called a homunculus existed in alchemy. Then, I wondered if the compound eyed monsters depicted on the card illustrations could be homunculi. I thought it (artificial life forms) would be compatible with alchemy. From here, when responding to Shirakura's question, "What's so entertaining about this program?" my answer was, "Alchemy." Despite that, Shirakura would say, "Alchemy can't be a theme." He also said the words, "It's fine to use alchemy as a gimmick, but use something else as the theme." Trying to find the theme……I was at my limit, and yet, I remembered the conversation about how the illustrations on the cards were like Pokemon. This is where I finally landed on the word "collect."

"The cards depict monsters, and the idea was to create a story about collecting those monsters. At the same time, the word "alchemy" helped speed up the development of the transformation belt."

Kita: We talked about how to present the act of "mixing" multiple cards as a gimmick for the belt. One example, put three monster cards in the case and shake them. It'd be like a drink shaker. What we had in mind was when you pour them into a flask shaped belt, you'd transform through the power of the three monsters fusing.

"A wide variety of opinions were exchanged, among them, the idea of a transformation gimmick, in which the face of the Rider is completed by matching the patterns on the cards, was also conceived."

Kita: However, it was difficult from a design standpoint (making a flask shaped belt). Flasks have a protruding tip, so it'd be hard to fuse the square shaped cards with that design. Because of that, we decided to only keep the gimmick of shaking multiple cards and to make both the belt and the card holder in a square shape.

"A majority of people also said that the transformation action was lacking in excitement."

Kita: They said that simply shaking the card case and putting it in the buckle was weak as a transformation action. For the Build Driver (Build's transformation belt), there were the items called Full Bottles, but at the time, you had to shake the Full Bottles, put them in the belt, and then perform an additional action (turning the handle). It was pointed out that there was no action to that effect this time.

"At the same time, the number of cards were discussed, and it was decided that the total amount would be as large as 100 types."

Minato: That meant that there'd be 100 different linked items this time. I was pretty nervous because there were so many (laughs), but I decided to go along with it because it'd be a new perspective for me, and also because as cards, it might be worth collecting them.

"If three cards make one form, then you need more than 30 different forms, and if two cards make one form, then you need 50 different forms."

Kita: With that many forms, you'll want to swap cards from one to the next and play around with them. Some people voiced how it might be alittle hard to play with, and when we thought about it, the process of removing the holder from the belt, changing the cards, and putting it back on the belt again wasn't a good idea. So we talked about it with, "Instead of increasing the number of actions, wouldn't it be better to reduce them?" In the end, the card case was removed, and we decided to go in a simpler direction.

Terakawa: It took alot of trial and error, but if you want them to play with the intuition that you pair up the cards with the belt, just insert two cards into the belt and combine them together. I thought that was the simplest way to go. There's minimal belt action, since all you do is push and pull the buckle, but being that there'd be 50, possibly more, different forms, we decided that it'd be better to keep the actions as simple as possible. Each form also makes a distinctive sound effect. In addition, it can identify all 100 monster names and says them audibly, so just as a toy, we thought it'd be pretty fun.

"And so, with its colorful, neon like lights emanating, the transformation belt was completed. When two cards are inserted and the lever is pulled, the Rider's face appears. A truly mysterious gimmick was born."

-A Rider's failed transformation?!-

"Let's bring the conversation back to the time when the transformation system was being devised. At the beginning of the project, the idea was to just "insert a card pack directly into the buckle and transform!"

Minato: This was an idea from the design team. The concept was to make the packs structured like a storage box, where you could open and close them repeatedly, and then to "take out the real pack of cards inside and use them to transform!" The concept was to make even the act of opening a pack of cards part of the fun. This is where the drama comes in, as the question of "how do you deal with random cards?" came to mind. Opening a pack would be like a battle, where it's like, "So these are the five cards I got this time. Alright, how should I use them?" Then I was thinking that depending on the specs of the cards, it might be a less powerful form that it transforms into. That's the direction I had in mind for the drama.

"The main character fights by randomly transforming into different forms, taking advantage of the unique properties of his cards, which makes it impossible to know what will appear. Imagining a Rider surviving battles through wisdom and courage really gets your heart racing, don't you think? This led to the concept of a Rider who, depending on the cards he held, could transform into a "grotesque," non human form."

Minato: I imagined the main character as a young man who tries without giving up, even if he makes mistake after mistake. So I thought, "Why not visualize this attitude through his transformation?" Alchemy has a history of failures, so you could assume that the concept reflects that. In response to Shirakura's "what makes this program so entertaining to watch every week?" question, I thought, "what about a program that entertains the audience with its failed transformations?" Using various cards, trying again and again until finally achieving success, it made me think, "Isn't that kind of method abit like alchemy?"

"A failed transformation form that visualizes the act of repeated trial and error. The concept of capturing the form change from a different angle makes the new generation's sense of style shine through. However……"

Minato: When I tried to write the script using this format, it took way too long to reach victory. The sequence of a successful transformation from a failed one simply took too much time. Because of that, instead of repeating failed transformations, many people voiced their opinion that it'd be better to focus more on monster collecting.

"Thinking from a child's point of view, wouldn't it be more fun to have 10 successful transformation forms than to have 10 failed ones? After the planning team's feedback, it seemed like the failed transformation forms would be scrapped, and yet……"

Minato: There's a novel called "The Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka, and in it, the main character turns into a "poisonous bug." I felt that the failed transformation form had a similar kind of impact. On the other hand, one of the design proposals had a strange form based on the concept of a non human "steam locomotive grasshopper,” which I thought was kind of interesting. I also thought of the main character as a person who would be guided towards "C" in his search for answers, rather than choosing between "A" or "B," so I felt that a bizarre form would fit well with him.

"Both Yamabe Koichi and Kaneko Shinichi of Ishimori Productions are responsible for world building and repair within the Kamen Rider series. So far, they've been behind the scene figures that have caused many Rider productions to succeed."

Yamabe: It's alchemy, so failures can happen. You may end up with a form that's different from what you wanted, or, on the other hand, you could get a tremendous amount of power specifically for combat. A rough and wild form that causes him to abandon his human form. I think it's because we weren't concerned with the human form, that we could express that kind of excessive power. When I was a child, I used to enjoy thinking and fantasizing about things like, "What would happen if "A" and "B" combined?" So, even though we couldn't show all the forms, I thought it might be a good idea to set the rules as they are, and to let people imagine what it would look like if they put "this one" and "that one" together.

Kaneko: We thought that by removing the human form, the transformations could become more unexpected. I wondered if we could slightly deviate from the parts that the viewers would be expecting. We just needed to decide on the combinations, then we could consider using props instead of suits or CG to depict them. The idea was to keep viewers from getting bored and to give the program a sense of variety.

Minato: Although it was a good idea to sell this series with the fact that there are nearly 50 different forms (through the combination of 100 cards), we didn't have the time to depict those 50 forms (within the drama), and it would've taken a large budget to produce that many suits. So I thought, "Why not use the forms I was considering as failed transformation forms?"

"A strange creature that looks like a fusion between a grasshopper and a steam locomotive…These forms eventually came to be known as "Wild Mode." The naming embodies the "roughness of becoming wild." When the design is humanoid, there are limits to how the action can be depicted. By doing as they pleased with how they designed its appearance, it became possible to break away from those limits. This is how the new Kamen Rider of 2023 acquired its unique identity."

-A young Rider who crushes the old-

"The main character in 2023s Kamen Rider was a high school student. Why did you choose an overly straightforward youth, someone who was more than a boy but not quite a young man, to play the leading role?"

Minato: The opening of the drama is that the main character opens a secret door and finds himself in the world of alchemy, but at its roots, the story has an urban, legendary like worldview. There's a mysterious organization, similar to that of the Illuminati or Freemasons, that have already taken control of the world. The Alchemys Union gives off an image similar to a "dark government." Because of all this, you don't know the full picture. During a planning meeting, we asked ourselves who the Rider would fight against. The word "gerontocracy" came up. Usually, Shirakura and Tsukada are polar opposites, but on this one occasion, they both found it amusing (laughs). Because of their reaction, I thought it'd be interesting to have a story about a group of young people crushing leaders who hate change and only talk about things based on their own past achievements. However, I thought that "crushing the old" was too negative of a theme, but then the word "Gotcha" came up at a naming meeting. It's not a made up word, as it means "to obtain" in English. "To obtain" means to encounter something new that you don't have, in other words, that's what I believe the old have already stopped doing. The only thing the young can do to surpass the old is to "Gotcha." That was one of the reasons why I made the main character and his friends students.

"What the new Kamen Rider needed was "youth to fight off the old." The fact that the main Rider repeatedly changes into 50 different forms can be seen as a symbol of his youth."

Yamabe: The main character is a young and naive high school student. He's an amateur at alchemy, so he's not too specific about things, and he's not afraid to try out different things. I feel that the kind of "irresponsibility of youth" he possesses is reflected in the many form changes he makes.

"The design of the main Rider was done alongside his characterization."

Minato: Our initial plan was to use three or more cards. Since W and Build transformed by combining two elements together, we thought about whether we could create a gimmick that increased the number of cards so that there'd be no overlapping. We tried a variety of things, but considering the structure of the belt, the only way to read the barcodes printed on the cards was to scan them one at a time. After taking into account the transformation action and various other circumstances, in the end, we decided to proceed with just two cards.

"W's design is divided into two parts down the center, while Build combines two elements in a spiral shape. What would the next Rider look like?"

Kita: At first, I imagined him in a lightweight suit, as I thought it'd be a nice change from tradition. The style would be similar to "Riderman" and "Ride Kamens," where their faces are visible and armor is kept to a minimum. With this as the base, the direction was to strengthen him through the use of the cards. I tried to draw lines that made the most of the flat surface of a card, and to also add a flask motif to give off the image of alchemy, but I couldn't decide on the direction to take. It was pretty difficult.

Minato: There were tons of strange designs like that. However, since he's a card Rider, and since "people cards" were something that only Decade did, I wondered if there was a different direction to go in. We asked for an alchemy motif, but we couldn't come up with any words that would give him any hints for the design. During this, "plating" became the one thing we attached ourselves to. Alchemy is the secret art of manufacturing precious metals (like gold and silver) from base metals (like iron, lead and copper), so it gives off the image of something shiny. However, that was also just about the subject matter, not the actual design…..In the end, we decided that instead of combining the visuals of "A + B = AB," we would create a completely different form, that being "C." We wanted to proceed with a completely mixed design, a form where two elements were fused together through alchemy.

"Soon after, the motifs for the two cards were decided to be a grasshopper and steam locomotive."

Minato: A grasshopper wasn't exactly what I wanted. Or rather, there's a grasshopper (GodHopper) in King-Ohger, which I was apart of until just before this, so I was wondering……if this would be alright? (laughs). In the end, I thought that it wasn't a hero motif (in King-Ohger), and that this is Kamen Rider, so there was no issue.

"Grasshoppers are a well known motif going back to the first Kamen Rider, and it fits well with the bounciness of the main character's youth. The steam locomotive on the other hand was a suggestion by Minato."

Minato: When I met my nephew during New Years, he had a toy train. It made me think that children still love trains. I also watched the anime "Goldran" when I was a child, which had a steam locomotive transforming into a robot, and so I thought that a steam locomotive might end up being good. So, I went to a mass retailer near the office and bought a steam locomotive toy, brought it to a planning meeting, and presented it, saying, "Steam locomotives are pretty cool, huh?" (laughs). Grasshoppers and steam locomotives are opposites, one being biological and the other mechanical, but I had the idea of combining them together with the alchemy image in mind, so I thought they'd be a good match. "Jump and Power," that being the jumping power of a grasshopper and the charging power of a steam locomotive, it fit the image of a Rider's kick, so we decided to go ahead with this.

"The color of the armor that covers the new Rider entirely is "blue"…The color evokes a clear blue sky, and at the same time, evokes a sense of youthfulness. The blue shine is further enhanced by the dazzling plating. The motif is a grasshopper and steam locomotive. Its stylish silhouette is bold, it combines a grasshopper, which has been used frequently since Kamen Rider 1, with a steam locomotive, which is the first time it's been used as a main Rider's motif. The new hero would rise up, and his name was "Kamen Rider Gotchard"! The broadcast began on September 3, 2023. In the midst of this era's chaos, the dazzling blue hero jumps forward with ease!"

Gotcha Youth Alchemy Journal Gotcha 2: The Combination of Isolation and Gorgeous

-Alchemy of a local factory-

"Standing in the main character's way is Kurogane Spanner, a cool, super A class rank alchemist. He's a rival character who calls himself "Valvarad," and who wears a strengthened suit (alchemist armor) which he created himself for use against Malgams."

Minato: At the beginning of planning, among some of our options was the idea of "Agito 2." I brought it up partially because I like Agito (laughs), but personally, I thought it was a pretty good idea. I had no intention of it being a true part 2, rather, I wanted to create a show that would mirror its structure. This is because as I look back on the most recent productions, it feels like there are way too many Kamen Riders. Because of that, I wanted to bring it back down to three, just like in Agito. Furthermore, each of them comes from a different background, which is why each of them use distinctly different transformation belts. In addition, the structure is set up so that those three meet in the same place. The main character is pure and can't remember anything, the secondary is someone who's inherited some sort of knowledge from the past, and the tertiary is an outsider. I was wondering if it'd be possible to depict that kind of structure, where the three of them aren't very close with each other. I wanted to reject the traditional, rule based world. The secondary is Rinne, while the tertiary is Spanner. The structure isn't exactly the same, and there are some parts where multiple elements are mixed together, but I used that as a basis for the structure of the character arrangement.

"For 120 long years, no one has been able to attain that lost technology - alchemy for a Kamen Rider. In order to get as close as possible to this power, Spanner conducted his own research and developed "Valvarad's armor" as a system different from that of a Riders."

Minato: There were requests for more allies on the hero side to join the main Rider, but I had decided from the start to go with just Gotchard during the very beginning. Gotchard's diverse form changes were his selling point, so I wanted to focus on that first. I had decided from the beginning that we would have three Riders, but that there'd still only be one by the end of the year. That's when I decided to come up with a rival hero, and so a non Rider hero was born.

"Spanner dons his Valvarad "armor" not by shouting "Henshin!," but "Tekko!" instead. While Riders bodies are strengthened through transformation, Valvarad's an unorthodox warrior who fights with armor simply worn over his body."

Kaneko: Valvarad dons his armor using only one card. Only Kamen Riders can transform using two cards. This was a way to differentiate him from the others and to explain that this was the alchemy of this world.

"An outsider with a different background from the Kamen Rider. He could be considered the tertiary in the Agito inspired character arrangement that Minato originally had in mind."

Minato: He may be an alchemist warrior, but he's still an imperfect being, so we decided to make the rival rust. This is in contrast to the plated and sparkling Gotchard. The toy team voiced how they wanted car cards to appear, so we created a visual of a car covered in oil and being repaired with tools. He's like a warrior born from the alchemy of a local factory, if you will.

"These so called transformation items were also well thought out ideas (in terms of steel items)."

Kita: There were many ideas, including one based on scissors and another on a helicopter styled weapon, but the tool idea was selected from among them.

"Given his setting as a non Rider hero, some interesting ideas were exchanged on transformation and form changes."

Kita: I thought it'd be funny if he put the end of the Valvarusher (the wrench part) around his head and transformed by tightening screws on his head. Both of his shoulders have parts that look like hex bolts, but during the design stage, I imagined that the Valvarusher would be used by him to remove these bolts, and then to attach additional parts to the shoulders. Instead of transforming, he'd be a hero who tunes up his armor like a mechanical engineer.

"Equipping the armor and weapons with his own hands. That's quite an original idea, don't you think?! As a result, the method of changing his appearance instantaneously was used in the footage, but we can't help but hope that this kind of production technique will one day become more popular."

-The conception of a Rider Taisen Universe?!-

"A high school alchemist Rider finds himself in a different dimension. There, he witnessed a gorgeous, golden warrior who used the cards of past Riders to defeat his enemies in every direction. His name is Kamen Rider Legend!"

Minato: The cards sold in packs had "Chemies" printed on them, but at first, customers were still unfamiliar with the monsters. One of the roles of the show was to make the monsters more appealing, but we weren't sure how popular the Chemies would turn out during the planning stages. On the other hand, the lineup also included cards with Legend Riders printed on them. We thought this would be one of the motivations for customers to buy cards during the very early stages of the show. The toy team still raised their concerns with, "How can we make the cards more appealing?"

Terakawa: Card items are also targeted at adults, and the Card Division's view was that cards of past Riders would be particularly popular with them. If that was the case, then I wanted to highlight the Legend cards more. We consulted with Ishimori Productions and Toei about what steps we could take to achieve this.

Yamabe: Items related to past Riders, or "Legend merch" as they're called, have quite a few fans. We had the option of not adding them in the show, but I also understood what the toy team was thinking. We agreed that it'd be fun to have a hero who uses the cards of past Riders, and that we might as well give it a try with this series. However, if this character were to appear in the main story, it would affect the worldview, so that was something we had to think about for abit.

Terakawa: For example, we thought about things like someone who makes cards, who also makes Chemy cards, and who also makes cards of past Riders. A variety of opinions were exchanged, such as, "How about making a character who's a card shop owner, or a handyman who deals with Chemy cards and explains what a Chemy is?"

"Legend cards were difficult to work with. If Gotchard uses the Legend cards, that would give him unlimited power, which weakens the purpose of using the other Chemy cards. On the other hand, if a completely new and distinct character were to use them……"

Minato: A hero who uses Legend cards is by all accounts the most powerful character in the show, so wouldn't having him around solve everything? I wondered how it would affect the show if things ended up going in that direction. So, I decided to make him a Rider from a different world than the one in the TV series, and thought about developing it as a spin off. In this way, I thought we could fulfill both our goals of bringing Legend cards into the story, and to keep a Legend card using hero outside of Gotchard's narrative world.

"The platform chosen was Youtube. As the name suggests, "Toei Tokusatsu Youtube Official" is an official video site for Toei's tokusatsu productions, and has distributed spin offs of TV series, such as "Kamen Rider Ghost: Legendary! Riders Souls!" (2016)."

Minato: If I depicted how he got the Legend Rider cards, I wouldn't be able to show his abilities in the limited time we had, so I decided to make him someone who had alot of cards right from the start. Initially, I was thinking of a setting where he was some incredible day trader. A successful businessman who's very rich. I even came up with a line like, "I'm a modern day alchemist" (laughs). However, I thought that was alittle too realistic for his occupation……so I changed his setting.

"Needless to say, the concept of "gorgeous" was born as a result of this process. But his appearance……?"

Kita: I had alot of ideas, such as looking like a businessman with a suit arrangement, or like a motorcycle riding police officer who cracks down on Riders from all over the world. Since Gotchard has a concept with arrows, I tried to draw a design with arrows all over his body, but in the end, a design based on the concept of "Rider No. 3 from Decade's world" was chosen.

"One way of describing his appearance would be……the Golden Decade!"

Minato: Gotchard aired on TV every week. A large number of toys were released. It's a production that finally took shape after months of working on the setting and designs. When you throw a new Rider with a completely different setting into the mix, it's only natural that he'd look inferior to Gotchard. That being the case, I thought it'd be better to just have him be a character like Decade.

"From here, they wanted him to borrow Decade's powers. One being his "visuals." The other being his "ability" to copy all past Riders."

Minato: The fact that he looks similar to Decade I thought could be cleared up by using the same logic as Twokaizer (laughs).

"Twokaizer is the additional fighter that appeared in "Kikai Sentai Zenkaiger" (2021), and his visuals are very similar to the Gokaigers (laughs). This isn't surprising. The reason for this is pretty simple, the character Flint, who went to the world of Kaizoku Sentai Gokaiger, copied the appearance of the Gokaigers (laughs). However, the overall coloring and appearance of various parts aren't exactly the same as those on the Gokaigers. The plan was to use a similar approach."

Yamabe: A world where using Riders from other worlds as cards and using their abilities is an established technique. That's the world that Legend exists in. The resemblance in appearance is due out of respect for Decade. That's how I interpret it.

"The enemy that Legend fights against is a mysterious organization called "Hundred." Under their command is Kasshine, an enemy from Zi-O."

Yamabe: I've always thought that there's a world line between Decade and Zi-O, and that there are battles that take place in a different dimension from the Rider battles that we do every year. That's why we used the Aurora Curtain again and had a scene where Kasshine appears. Ishimori Productions wanted to unite the world views of Decade and Zi-O into one.

Kaneko: Legend also had the role of introducing Kamen Rider to the new generation who were unfamiliar with Riders, as well as to people overseas who had never seen a Rider broadcast before. It'd be difficult to ask the new generation of fans to watch all past Rider productions during that time, so we picked out and introduced only the most characteristic and interesting parts of every past Rider. This was the role that had been entrusted to this character.

"Even though the grand plan was unexpectedly surprising, the character of Kaguya-sama is amazing in that he seems to be able to handle his role without any difficulty. Although, Legend would eventually interfere with the world of Gotchard……"

-Cards and Riders, a deceptive duet-

"The very beginning of the program depicts a lively battle between Houtaro and his friends to capture Chemies. It was an unusual journey, going from west to east in pursuit of Chemies."

Minato: The concept of this production was a "story of collecting Chemies." There are friends and rivals, but it's not a battle, what's depicted is a "race" to catch the Chemies. This is because initially, I was going to use a basic storyline pattern……in which human criminals and a Chemy combine to become a Malgam. This is imagery seen in the story of episode 2. A hero who saves helpless Chemies from being trapped by evil people is a new concept, don't you think? However, that'd mean the very first episode wouldn't unravel properly. I thought it'd be fine to go without an enemy organization, but TV Asahi's Producer Inoue Chihiro-san advised me that it'd be better to have an enemy. And so, the "Three Dark Sisters" were born.

"If you ask me, the flow of Houtaro receiving the belt from Kudo Fuga in the first episode wouldn't have been possible without the Three Dark Sisters. The unexpected circumstances of their creation are surprising, but the Three Dark Sisters studied the Chemy cards and succeeded in developing the DreaDriver. It's an evil device that transforms a person into the form of a demon by consuming Repli Chemy cards."

Yamabe: The DreaDriver is a "sacrificial belt." It's a belt that disposes of the Chemy cards. If an enemy that used it were to appear, the Chemy loving main character would no doubt hate them immensely. At the time of planning, the details of the story hadn't been decided yet, so we introduced it with that intention in mind.

Kaneko: At the time of planning, we were thinking of a development in which Chemy cards would be taken by the enemy and then recovered. However, as the project progressed, it was decided that there'd be only one of each Chemy card, so we needed to do something else. Considering the importance that Houtaro places on his Chemy cards, he wouldn't simply hand them over to the enemy. That's when we came up with the idea of "Repli Chemy cards." Things would progress from the enemy feeling threatened by Gotchard, to them creating a card of their own and transforming.

"With a thunderous roar, a human who puts on the DreaDriver transforms into Kamen Rider Dread. The one manipulated by Atropos and forced to transform was……Sabimaru."

Kaneko: We wanted to create an evil Rider, one who would completely change the cheerful mood, but we had a hard time deciding who would transform. At first, we were thinking of the three tiered system, with Clotho using Type One, Lachesis using Type Two, and Atropos using Type Three. We wanted to make it seem like the opponent who used Chemies to create Malgams would then transform into a Rider and stand in the way as powerful enemies, but as of episode 11, I felt that the Three Dark Sisters just hadn't developed as characters yet. Even when they transformed, it was lacking in impact……

Minato: For example, I thought about having Clotho transform and then leave the show, but Screenwriter Hasegawa-san didn't want Clotho to make her exit just yet. Therefore, we decided that it'd be best to leave Dread as a sort of puppet like existence for the time being. With all that being the case, who would do the most damage to Houtaro? From this perspective, I chose Sabimaru as the one to transform. The reason was that up to that point, Houtaro's main motivation for taking action was the Chemies, he wasn't a Kamen Rider who protected humans. However, when his senior and important friend Sabimaru is taken away from him, he has a change in attitude to save both Chemies and humans.

Kaneko: I think we were able to depict Houtaro's consideration for human life and his determination to fight. However, to begin with, Sabimaru's character isn't suited for that kind of role. That's why Dread didn't feel like a formidable opponent. It didn't look like a threat was approaching. Instead, the feeling of pity for Sabimaru was what came out more strongly, which was quite different from what we were aiming for.

Minato: Personally, I didn't want to call Dread a "Kamen Rider." In this world, Kamen Riders are rare individuals who transform by combining two Chemy cards. The Repli Chemy cards are fakes, and Type Zero isn't a Rider, as you transform with just one card. Therefore, we made it possible for anyone to transform, although what they become is quite different from a Kamen Rider. We decided that we'd have Atropos be the one saying, "I'm Kamen Rider Dread."

"Dread would eventually mutate its forms one by one, from Type One to Three, and even altering the person that transforms, causing torment to Houtaro and his friends."

-Power up with the Legendary Chemies-

"Ride Chemy cards are sealed with Chemies, artificial life forms created by alchemy. Each card is assigned a 10 level number based on their attribute, from "level 1" to "level 10." A Level 10 is the strongest Chemy in each attribute. They're special beings with extraordinary power."

Minato: Simply put, the Level 10's are "Legendary Pokemon" (laughs). They're absurdly strong Chemies, so it's difficult to catch them. Houtaro, as well as Gotchard, become stronger when the Level 10s approve of him. I was careful when depicting this sequence, as I didn't want to portray him as becoming stronger just because he acquired a strong asset. So, the process I followed was that as a result of becoming stronger mentally, he gained new powers. I intended on sticking to this concept throughout the show.

"Gotchard's system was to use two Chemy cards to transform, but there was a rule that the sum of the numbers of the two cards that were paired had to equal 10. Like how Hopper1 is a Level 1 and Steamliner is a Level 9. So, 1+9=10, and there can be a transformation. Other forms basically followed this rule, but what about Level 10 cards?"

Terakawa: The basic concept was that you were allowed to power up with three cards. So by adding a Level 10 card to Steamhopper (which requires two cards), you can create a new form.

"There are no cards that can be paired with a Level 10, so instead, the idea was to "add on" to a standard form to increase its power."

Kita: In the beginning, we were thinking of removing the card holder like part from the new weapon and setting it on the belt, but the card holder was small in size. Adding this to the Gotchard Driver didn't change the appearance of the belt much. So, we decided to change our direction of transforming the weapon itself into an additional buckle.

"Transforming with a Level 10 Chemy required a new weapon (Exgotchalibur), which could change shape into a buckle. The main point was that the overall appearance of the belt could be changed by adding additional parts to it. He was told, "you shouldn't control a Level 10," as they're the most challenging of Chemies, but Houtaro becomes friends with these Level 10s thanks to his kindness and battle spirit. His unconventional ideas and drive allowed him to easily overcome the old teachings passed down at the Alchemys Union, and gradually, he began to change the hearts of those around him!"

Gotcha Youth Alchemy Journal Gotcha 3: The Combination of Past and Future

-Daybreak Incident-

"One after another, people were turned to stone by the super giant Orochi Malgam. The crowded Christmas town was in chaos as everyone was turned to stone, including his best friends, allies, and rivals. Would the panicking Houtaro also become a victim?! At that moment, a daybreak colored shadow appeared with a dazzling light. It was another Gotchard!!"

Minato: The toy sale report for the first month of the show's broadcast became available, and while card sales were strong, Driver sales weren't, and the adult fan base seemed to be shrinking. That was just the info I was given. So, I decided that it might be a good idea to prepare some kind of major development for the story.

Yamabe: I had abit of a bad feeling about this……In the last episode of the year (episode 16), the development we planned was to have Houtaro power up into Fire Gotchard. Gotchard would be defeated for a moment, but then complete his powered up transformation at the very end, and then the story would continue in the next episode. That's the process we were thinking of, but after hearing about the toys, I had a feeling that the story would take a turn for the worse if we did that.

Minato: Geats, the previous series, was said to be very popular with adults, while on the opposite end, the response from young children wasn't so good. That's why we had talked about making a show that would attract more children this time, and that it would be aimed more towards preschool aged children. Rider is a long running series that has many adult fans, so I thought I had to try and strike a balance in order to reach that generation, but then I wasn't sure what to do.

"If the primary target was younger children, then it's possible that middle and high school students, as well as the older generation, may not judge it positively. And, what if you didn't get support from those vital young children?"

Yamabe: We understand that it's cool when the main character loses for a brief moment and then gets back up. However, given the situation we were currently going down, we thought it wouldn't be appealing to anyone, regardless of whether they were a child or an adult.

Kaneko: It was probably because of our own lack in ability, but in any case, we hadn't been able to convey the appeal of Gotchard. Tons of Chemy cards were released, tons of form changes appeared, Dread appeared, the Exgotchalibur appeared and turned him into Super Gotchard, and soon, there'd be Fire Gotchard. Shortly after that, Valvarad's power up was scheduled. Taking all that into account, it makes it impossible to create an interesting story, and even if new items were released, viewers wouldn't want to buy those toys, as there'd be no excitement in them. At any rate, we were in a standstill.

Minato: I don't remember much about the meeting because I felt completely drained, but it was decided right then and there that a new character would suddenly appear. "But who'll be transforming?," we couldn't come to a decision. There was a strong divide between choosing either Fuga or Houtaro's father, but I thought that'd be too predictable and simply not interesting enough. This could make it look as if Houtaro, the main character, was having his role downsized and that a new main character was appearing. That would be a betrayal to the viewers, so I absolutely wanted to avoid that. During all this, the words "the hero's future appearance" came out of Yamabe-san, and I was like, "That's it!"

Yamabe: A character who would be known as a "skilled Gotchard," who can handle all kinds of weapons, appears. He also fights brilliantly, using red Chemy cards that no one's ever seen before. So, unlike the Gotchard that Houtaro transforms into, this guy would be showing off his professional fighting skills. Within the show is a picture book, which refers to the story "Alchemist of Daybreak," so we decided to make the character associated with those words. And so, that's how Daybreak was born.

"Following this meeting, Minato immediately set out to negotiate with the toy team."

Minato: Episode 16 would be the last episode to air at the end of the year. Gotcharigniter toys were scheduled to be available in stores by the end of that week. So, at the time of planning, they were thinking of making Kamen Rider Valvarad appear during that episode. The Gotcharigniter was set up to be an item that allowed them to become Fire Gotchard or Kamen Rider Valvarad respectively. However, Gotchard became UFO-X in episode 13 and XRex in episode 14, and when episode 15 was being aired, Majade was making her debut in movie theaters. I couldn't set up such an absurd storyline where Valvarad would power up next time during episode 16. It'd be easy to force something like that out, but as a creator, I didn't want to do it. In Gotchard's story, I can't give power ups to people who haven't "Gotcha!" (obtained) something. So, I asked to let Fire Gotchard and Kamen Rider Valvarad make their appearance after the New Year. As a work around, I explained that we'd be attaching the Gotcharigniter to the new character, Daybreak.

"It's highly unusual for these kinds of series, which are based on linking the show and the toys, to delay the release of characters and items that are set to be sold during the holiday shopping season. This must've been an unexpected situation for the toy team."

Minato: I was expecting them to not agree so easily……but it was still pretty rough. After much discussion, I managed to get them to agree that before the sales launch of the Igniter, Daybreak would appear in episode 16 and use the Igniter to become Fire Gotchard Daybreak, and that only the visuals of the new Riders would be released. That's how we ended up releasing the new visuals at the end of the year for the coming year, unveiling Fire Gotchard and Kamen Rider Valvarad. We had already decided in advance that another artist would participate in the theme song (FLOW in addition to BACK-ON), so we decided to release it at the same time. I was so nervous, that I approached things with the feeling that a new show was set to start in January of the coming year.

"The act of explaining the situation to all concerned parties and getting people to understand the intentions of the planning team must've been an indescribable task behind the scenes. On the other hand, this decision broke away from the conventional mindset of the Rider series and "Gotcha" (obtained) something new, which would no doubt give a big boost to future stories!"

-Time Travel Fire-

"After some difficult negotiations, Daybreak's emergency entry was granted. The appearance of two characters were delayed because of this. Let's talk about one of them, we'll start with Fire Gotchard."

Minato: No one knew the reason behind why Houtaro liked the Chemies. Still, from the very beginning, I heard many opinions. The reason is simply that he just met a Chemy randomly and suddenly started saying, "Chemies are great!" To support this, I decided to have a setting where Houtaro meets Chemies in the past. Houtaro doesn't remember this because his memories were erased (by an alchemist), but the Chemies remember. There's still something like a fragment of "cherished memories" in Houtaro's heart. So, I tried to "combine" Houtaro's past and what leads him to becoming Fire Gotchard. I decided on the details later, but Houtaro travels into the past due to Daybreak. I wondered if I could create that sequence of events……where by remembering his childhood memories that had been erased, that would make him more aware than ever that he must protect people and Chemies, and that he must become a stronger person.

"Daybreak speaks with Houtaro. He says, "A power that gives hope to the future. Use this…" Houtaro refuses Daybreak's offer to accept the Gotcharigniter, and declares that he'll try to produce the power up item with his own hands. Daybreak tells him that in order to do so, he needs to travel into the past. Using the power of Timelord, Houtaro travels to the past, where he learns various revelations. As a child, Houtaro was friends with the Chemies, and despite being young, he was skilled in alchemy……Eventually, Houtaro obtains the "one and only treasure in this world" that his childhood self had made through alchemy, and returns to the present, where he succeeds in refining the Gotcharigniter. He obtains the power of Fire Gotchard!"

Kaneko: It's a speed form with a booster on his back, but if it's just about gaining speed, we've seen so many different patterns up until now that viewers are getting tired of seeing, so we decided to make it alittle different. Ultimately, we decided that when on standby, his body is fixed in place with chains, and when he gains speed, he can only move in a straight line. Combined with Director Tasaki's direction, I think the form turned out really unique and cool.

"Upon seeing Gotchard's new appearance, Daybreak mutters, "That form…..so you're headed into the new future, huh?"…"

Kaneko: Daybreak also uses the Gotcharigniter, but Houtaro's Fire Gotchard has a different appearance. That's where the timeline changed (Daybreak's timeline and the present split).

"Seeing Houtaro in a form different from his own despite using the same item, Daybreak feels relieved and returns to the future. This story……is unexpectedly connected to the Summer film!"

-The girl who was supposed to become Gotchard-

"Kamen Rider Majade made her first appearance in the Winter Film. She's the first female fighter in the history of the series to become the secondary Rider. As the daughter of a renowned alchemist, Kudo Rinne has always been bound by rules and lived by them. Her friends refer to her as "honor student" and "rule follower," and her enemy Atropos teased her by calling her "Serious-chan." A girl who's lived her whole life hiding her own will decides to "make her own rules," and grows from becoming a Kamen Rider!"

Minato: I think Rinne was originally supposed to become Gotchard. Since she's the daughter of Kudo Fuga, an important alchemist, she receives a gifted education to also become a renowned alchemist, and she herself has been making efforts with that intention in mind. And yet, her own alchemy doesn't work against Malgams. However, Gotchard (Houtaro) suddenly appears and defeats the Malgams. This is why she's always wanted to become a Kamen Rider, she didn't want to be beside the hero as the heroine, which is the usual tradition. She may look like a cute girl, but within her heart, she's frustrated and impatient with herself for not being able to transform into a Kamen Rider. And so, by Gotcha (obtaining) her resolve to fight, she was finally able to become her true self (a Kamen Rider).

"The New Year's episodes were a rapid fire of events, with each week bringing a series of dramatic developments. Daybreak's intrusion, Houtaro's past, the truth about Kudo Fuga, the power up into Fire Gotchard, Glion's resurrection, and Majade's appearance gave off the impression that there were multiple surprises packed into a single episode. Additionally, the Alchemy Academy was taken over by Glion, and even Minato, whom she admires, switches to Glion's side!"

Yamabe: We wanted to create a situation where Houtaro and his friends had to figure things out on their own. The situation came to a point where Houtaro could no longer be naive, and he had to finally face himself.

"Minato, who has surrendered to Glion's side, uses the DreaDriver to change his appearance and attack Houtaro and his friends. Houtaro and his friends, who called themselves the "Kitchen ICHINOSE Union," were united in their resolve, but more challenges were coming for them. That would be the rampage of their precious friend Spanner…….and the appearance of Wheel Malgam!"

-Digging deeper into the ridiculous jokes-

"Kurogane Spanner is a lone, super A class rank alchemist, who wears the Valvarad armor he developed with his own hands. He's also a man who was previously promised he'd become a Kamen Rider."

Minato: I decided from the beginning that there would be three Riders starting from the beginning of the New Year. My own concept was to do "Kuuga" during the first year, and then after the New Year, the show would become "Agito."

"Kamen Rider Kuuga (2000) was the first Heisei Rider production. It features only one Kamen Rider. The story is about a lone fighter named Kuuga who fights with the help of the police. The next production was Kamen Rider Agito. This is an interwoven drama about three Kamen Riders (Agito, G3, Gills). Minato had reworked the Rider shows that fascinated him as a boy and incorporated them into Gotchard."

Kaneko: The toy team had requested that Houtaro and Spanner share the Gotcharigniter.

"It had already been decided that Spanner would become a Kamen Rider using the Gotcharigniter."

Kaneko: With such a setup, Spanner would need to use the Gotchard Driver. However, the Gotchard Driver has meaning, as it's one of a kind, but I wondered what would happen if there were more of them. If they lent or borrowed it from each other, there would be situations where neither Houtaro nor Spanner could transform, and in that regard, I thought the idea of lending and borrowing was a bad idea. As a result, we changed it so that Valvarad's enhanced belt was a reference to the Gotcharigniter.

"And so, they decided to have Houtaro's Gotcharigniter be an attachment, but for Spanner to have it appear in the show as a completely new belt, known as the Valvaradriver."

Minato: The timing of Kamen Rider Valvarad's appearance was later than expected, but I approached Director Sugihara when it came to making his first appearance (episodes 20 and 21). At that time, the first thing the Director said to me was, "I understand that you want to depict his first transformation in a cool way, but Spanner as he is now is unappealing. I don't think the Rider transformation will come off as well as you think it should unless you do something about Spanner." The planning team was aware of this, so we decided to rethink what kind of person Spanner was when it came time for his first transformation.

"Edami Kyoka was created to better paint Spanner's background…. She's a brilliant female alchemist, who also develops transformation drivers."

Kaneko: Kyoka's the only person that Spanner can open up to and be honest with. She's the one who accepts Spanner with full affirmation. She's also a mentor who supports Spanner more than anyone else.

"Kyoka is Spanner's emotional support. However, their relationship of trust is shattered by the appearance of Angel Malgam. Spanner's parents show up in front of him for the first time in 10 years. Soon after, they're both killed by Glion! Seeing this scene before his eyes, Spanner recalls memories from 10 years ago. And that's when he realizes what happened…His parents had already been killed by Glion 10 years ago, and the people in front of him were only temporarily revived through Angel Malgam's power. At the same time, he learns that his memory of that tragedy had been erased by someone…He's shocked to discover that the one who had performed the memory erasing technique on him was Edami Kyoka, his mentor, mother figure, sister figure, and woman he admired. Spanner feels his existence crumble beneath his feet as he's overcome with despair. And then, Spanner forms a bond. With help from the Chemy Madwell, who was a "tool," he became Valvarad……!"

Minato: 10 years ago, Spanner was a 14 year old boy who went to live with the 24 year old Kyoka-san, and with that happening, he would definitely fall in love with her, don't you think? (laughs). But since she's like a family member to him, they continue to live together while he keeps his feelings bottled up. That's why he became such a cool character. With the appearance of Kyoka, that background becomes clearer. Because of his cool and stylish position, Spanner had been holding back his performance up until then, but the explosive power he had the moment he let it all out was amazing.

"In order to protect the heart of the young Spanner, Kyoka erased those haunting memories, taught him alchemy, and showed him affection as they lived together. This eventually became Kyoka's reason for living. She also taught Spanner how to play chess, as it's a game that requires you to always calmly think ahead without being swayed by your emotions. Spanner possesses dangerous powers that make him easily susceptible to the power of darkness, so she tried to protect him by putting him in "armor" known as the "aesthetics of battle." When Spanner realized her wishes and feelings, he recognized that he wasn't alone. At the same time, memories of the deep love he received from his parents come back to him, and Spanner gains new powers. His name is Kamen Rider Valvarad!"

Minato: Gotchard and Majade transform through traditional alchemy, but Valvarad's transformation is alittle different. He transforms using alchemy that's been applied to modern industrial technology, or other words, alchemy from a local factory, so his appearance is purposely different from the other two. When I think, "What's the alchemy in this show?," I have a pretty good idea of what it is, but his still feels alittle more industrial. I have the impression that Kyoka's alchemy is the latest alchemy (the alchemy related items in Kyoka's lab are different from those in Fuga's room). Valvarad has a reinforced suit, but it's set up so that when he becomes a Rider, his body physically changes. Still, the pointed part on the left side of his mask (the silver part) is the only part that's armor. The design of Kamen Rider Valvarad was completed by combining physical changes (due to legitimate alchemy) with the alchemy techniques of a local factory.

"Spanner became more appealing as a character, and grew into an indispensable and reliable presence in the story."

-The Chemies become transformation items-

"Gotchard evolves with different concepts, including a 3 card transformation (Super Gotchard), transforming with a special card that combines 5 cards (Star Gotchard), and a transformation with an additional buckle (Fire Gotchard). What style would the next power be?"

Minato: Since we had finally reached the point where we had all 100 Chemy cards available for sale, the subject of coming up with a battle style using those 100 cards came up.

Kita: As part of the design team, I was looking for a different approach. Along with the idea of transforming with all cards of the same attribute, there were many other ideas…….but the best response we got was from the concept of a power up transformation for Hopper1 and Steamliner. There'd be a plate buckle (in the shape of a card case) that featured Hopper1 and Steamliner's forms, and he'd transform by inserting new cards into it one by one. I was thinking of a three phase transformation system with slots on the left and right sides, with Hopper1 for the enhanced form, Steamliner for the second enhanced form, and both Hopper1 and Steamliner for the third enhanced form.

Terakawa: After consulting with the design team, we found that there'd be some difficulties with the mechanics. Because of this, instead of a card case, we'd insert a solid item into it, and the three phase transformation became a two phased one. As a toy, the concept was a figure, and it'd be a transformation item that looked like Hopper1 and Steamliner's powered up forms.

"At the time, the new lineup of card products to be released would include ones with the attributes "Cosmic" and "Ancient," so they decided to combine those elements into the power ups for Hopper1 and Steamliner."

Minato: The concept was a two phase transformation, using two different Chemy shaped items. It's standard to start with a "rampaging" form, then a form that overcomes it, but I wondered what we could do to avoid going in that direction. So, I went back to the idea of the single and double card transformations.

"First, Steamliner (in its powered up form) transforms by itself, then adds Hopper1 (also in its powered up form) for a combined transformation! Although its appearance is of a Chemy, the logic is the same as to whether one or two cards are used to transform."

Minato: It's just like Valvarad, he transforms by incorporating the power of one Chemy that resides inside a human. Valvarad uses items so he doesn't have to become Malgam. I wondered if we could think of it in the same way. We had a request for an ancient element in connection with the cards, so I came up with the concept of the "Ancient Forbidden Arts," which used a similar method as alchemy.

Yamabe: At the time of planning, I thought that an enemy boss would appear during this time, and that we could go on to explain about the origins of alchemy. This is why I was thinking that it wouldn't be out of place if there were ancient designs.

"The general concept of the transformation system had been decided upon, but discussions were also held on how the Rider using it would transform, and in particular, how they would differentiate between the two forms."

Minato: The concept was that the first form would be heavily based off an ancient Egyptian styled design and specialize in punching, while the second form would be light due to its heavy armor being removed and specialize in kicking. Still, it had been determined that Gotchard would finish things with a kick in any form, so specializing in kicks makes it difficult to differentiate from the other forms. So, we started to think about a different way of presenting it.

"The result was the ability to activate the power of two scanned Chemy cards as his own technique. Its name, "Platina Shoot Fever"! It has a variety of techniques, including striking attacks from its spiked arms (Saboneedle + Wrestler G), dodging enemy attacks while moving at high speed and firing needle bullets at high speed from its legs (Kaiserbee + Mechanichani), and electric attacks while binding enemies with reinforced webs (Raidenji + Catchula). The more you know about the Chemies, the more excited you become, and their diverse attack styles have captured the hearts of children and won't let go. A new form was born, one that shines with the concept of fighting alongside the Chemies."

Gotcha Youth Alchemy Journal Gotcha Final: The Combination of Hope and Challenge

-Arrow Transformation using the Kaiju Chemy!-

"What were known as the "strongest forms" became a staple during the last half of the show. What was the strongest form that the cheerful and positive high school student Gotcha (obtained)?"

Minato: Since we had Crosshopper and Tenliner, I thought it was possible that the power up item could be a Chemy. Still, I debated until the very last minute on whether or not I should make it the 101st Chemy. This was because at the time of planning, I hadn't decided on what the Summer film would be about yet……Personally, I wanted to save the 101st Chemy for the story in the Summer film. To use Pokemon movies as an example, I was thinking about a story in which the legendary Chemy appears in a similar fashion to "Mewtwo Strikes Back" or "Revelation Lugia." Originally, I was under the impression that the strongest form would likely appear about 40 episodes in. That's when I wondered if it would even be okay to collect all 101 of them. I thought that if it was done in that way, the show would practically be over, right? At the time, there were many parts of the setting that hadn't been decided on. "What should this program do after they're done collecting Chemies?," I hadn't fully figured that out yet. To begin with, 101 is the number that Shirakura advised me to prepare. The idea was to have an extra one in case of any problems, so that we could have more flexibility. That's why we left anything in relation to the 101st Chemy as a mystery. Was it really okay to use it as the final power up? This caused me alot of distress.

Kita: Minato-san wanted something different with the 101st Chemy, so we proceeded to work on the items and forms based on the concept of "all 100 Chemies included."

"He says that this direction was immediately "paused." The reason was that if all the Chemies combined, Gotchard's strongest form wouldn't be able to stand alongside Majade and Valvarad."

Kita: Would something other than the Chemies be better? I tried to design something with the image of a gadget based on "arrows," which had become synonymous with Gotchard, or a gadget that lets you put in all the cards you've collected and use the power of 100 cards, but they were all no good.

Minato: This was just around the time that I came up with the idea of a setting for Daybreak. I thought if I could make the Summer film into a Daybreak story, we could make it work. So, using that process, I decided to put the 101st one on TV. Although, the result was that the last two Chemies caught in the show were Pakuraptor and Ojilacanth (laughs).

"The decision was made to make the 101st Chemy a transformation item, and out of countless concepts, a Kaiju Chemy was chosen. It's appearance looks alot like Gotchard……"

Minato: Its design inherited elements of Gotchard, which reflects the setup that it was born from the Gotchard Driver. It also gives off a special feel when compared to the other Chemies. If it was raised as an egg inside the Gotchard Driver while watching Houtaro's actions, it'd be natural for it to have alot of trust in Houtaro, and it'd be easier to explain in many ways. So, I came up with the idea that Fuga had already placed the 101st inside the Gotchard Driver.

"The Kaiju Chemy is born from the egg thanks to Houtaro's ideals! Transformed by its power, Gotchard's strongest form is……arrows?!"

Kita: The words that came up in our discussions were along the lines of Houtaro's positivity and straightforwardness. So I drew the mask with arrows, Gotchard's symbol, meeting in the middle. Although I got the OK, I wasn't sure if it would actually work as a physical shape, so I decided to do a test by printing it out using a 3D printer.

Minato: I was surprised when I saw the 3D model of the mask. This was because I realized that such a mysterious design was actually possible to produce. I liked the design instantly because it seemed to be a direct expression of Houtaro's positive attitude.

Yamabe: Houtaro has experienced many things since becoming a Rider, so it was as if he had decided on his direction. That's why the arrow is so pronounced in the design. I love that face, because it gives the impression that a beautiful rainbow has formed at the end of the arrows.

Kaneko: The 101st Chemy contains some of the Philosopher's Stone, which explains why the strongest form is in fact the strongest, and I think we got it just right. There's backstory that the perfect form of alchemy is a "rainbow," and I thought the way this was expressed visually was a fantastic design.

"The strongest form, which received great support from the planning team, is called "Rainbow Gotchard"! The dynamic mask structure, which looks different from different angles, is the most energetic and explosive design in the history of Rider designs."

-The Daybreak Alchemist and the Secrets of the Picture Book-

"While it was a traditional Summer film, the decision to have the two Houtaros as the main characters was made very early on."

Minato: When we were in the process of asking DAIGO-san to voice Daybreak in the TV series, I knew that I wanted the next Summer film to focus on Daybreak. I wanted DAIGO-san to appear in the film and show his face. We had just finished filming the Winter film, but we got internal approval early on.

"The Winter film was "Gotchard & Geats." Apparently, deciding on the Summer film's cast before the New Year is unusually fast for a Sunday morning Rider."

Minato: Sometime after the New Year, I had a meeting with the Film Promotion Division and planning team. We were told that the box office revenue of the Winter film was almost the same as the previous film (Geats x Revice). However, looking closer at the details showed that the percentage of attendance for children's tickets had increased. With that being the case, we decided that the Summer film should be a fun, easy to understand movie that families can enjoy together. For the Winter film, we decided to promote the Chemies and put more focus on the Voice Actors. We tried to go in a direction that would appeal to Voice Actor fans who like anime, but it seemed like that wasn't enough, and TV Asahi wanted to supplement that with the guest cast. Based on all these things, we wanted to create an exciting tokusatsu hero action film. We didn't want to create a cluttered and complicated story, but rather, a single theme that would run through the entire film without stopping.

"The meeting also ordered that Gotchard and Daybreak appear in a film only form. In addition, there were even more requests……"

Minato: The Advertising Division asked us if we could bring in someone from the "Legendary cast" in order to appeal to the fan base that had continued to love Kamen Rider. It'd be something similar to the sequence in the Geats Winter film, where the Ryuki cast appeared. We agreed that if we could incorporate Decade, which was the basis for Kamen Rider Legend, into this project, it would be a good idea. That's how we decided on the appearance of Kadoya Tsukasa (Inoue Masahiro).

"The script was entrusted to Hasegawa Keiichi, who also worked on the TV series."

Minato: As for Hasegawa-san, he wanted to make a film that would make people cry. At the time, "Godzilla Minus One" was a huge hit. Hasegawa-san's analysis was that, "Japanese people who were forced to live in hardship after the war rose to their feet, and those kinds of dramas win the hearts of the audience." So I thought, "Let's also do a hero who rises from the ashes."

"The story follows Houtaro as he struggles in the Future World. The world has been taken over by Glion, and his precious friends are already dead. Unsurprisingly, Spanner and Minato are now under Glion's control. They're fake forms, masked with evil. A trap to mentally drain Houtaro……20 years later, the world has become a literal "living hell" for Houtaro. On Christmas Day, when Daybreak showed up to save him, Houtaro was supposed to have been defeated by Glion. To stop that tragedy, Daybreak had come from the future Even though he knew it was futile……."

Minato: I'd been thinking of connecting the "Alchemist of Daybreak" depicted in the picture book with Daybreak, but nothing concrete had been decided at the time of episodes 16 to 18. As I was working on the script for the film, it was Kaneko-san of Ishimori Productions who recommended, "It'd be better to connect it to the past lore, with Daybreak crossing over into the past to become the Alchemist of Daybreak at the end."

"Originally, the "Alchemist of Daybreak" depicted in the picture book is wearing a red hood. However, the picture book that appeared at the end of the film depicted "Shining Daybreak" defeating the Dark King……."

Minato: Strictly speaking, the illustrations of the picture book shouldn't have changed from the "Alchemist of Daybreak" to "Shining Daybreak" in the last part. If Future Houtaro was wearing a red hood, it would cause an unclear outline in the story……The reason why I did it that way is because if he goes back in time and "seals" the Dark King, it wouldn't feel like Daybreak had won. If the story unfolded that way, the history of Houtaro being defeated by Glion and suffering in despair would be repeated all over again. I wanted to put an end to that if possible. This was something that Hasegawa-san suggested. He said that unless I made it something like, "In the end, the Dark King was defeated, and they lived happily ever after," it'd be difficult to convey Daybreak's victory. If it came to that, the foreshadowing in the TV show of the picture book couldn't be resolved, but I thought people would understand that the story, which had been repeating itself, had entered a "new step," so we decided to just go with it.

"In the final scene, the Dark King, defeated by the two Houtaros, travels to a "past without Kamen Riders" to rule the world once more. Daybreak also follows him and travels back to the past. The film ends there……It's a very sharp and brilliant ending."

Minato: It was Hasegawa-san's wish that we didn't depict the battle between Daybreak and the Dark King in the past world. At the time, Matsuura asked Hasegawa-san a question. "It's fine as long as it's depicted that he goes back in time and becomes the Alchemist of Daybreak. But after that, would it be okay for Future Houtaro to return to the future and live with Atropos and Clotho and all the others in a world where the threat has disappeared?" Hasegawa-san said that it would be abit of a stretch to depict what happens after that. He said that it's a beautiful story because it ends with the picture book explaining Daybreak's victory by going back to the past. He said something along the lines of, "This film has many characters, but it's a story about two people, Houtaro and Rinne, so wouldn't it be a wonderful, happy ending if they went to the past together (even though Rinne had passed), defeated the enemy, and lived happily in that world?" I think the quality of the film was enhanced because of that decision. I'm extremely grateful to Hasegawa-san.

"This film is excellent in that it's the "final episode" of the story starring Future Houtaro, but what's even more remarkable is that this film is an important piece that ties the story of Gotchard together. Has there ever been a Kamen Rider film that's so completely linked to the TV series? "Kamen Rider Den-O: Ore, Tanjou!" (2007) was in a similar position, but it didn't leave such a deep impact on the overall story. Of course, there's a reason for this. The theory has always been that a film of a TV series should be considered "outside content." This is because it was believed that the content needed to be understandable to first time audience members who went to the theaters. However, in the age where the streaming environment has improved to the point where people can access old and new content as soon as they're interested, can this still be called a "theory" today? This truly "Gotcha" film attempts to break away from conventional thinking, and is also a "challenge" that presents a new form of Kamen Rider films in the age of distribution."

-Arrogant Gods and Homunculi Deception-

"As he works towards becoming a great alchemist, and to live in harmony with the Chemies, an enemy stands in Houtaro's way…was it the three Dark Kings? Or perhaps, Glion?"

Minato: At first, I thought of the Alchemys Union as the final boss. The reason why I didn't set up an enemy during the early stages of planning was because the enemy that the main character's were expected to fight were the higher ups of the organization. In a Rider's sence, it's "The Dark Society Gorgom." It's an evil that's skillfully infiltrated our society.

"The Dark Society Gorgom is an enemy organization that appears in Kamen Rider Black (1987). Their setup is that powerful political and business leaders and scientists were controlling the world of its members from behind the scenes."

Minato: The higher ups of the Alchemys Union have taken over the world from behind the scenes. That's why all they want is for the world to continue as it is. They don't want change. I had envisioned "the old" as the enemy and theme of the show, which is why I was thinking of such a structure. However, with the creation of the characters I called the Three Dark Sisters, the Alchemys Union was no longer the distinct enemy of the main characters. Instead, Glion and the Dark Kings were created. They were, as one would say, the founders of the Alchemys Union. In other words, they are the symbols of gerontocracy. They're like the ancestors of the old, desperate to preserve their own self interests.

Kaneko: Houtaro and the other youths are trying to move into the future through repeated trial and error. On the flip side, the Dark Kings don't want to think about the future, nor do they feel there's any need to. They're fine with the way things currently are. They believe that things will come to an end gracefully. That's why they're seeking "unending stillness." Glion was simply following those words. His "Golden Paradise" was just a simple way of saying that, but it may have been difficult for viewers to understand, in part due to our lack of explanation.

Yamabe: The Dark Kings were the ones that created Glion. They were originally human, so even though they said that as an analogy when they created Glion, with him being a homunculus, he was honestly trying to make it a realization.

"In other words, Glion, who was created by the Dark Kings, couldn't go beyond being their puppet, even though he saw the Dark Kings as his enemy."

Minato: Eventually, the younger generation who suffer from the burdens of the old won't be able to retort, and will just accept things as they are. As they grow older, they'll eventually find themselves in a similar position, becoming a burden on others, although it might be hard for them to notice.

"Glion's existence is also placed in this chain of events. Meanwhile, Glion's creators the three Dark Kings, or in other words, the ancestors of the old, also have a profound position."

Minato: Gigist likes to act like he "understands everything about humans." This is a metaphor for "thinking you know everything." Gaelijah says to "leave things to fate," which also means to "avoid your responsibilities." As Germain's "I love you" expression suggests, he thinks of himself as a "superior being" to humans. They all think that they're of a higher class compared to everyone else. Each and every one of them are "old."

"Although the Dark Kings expressions are pleasant and sound humble, they all have a hint of arrogance behind them."

Minato: The ones they must stand up to are those who have created the ruling structure of this world. By overlapping this with the Dark Kings, I wanted to depict a confrontation between youths and adults, between change and stagnation, and other issues like that throughout the story. However, the main focus isn't on battles, but on "Gotcha" (obtaining). I tried to keep that in mind as I worked on the story.

"A story of young confronting the old…….It's an unexpected theme, but from that perspective, the final battle between Glion and Houtaro can be seen as the culmination of all of this. Glion, who's turned the city and its people into gold, finally uses his golden technique on Houtaro, but for some reason, Houtaro can still move while in this golden form……"

Kaneko: Glion's gold making technique was actually just making things gold plated. It's simply a deception. The story goes that Glion can't make real gold. Glion is confronted by Houtaro with the truth. That his alchemy isn't perfect. Glion thought he was perfect. He had all the materials and knew how to do it. But when he tried, it was gold plated. He thought he had everything ready, but just about everything was missing.

"Come to think of it, Glion was always imperfect. Kamen Rider Eld appeared before Houtaro. Kamen Rider Dorado controlled the future world. Both were the transformed forms of two Glion's from different timelines, but the former could only produce fake gold plating, while the latter was merely a puppet for the Dark Kings. I guess that means the road to "El Dorado (Golden Paradise)" that Glion was looking for was just a fleeting illusion……"

-Houtaro's father and the adults who entrust-

"This production is also a story about young people breaking away from stereotypes and what's accepted to be common sense."

Yamabe: Alchemy has a history going back to ancient times, right? Its rules seem to be very strict, and we initially thought of a development where an amateur like Houtaro would come along and cause reforment with sound arguments like, "Isn't this what it's all about?" The fact that the people in the Alchemys Union shifted their blame and ran away from the situation was included as a way of portraying the old.

Kaneko: The Alchemys Union isn't an organization that gathers in a specific place and works on things collectively. They're scattered all over the world, each having their own profession and doing alchemy behind the scenes. They're what we'd call a "secret society." It's also because of that kind of set up that it's hard to see the full picture. They're the people at the top of the world's hierarchy, those who'll forever cling onto their status and reputation. In many ways, they're "people who have stopped growing up" and "people who undermine the youth." Those at the top don't take any responsibility, but they won't hesitate to say things like, "I don't know. You'll have to handle it on set" (bitter smile). They also don't take charge. They're positioned as people who seem to possess authority, but no one knows why they have it. Houtaro doesn't care about people like that. He doesn't pay attention to them, almost as if to say, "Huh, so there are people like that." Minato Sensei and Kyoka-san would have displeased looks on their faces as he resolved the situation at hand, but he would only wonder why they were making those faces. That's the kind of hero I was looking for in Houtaro.

"Houtaro's an easygoing high school student that can be found just about anywhere, but he's quite unusual for the main character of a hero production."

Minato: In the very beginning of the show, Spanner was working under Kyoka's directions, but initially, I hadn't made any decisions regarding who would become this character. There was even a time when I was thinking of making Glion the person giving instructions to Spanner. His superior's a bad guy, so Spanner would express hostility towards him. There'd be a development where he abandons his previous beliefs that he was on the side of the organization and becomes a Kamen Rider. I once thought, "What if Spanner's true identity was that he's a homunculus?" Learning such a fact would bother him like, "What has my life been up to this point?" But then again, a Chemy is a homunculus, isn't it? Since Houtaro's a Chemy loving character, it wouldn't shock him if Spanner were a homunculus. He'd be like, "I'm totally okay with that!" (laughs). He wouldn't mind. That's when I felt that it'd be better to go ahead with Spanner being human. That's how it happened.

"Houtaro's appeal lies in his generosity and tolerance caused by his carefree personality. It's strange how amazing it is that Houtaro's able to do something like that."

Minato: When the program first started, some people said they didn't understand why a young man named Houtaro wanted to pursue something called "Gotcha." What I was considering here was the presence of Houtaro's father. His father is an adventurer, and despite being an adult, he's a man who still travels the world in search of "Gotcha" (obtaining). That's why he never comes home (laughs). However, the son would grow up to be a boy who aspires to Gotcha just like his father. That's how I thought of it. Maybe I could've let Houtaro and his mother explain that alittle more.

Yamabe: Why did Houtaro go to the Ouroboros Realm to play as a child? It's not depicted, but I've always wondered if his father made a hole that led there. I think we could've tried to do a story where he's acquainted with Fuga……but we put it off because it would've been the start of yet another story. If we wanted to do it in a V-Cinext or through Youtube, we could, but to be honest, we just left things as they were.

"While the father isn't fully explored, his character as an adult seeking to Gotcha is pretty fresh in the context of this production."

Minato: The reason I didn't have the father appear, or rather, hesitated to include him, is because Gotchard is a show about fighting against the old. In other words, I didn't want to show the existence of adults who had "obtained." I wanted to depict all adults as old as much as I could. If the father who continued to Gotcha appeared, the theme of the program would be affected.

"Still, there are some reliable adults that appear throughout the show. There's Fuga, Kyoka, and Minato. Houtaro's mother (Ichinose Tamami) is also one of them."

Minato: This is because they're "adults who have entrusted themselves to the youth." They think that adults who decide to concede to the youth are good adults.

"Ichinose Tamami to Houtaro, Fuga to Rinne, and Kyoka to Spanner, each and every one of them is an "adult" who entrusts themselves to them. To entrust is to believe. This is why they're portrayed as good people for the youth."

Minato: The reason why Minato Sensei surrendered to Glion's forces and went to the enemy's side was because he felt that he "couldn't entrust" himself to Houtaro and the other youths. The incident 10 years ago made him make that decision. Minato chose the "safe side." He advised them to stay away from him because it was dangerous. There's an adult's logic to that. However, after everything that's happened, he got over that trauma and decided to trust Houtaro and the others, so he left the Alchemys Union and returned to the youths.

Yamabe: In that regard, Spanner was on the old's side at first. His elite mindset also contributed to him rejecting Houtaro, even though he's young. But, he eventually changed, trusted Houtaro and the others, and became his friend.

"This means that Future Houtaro, who appeared in the Summer film, was also considered old."

Yamabe: Having lost many friends and living in despair, Future Houtaro was looking for a place to die. Then, present day Houtaro appears and gives him angry encouragement. Seeing his younger self genuinely pushing forward strengthens his decision to fight together. He's determined to fight alongside him. He Gotcha (obtained) all over again.

"As Future Houtaro crosses over into the past, a new world line is created for present day Houtaro. Although the events took place in a different timeline, there's a world where his friends who should've died are still alive and well. This new world, which he had seized through his own decisions and actions……is what gave hope to Future Houtaro. Freed from the nightmare that happened 20 years prior, Future Houtaro forgives himself and was finally saved. The harm caused by the old isn't something that comes only from age or position. It's the refusal to accept new ideas, being bound by past experiences. It's about not taking a new step forward. Challenge is the key to the future, and only progress can be the light that leads us to what's beyond."

-Kamen Rider from a Business Perspective-

"Houtaro saves the world from Glion's plan, and even creates another Earth through alchemy for the Chemies to live on. The story ended with Houtaro showing us a glimpse of being a great alchemist……The days with Gotchard were now told……"I wanted to make a program that would convey the excitement I felt when I watched Agito during my first year of middle school." This was what Toei's Minato Yosuke, the Chief Producer responsible for the project, had said."

Minato: I feel that the Kamen Rider series, especially those produced during the Heisei era, have their own "strengths and weaknesses." The appeal of the series is that each year's unique worldview isn't connected, but on the other hand, I think the fact that the series ends after only one year reveals its character's weaknesses. At first I thought, "What is this?," but after five years of continuous production, the program "Paw Patrol" has become overwhelmingly popular among preschool aged children. I think one of the reasons is that it's been running for five years. If Gotchard continued for another five years, it could possibly surpass Paw Patrol in recognition. Because it's something that children can enjoy for a long time, their parents feel that it won't hurt to buy products related to the show for them. I can understand why parents would think it'd be a waste if they knew that another new program would start next year. I think times are changing in that way. I was also thinking about the question, "Should the character change every year?" When Heisei Rider started, it was probably nice to have a format where the characters changed every year, but I wonder if it's a good fit currently. Along with streaming services and Youtube becoming more normalized, the viewing environment is changing. I feel that our past successes are holding us back, or that we're not adapting to these changes. The strategy is to start a new program every September and have people buy a new transformation belt in time for Christmas. In an age where there's so much content available, is this really a good mindset to have? I've been thinking about that for alittle over a year.

"Bandai's Terakawa Ryo, who was involved in the development of the toys, weighs in on the importance of Kamen Rider's content."

Terakawa: When overlooking the toys, while the adult fans of Geats were excited, there was a point where the popularity among children stagnated. Currently, there are many products of the Kamen Rider characters that are aimed at adults. CSM and S.H.Figuarts are typical examples, but I think this business is only possible because the people who buy these products were exposed to these shows in their childhood and still love the characters. The Legend Chemy cards and Kamen Rider Legend were aimed at those adult fans. In order to increase the number of similar customers who'll continue to love Kamen Rider for a long time, I have a desire to help make the project more exciting for today's children. This production made me think more than ever about making shows and toys that children will love.

"Kamen Rider, a program aired on Sunday mornings, is an important "touch point" between today's children and the Kamen Rider IP. In the current age of streaming, the archive of Kamen Rider, including its past shows, is huge, but there are many rival shows. How to attract attention and increase popularity among them is a long term challenge for the future."

-Gotcha all around the World!-

"Although this production aimed to regain popularity among children, its style was too child oriented, which resulted in the alienation of the adult generation of fans. As discussed in Gotcha 3's "Daybreak Incident," the impact was so great, that they had to quickly introduce a new character. Yamabe Koichi of Ishimori Productions, who has overseen the setting of the Rider series for many years, opened his remarks with deep emotion."

Yamabe: This is well known among fans of the Showa era, but in the first "Kamen Rider" (1971), the lead actor Fujioka Hiroshi-san was injured during filming, which resulted in him being unable to perform. Normally, there would've been two choices. Either the show would end or another actor would take over the role, but the staff at that time came up with a new character, that being Kamen Rider No. 2. Amazingly, the program became even more popular. I believe that the Kamen Rider series was founded on the spirit of doing something in a pinch. Just like with Daybreak in this show, it gave me a strange sensation, like there was some kind of invisible force at work

Minato: This was my first time as Chief, but when making a program, there are times when you have to take risks. After all, everyone wants to be happy. That's why I think I learned that if you can make your "opponent" happy, you can win. Any proposal that makes the other person unhappy will only result in a "battle" and both sides "covered in blood." Even if my demands were met, I'd be unhappy too. I thought that in order to meet my own demands, I also need to be mindful of meeting the other's demands. If you think about it, it's the same thing that Shirakura's been doing up to now. "The show was a hit, don't you think?," and then it all works out peacefully. I'd have talks with Bandai, TV stations, and other relevant entities to explain my vision to them, saying, "I think this development will definitely be more interesting and will make the show more exciting, so I'll try to make it happen!" In someway or another, I managed to convince them, and I'm glad that it all worked out in the end. I'm grateful to all the staff members who came up with this type of arrangement, and to all the companies involved for accepting my plans.

"Kaneko Shinichi participated in the project as Ishimori Production's Literary Director. "It's become a lovable production," he said with a smile."

Kaneko: Many of them are young, including the three Producers Minato-san, Matsuura-san, and Harashima-san, as well as the Screenwriters. I think it was a year in which I learned alot about their new ways of thinking. For example, when you build a house, the theory is that you first lay down the foundation and then construct the exterior walls, right? Instead, it felt like we started with the roof and then raised up the pillars (laughs). And, it's really unstable, crap, we have to lay a foundation. So, we laid down a foundation, but it started to lean because we still didn't build any walls. I hope I conveyed that right (laughs). I've never done it that way before. But it was a really good experience. Should I have just said that the way it's put together was different…..? It may sound odd to say, but I think that nothing more may happen in the future. Including myself, there were parts that were too much and parts that we were unfamiliar with, so I think it's important to strike a good balance. I think this was a production that really left a strong impression on me. The pains of creating, and the joys of creating, things like that came in waves. And, it happened every episode (laughs). I've never experienced that before. For example, I had my own interpretation of what things Houtaro would say, and we talked about it during meetings, but then someone else would say, "Well, I'm sure someone Houtaro's age wouldn't think too much about that." I thought, "I see." When I was his age, I used to think about things deeply, or take it in a twisted way, but children today are different. I think Motojima-kun's character is one of them, but there were many things that made sense to me, things which were definitely typical of Houtaro. I found that really strange. Of course, there are differences among the younger generation, the way they approach things and the way they respond to things is different. I think that happened within Gotchard many times. It was a show that allowed me to experience things I had never experienced before, and I personally learned alot from it.

"PLEX's Kita Tojun, the design team leader for this production, said that the amount of designs had his eyes spinning."

Kita: This time, I designed many different types of Chemies, and there were 101 of them. Of course there were the designs, but the process of drawing each of them for the cards was also enormous. The Rider's mask was displayed on the back of the card, so the mask had to be designed at the same time. First of all, this was for 50 of them. We got through it with the help of Designers who weren't apart of the Rider team. In addition, I was also asked to design the illustrations and Chemies for the Legend Rider version of cards that were added to the collection. It was completed in part to having the company help put on the finishing touches. They then needed me to draw additional illustrations for the rare parallel cards……I was in a situation where I couldn't finish no matter how many drawings I did. It was really challenging. And it didn't end there, as I had to create full body designs for all the forms used in the app…..There were about 50 of those……I designed and illustrated so many Chemies, that I thought it would never end.

Terakawa: First off, I'd like to thank the design team at PLEX. This production allowed me to experience firsthand how a show progressed and developed. The process of bringing the "Chemies," who were at first mysterious illustrations, to life and gain popularity within the show was an exciting experience. Dozens, even hundreds of people do their very best to make Rider items, right? It was such a big project, that I was afraid to talk about it alone, and because of my inexperience, I spent alot of time wondering and worrying about it. The number of cards was quite large, and the management, as well as debugging work, was enormous, but everyone on the team worked hard together. Despite the difficulties we faced as creators, it was a memorable work that we all overcame together.

"For Chief Producer Minato, Gotchard wasn't only a show for the Japanese market, but for the international market as well."

Minato: Gotchard was designed to be an easy to understand and enjoyable show for children to watch every week. I made this show with the vision of making it understandable to children all over the world. This had something to do with the fact that the items are inexpensive cards that can be picked up by anyone and are linked to each other. I think that if a child gets even one Chemy card, it could be the beginning of their love for Kamen Rider. I hope that the number of people who watch Kamen Rider will grow on a global scale through the increase of experiences like that. I made Gotchard with that kind of spirit, as I wanted it to take on that kind of responsibility. So, I personally believe that the true assessment of Gotchard hasn't been made yet. Its outcome will be seen further ahead in the future. That's what I'm thinking. There's a show called "Voltes V Legacy" that was made in the Philippines, and it was made due to the passionate love for the original TV anime "Chodenji Machine Voltes V" (1977). The love of the fans brought the show back to life in the modern age. Learning about the Filipino Director's thoughts and feelings made me want to cry. That's why, let's say 20 years from now, if a foreigner said to me, "I loved Gotchard when I was younger," I might cry (laughs).

"The fact that the main character uses the English phrase "Gotcha!" was also done in anticipation of this kind of international expansion. I want you to imagine. Imagine that when children all over the world become adults, Gotchard items for adults will be on sale everywhere around the world, and they'll be playing with them. The future where children from all over the world will be shouting "Gotcha!" will be here soon enough."

-Gotchard Hymn-

Houtaro uses alchemy to create another Earth in order to move the Chemies there. Although the ending is absurd, it can be said that it's a typical characteristic of this show.

I won't say that it was a flawless show. It had its faults and shortcomings.

It had many weak points.

However, even after removing these complaints, there's still a sense of exhilaration that remains……That's what Gotchard definitely had. There are things that can only come from challenges. It was Gotchard that taught me that.

"Ichinose!" "Kudo!"

Two high school students who never called each other by their first names. A precious time, like a jewel box containing the brilliance of youth. The Kamen Rider born in the year 2023 depicts young people who never gave up and continued to challenge themselves despite their failures. Their never ending search for answers and their constant drive brought a bright light to these uncertain times.

This show was a story about the Chemy cards. There have been so many Rider productions, and they must've left a mark on the viewers hearts and minds. If each of these stories were sealed onto cards, what would they say?

What would be written on Gotchard's card?

"I'm Ichinose Houtaro! I'm a great alchemist who'll build the future world!"

A youth Rider who becomes stronger through support……

That's what we love about Gotchard.

[crabhousecrafting]

hermitcraft “fun facts” are so hilarious because they’re always like

etho created the hopper clock! ⏰

xisuma created bedwars! 🛏️

cubfan is a published astrophysicist.

[maskrosfe]

Here's the cover to a little Lawtsuda zine I'm working on putting together for Närcon this summer! It'll be a collection of different comics I've done with them, but maybe I'll make some new stuff for it too? we'll see ^_^!

[overly-verbose]

Part 9 is gonna be kinda funny honestly, since it's basically

SIkuna: *tries his best to balance coming off as Sukuna-like (kinda conceited and such) with also being relatively nice and making Yuji as comfy as he can despite the circumstances

(without letting on just how much he'd like to hug the kid, and ask a billion questions about whether he's alright or not, and tell Yuji just how badly he wanted the Detention Center thing to end differently-)*

Meanwhile, Yuji: 'I can't prove anything, but my Bullshit detectors are telling me that he's trying to Bullshit 🤨'

Though even more meanwhile (probably not outright depicted in the Part for now but it is happening);

Nobara, Megumi, and Satoru: *deal with their respective parts of the Plan, and try not to feel murderous at the people happy to see Yuji 'dead'

(whilst also attempting not to think about just how every single second lost could impact their 'deceased' friend/student)*

Ijichi: *gets his hand fixed and makes sure that Shoko is well-informed of the Plan, hoping that this will not end in an utter disaster*

Shoko: *is very outwardly chill about it all, but at the same time has a Lot of internal Hmmmmm's on the matter*

.

[kaye-go-moo]

Alternate Universes to the Shapes and Pines au by @void-dude

____

DISCLAIMER!!! These are by no means canon to Shapes and Pines!!! These are alts of that au!!!

_____

I did a thing

1. Shapes and Strange Ciphers(SaSC): Human Tad and Bill, Euclydian Stan and Ford.

Tad ⇄ Stan , Bill ⇄ Ford

I already have a 22-page google doc with a summary of The Twins and Shapes bgs, plus a slightly more detailed looks at what each did before reuniting/meeting(plus lore comments). It stops at Tad and Stan meeting.

It's a bit of a mess and has some clunky moments, but I need to share it before I explode 😭

(I also have no clue how Dipper and Mabel or a lot of other characters would fit in this so it's literally just to play around with the shape fuckers dynamics 😅)

6/8 posted

1: Stan and Ford - Twins

2: Tad - Brothers, Loneliest Number

3: Bill - Brothers, Space Oddity

4: Bill and Ford - Need a hand? Pt. 1

5: Bill and Ford - Need a hand? Pt. 2

6: Bill and Tad - From States Away

7: Tad - To Worlds Apart

8: Tad and Stan - Need a friend?

2. Swapped!Shapes and Pines: Everyone swaps roles but not personalities. There are slight changes to mold the role around the character or mold the character to fit the role, but I tried to keep things mostly the same(biggest changes are in Tad and Bill).

Stan ⇄ Ford , Tad ⇄ Bill , Fiddleford ⇄ Preston , Mabel ⇄ Dipper , Pacifica ⇄ Tate , etc.

This one's a lot less put together(3 pages) and is just tables, bullet points, and lore comments. It's also not done, stopping after Ford meets Bill.

Depending on how long I decide it takes Ford, Fidd, and Bill to fix the portal, Mabel and Dipper may or may not be in it. Kind of leaning towards keeping it 30 years with the excuse that Stan doesn't leave notes like canon Ford does.

I like coming up with dumb little backstories explaining how characters ended up how they are and how their personalities slightly adapt to or change their role.

(Please ignore how I miss spelled 'role' as 'roll' I was hungry)

This au can also be changed to fit more to the og canon by swapping Tad out for an in universe character(also changing Stan's relationship with the big bad) and getting rid of Bills role.

_____

Also, huge thanks to the explosion of the Gravity Falls Fandom and the amazing creators who inspired me out of my art block prison.

Specifically, @/void-dude! Their Bill in therapy with static Ford gave me the kick I needed to start drawing again. Their Tad also infected me with the need to make a Euclydian oc who, I just realized, I never posted on here. Whoops.

Anywho, these past few weeks have been awesome for my creativity and horrible for my school work.

Gonna drop the Shapes and Strange Ciphers in peaces(plus lore screenshots) because I don't know what the text limit on tumblr is, and I want to keep some parts to their own post.

I will also drop bits of the swapped au as I work on it(warning that things will definitely be changed along the way and the label 'canon' is used very loosely) and it's possible that I will come up with or be inspired to make another au and get swept away in that.

If you got this far, thanks for reading my rambles, your reward is below 👇

Sad Tad

[lieximhuman]

🍊

[sunlightfeeling]

feeling like ive committed sacrilege

<- guinea pig fanatic that just blocked guineapigposting

[byunsreverie]

if you see any spelling mistakes in my posts or tags feel free to tell me because sometimes i might not notice so it would help a ton!!

[felixcloud6288]

Some of the Death Note's rules are really funny if you think of them as clarifications for users, necessary fixes to address exploits, or bugs that the Shinigami king isn't going to fix.

If a Death Note owner accidentally misspells a person's name four times, that person will be free from being killed by the Death Note. -> patch to fix exploit where users would attempt to brute force killing someone by writing every possible name in the Death Note

However, if the Death Note owner intentionally misspells the name four times, the owner will die. -> Patch fix to stop exploit where users would try to grant themselves immunity

The person whose name was misspelled four times on purpose will not be free of death by a Death Note. -> Necessary clarification because users thought they could grant someone else immunity

If the same name is written in two or more Death Notes within 0.06 seconds, the entry is regarded as simultaneous; the Death Notes will not take effect and the individual will not die. -> Rare bug related to When the same name is written in two or more Death Notes, the Note which was used first will take effect, regardless of the time of death. Root cause is server requests first check if the same existing request was already made. Simultaneous requests assume the other request is valid and delete themselves. Will Not Fix. Bug is rare and fixing it could result in new exploits related to repeatedly writing a person's name in the Death Note.

When you write multiple names in the Death Note and then write down one cause of death within 40 seconds of writing the first victim's name, the cause will take effect for all the written names. Also, after writing the cause of death, even if the conditions of death are written within six minutes and 40 seconds in the human world, the conditions will apply only to the victims for whom they are possible. Those for whom the conditions are not possible will simply die from the specified cause. -> Code bug caused by undefined and ambiguous input syntax. Will Not Fix.

Once the victim's name, cause of death, and conditions of death have been written down in the Death Note, the death will take place even if that Death Note, or the part of the note used, is destroyed before the stated time of death. -> Clarification to stop users from pointlessly destroying the Death Note

The Death Note will not affect those less than 780 days old. -> A patch added to get around various cultural arguments related to when something is considered "Human"

You cannot kill humans who are more than 124 years of age with the Death Note. -> Added in reference to a Shinigami meme

You cannot kill humans with less than 12 minutes of life left (in human calculations). -> Patch that addresses undefined behavior from edge cases where the victim dies naturally before the Death Note can normally take effect or during the window the user can write additional details to the cause of death.

[misswynters]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝 Part One

pairing. ambessa x reader x sevika

warnings. kissing, sparring and kissing, touching, neck kisses, pet names (darling)

wc. i have no idea (i went overboard)

synopsis. You were sent on a mission to train sevika for an underground tournament, by non other than the tyrant herself, Ambessa Merdarda.

a/n. there needs to be more of these because i am in need. i keep making part twos because im indecisive also let me know if there’s any misspelling

note. it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

Sweat clung to your brow as you stepped into the training room, its atmosphere oppressive and bathed in a dim crimson glow. The walls, which were made of steel, echoed with every movement. Scuffed mats covered sections of the concrete floor, marked by years of punishment from brutal sparring matches. Ambient heat radiated from flickering red lights overhead, casting jagged shadows that seemed to ripple with every movement. It wasn’t an ideal space for training, but Zaun didn’t do luxury, and neither did Ambessa.

Ambessa’s voice rang out from the elevated platform at the far end of the room, her piercing gaze fixed on the two of you. “Again,” she ordered, her tone sharp enough to cut through the humid air. “Don’t hold back this time. You’re wasting my time if you’re not going to make her bleed.”

Resentment prickled under your skin, but you bit your tongue. Ambessa’s presence had been the only thing keeping you in this hell of an assignment. Training Sevika for an underground tournament had sounded ridiculous when the offer first came to you. Why would a battle maiden brute like her need anyone’s help. But Ambessa had insisted, claiming your expertise was “essential” to Zaun’s victory. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Sevika stood in front of you, her large frame coiled with tension. Her metal arm glinted under the lights as her breathing stayed steady. Her gaze looked betrayed with annoyance. She wasn’t thrilled about being told what to do, let alone by you. The feeling was mutual. “You ready for another bruising, princess?” Sevika taunted, cracking her knuckles.

Rolling your eyes, you dropped into a fighting stance. “Keep talking, and I’ll make sure your metal arm isn’t the only thing out of commission.”

Her grin was predatory. “Such big words for someone so small.”

The session resumed with a flurry of blows. Sevika lunged first, her movements quick despite her size. You ducked under her swing, your fist connecting with her side. The impact barely fazed her, but it was enough to get her attention. She retaliated with a sweeping kick, forcing you to leap back to avoid losing your footing. The clash of flesh and metal echoed in the room as the two of you exchanged blows, your mutual irritation fueling every strike.

Sevika was too strong to take head-on. So you relied on precision and agility, darting around her strikes and aiming for weak spots. But Sevika wasn’t stupid. She adapted quickly, her strikes coming faster and more calculated. Her metal fist grazed your ribs at one point, and the shock of it made you stumble.

“Getting tired already, sweetheart?” she sneered, wiping the sweat from her brow with her forearm.

“Hardly,” you shot back, charging at her with renewed energy.

Your next strike caught her off guard. A perfectly timed uppercut sent her stumbling backward. You didn’t stop, delivering a swift kick to her midsection that knocked her off balance. She hit the ground hard, her body slamming against the concrete with a grunt. For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing.

“Stay down,” you said, wiping your hands on your pants.

But Sevika didn’t stay down. With a growl, she lunged at you like a wild animal. Her strength caught you off guard, and before you could react, she had you pinned to the cold floor. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you gasped as her full weight pressed against you.

Sevika’s metal hand gripped both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. Her other hand rested on your shoulder, keeping you firmly in place. You struggled, but her strength was overwhelming.

“Not so cocky now, are ya?” she panted, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto your cheek, and the heat of her body seeped into yours.

“Let me up,” you growled, glaring at her.

Her lips curled into a smirk as she leaned closer, her face mere inches from yours. “Now why would i do that? You look good down there.”

Your pulse quickened, though you told yourself it was from exertion. “You’re enjoying this wayyyy too much.”

“Maybe,” Sevika admitted, her voice a husky whisper. “But I think you are too.” Her chest heaved with every breath, the fabric of her tank top clinging to her damp skin. The scent of sweat and iron filled the air, mingling with something deeper, something unspoken. Her gray eyes bore into yours, challenging you, daring you to say something, to do something. But neither of you moved. The world outside the training room seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in this heat of a moment.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” Sevika muttered, her voice softer now. “Almost makes me want to keep you around.”

“Almost?” you shot back, your voice tight. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Her smirk widened. “You can try, but you wouldn’t succeed.”

Ambessa’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. “Enough!” she barked, her tone sharp and commanding. “If you two are done flirting, we have a tournament to prepare for.”

Ambessa’s voice thundered through the training room before either of you had the chance to speak. “What in the hell is going on here?” Her presence filled the room instantly, her commanding tone freezing both you and Sevika in place.

Her boots clanged against the concrete as she strode forward, her towering frame illuminated by the dim red glow. Dressed in training gear, Ambessa looked more like a war goddess than a general with her broad shoulders and powerful arms on full display. A simple black sports bra wrapped tightly around her chest as her glistened abs catch the faint light.

“Off,” she barked, her sharp gaze locking on Sevika.

Sevika, who rarely flinched at anything, hesitated for a split second before pulling back. Her expression was tight with frustration, but she obeyed, releasing your wrists and standing. The loss of her warmth was immediate as the cold floor pressed against your back.

Ambessa stepped in without missing a beat, gripping Sevika’s arm and pulling her upright effortlessly. “Do you think this is some kind of game?” Her voice was low, dangerous, as she squared off with Sevika.

Sevika yanked her arm back, her jaw tightening. “She hit me. I hit her back.”

“You pinned her like a street brawler,” Ambessa snapped, her voice cutting through the charged air. “This isn’t some tavern scuffle. You’re supposed to be training, not rolling around like a fool.”

“She’s the one who pushed me,” Sevika shot back, her chest heaving as she stepped closer. The heat in her gaze didn’t waver, and the muscles in her arms flexed with tension.

Still lying on the ground, you watched the two women square off, rooted in place by the sheer energy between them. Ambessa’s imposing frame radiated authority, her dark eyes blazing, while Sevika bristled like a cornered beast, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“Pushed you?” Ambessa’s voice dropped to a near growl. She took another step forward, her tone mocking. “What are you, a child? You’re supposed to be stronger than this.”

“Maybe if you didn’t bark orders from a balcony, you’d see how this fight actually went,” Sevika bit back, her voice dripping with venom. Her muscles tensed beneath the fabric of her tank top, the strain of holding back her frustration evident in every line of her body.

Ambessa’s laugh was sharp and humorless, cutting through the suffocating air. “Careful, Sevika. You’re one poorly thrown punch away from losing that metal arm.”

Sevika’s lips twisted into a snarl, her voice rising as she stepped into Ambessa’s space. “And you’re one more order away from learning I don’t take kindly to being treated like a damn pawn.”

Every word exchanged felt like a spark, each one igniting the fire between them further. You remained where you were, watching from the ground as the red lights painted their figures like some living, breathing battle scene.

Ambessa tilted her head slightly, her piercing gaze narrowing. “You think this is about you?” she asked, her voice quiet but filled with dangerous intent. She took a step closer, the heat from her body palpable even from where you lay. “You’re nothing without me. You wouldn’t have that arm, that strength, or this opportunity. So don’t test me, Sevika.”

For a moment, Sevika didn’t respond, her jaw tight as her gaze flickered to the floor before locking onto Ambessa again. Then, like a wave breaking, the anger in her expression shifted into something more intimate replacing it.

“Nothing without you?” Sevika’s voice dropped, her tone low and measured, sending a shiver down your spine. “You think you own me because you gave me this?” She raised her metal arm, flexing it deliberately. “Don’t fool yourself. I’ve earned every inch of what I am.”

Ambessa didn’t back down, stepping even closer until their chests were nearly brushing. “Then prove it. Because right now, all I see is someone too stubborn to recognize when they’re being tested.”

The air between them shifted. Their breathing was heavy, their bodies so close you swore you could see the tension vibrating between them. Ambessa’s hand raised slightly, and for a second, you thought she might push Sevika, or worse, strike her. But her fingers caught the strap of Sevika’s tank top instead, her grip firm.

“You talk about earning it,” Ambessa said, her voice softer now, her words dripping with sharpness. “But have you earned this?”

Sevika didn’t flinch, though her chest rose and fell faster, her gray eyes locked onto Ambessa’s dark ones. “I’ve earned more than you think,” she said, her voice just as quiet, though there was a slight tremor. The aggression in Sevika’s stance softened, though her muscles remained taut, her body coiled and ready. Ambessa’s imposing presence didn’t falter, but the edge in her gaze dulled ever so slightly.

“You’re reckless,” Ambessa murmured, her fingers still resting against Sevika’s shirt.

“Tyrant bitch,” Sevika shot back, though there was no bite to her words.

They were so close now, their tension-filled standoff transforming into something you couldn’t quite name. You should’ve looked away, should’ve gotten up and interrupted, but you couldn’t. The sight of them, Ambessa’s glistening abs under the red lights and Sevika’s tank top clinging to her damp skin. It was mesmerizing.

The sparring session between Ambessa and Sevika had turned into a spectacle of raw power and dominance. The two women circled each other, muscles taut and glistening under the red light as they calculated their next moves. The tension in the room was almost unbearable, the charged atmosphere making it impossible to look away.

Sevika lunged first, her movements swift. Ambessa parried with ease, her stature and experience giving her the upper hand. The clash of their bodies reverberated through the room, their strength evenly matched, though Ambessa carried herself with an effortless grace that only came from years of battle.

Whereas, you sat on the couch in the corner with your legs crossed and your hands gripping the cushion tightly as you watched. The intensity between them was magnetic, and you felt heat creeping up your neck as you took it all in. The way Ambessa’s muscles shifted with every movement, the sheer power in her strikes. It was impossible not to admire her.

Sevika grunted as Ambessa caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting her arm behind her back in one fluid motion. “You’re too easy to predict,” Ambessa said, her voice low and laced with authority.

Sevika growled, twisting to free herself, but Ambessa didn’t let go. Instead, she pinned Sevika’s arms together, holding them in place with one hand. The strength in that single motion was enough to make your jaw drop. You could see the flex of her biceps, the veins on her forearm standing out as she kept Sevika completely immobilized.

You swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks flush. It wasn’t just the display of power that made your stomach flip, it was the way Ambessa looked doing it. She was in complete control, her eyes burning with determination.

Ambessa leaned in close, her lips brushing against Sevika’s ear. Whatever she whispered was too quiet for you to hear, but the way Sevika’s ears turned pink told you enough. Sevika was blushing. Their breathing was labored, their chests pressed against each other in a way that blurred the lines between aggression and intimacy. They were similar in height and strength that it was hard to tell who had the upper hand, though Ambessa’s control of the situation made it clear she was the dominant one.

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way your body was reacting to the scene in front of you. The way they moved, the tension between them. it was impossible not to feel flustered. Your eyes flicked to Ambessa’s back, the muscles there flexing as she held Sevika in place, and then to Sevika’s jaw, clenched tightly in frustration.

And then, with a sharp motion, Ambessa threw Sevika to the ground. The impact echoed through the room, but before Sevika could recover, Ambessa straddled her waist, pinning her completely. Her hands pressed into the concrete on either side of Sevika’s head, caging her in.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Ambessa’s gaze was piercing, and Sevika’s was equally defiant, though there was a flicker of something soft beneath her frustration. The proximity between them was almost suffocating, their breaths mingling as they stared each other down.

From your spot on the couch, you felt a pang of jealousy twist in your chest. You hated to admit it, but the sight of them like this: with Ambessa in complete control and Sevika pinned beneath her. You couldn’t deny what it made you feel. You were indecisive, whether you wanted to be in Ambessa’s place or Sevika’s.

Ambessa finally broke the moment, her head turning slightly in your direction. “Darling,” she called, her voice smooth and inviting.

Your heart skipped a beat. She rarely used that tone with you, and when she did, it always made your pulse race. You stood hesitantly, your legs feeling weak as you approached them.

“C’mere,” Ambessa said again, her eyes darkening as she watched you. You obeyed without question, moving closer until you were kneeling beside the two women. Ambessa shifted her attention back to Sevika for a moment, her thumb brushing against Sevika’s jawline before she finally let go of her. Sevika sat up slightly, her breathing still heavy as she stared at Ambessa, her lips parted as though she wanted to a near whisper. "Do you want her?"

The question hit you like a shit ton of bricks. Your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head. "What? No, I-"

Ambessa tilted her head, a faint smirk playing at her lips. "Come on. there’s no need lie," she said, her voice soft but dangerous. "I've seen the way you look at her."

It’s true i-" you started, but your words caught in your throat as Ambessa leaned closer, her hand coming up to cup your chin.

"You can deny it all you want," she murmured, her thumb brushing against your lower lip. "But I already know the truth." Behind her, Sevika shifted, her eyes narrowing as she watched the interaction. Her gaze flicked between you and Ambessa, her jaw tightening as though she was trying to figure out what to make of the situation.

Ambessa's lips curved into a knowing smile as she let go of your chin, her hand moving to rest on your shoulder instead. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," she said, her tone almost teasing now. "Desire is a natural thing."

You felt your cheeks heat up, unsure of how to respond. Ambessa's gaze was unrelenting, and the weight of both her and Sevika's attention made your head spin.

"Still," Ambessa continued, her voice taking on a more serious edge, "you should know where your loyalties lie." Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you nodded slowly. With the inability to tear your eyes away from her. The room was silent for a moment, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Sevika finally stood, brushing herself off and crossing her arms over her chest as she stared down at the two of you.

Ambessa smirked, leaning back slightly but still keeping her hand on your shoulder. "Oh, I'm counting on it," she said, her tone dripping with confidence.

As the two women exchanged another charged look, you couldn't help but feel caught in the middle of something bigger than yourself. And yet, you didn't want to be anywhere else.

Ambessa stood there, towering over both you and Sevika, her sharp gaze locked on Sevika's defiant stance. The tension between them was thick, electric, but then something shifted in Ambessa's expression. A sly smirk curved her lips, and before anyone could react, she leaned in and pressed her lips against Sevika's.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was intense, fiery, and utterly captivating. Sevika's eyes widened in surprise at first, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she matched Ambessa's energy, their mouths moving against each other with such a desire that made your heart pound. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight. The sound of their labored breaths and the faint growls of dominance filled the room. They kissed as if they were trying to conquer one another, neither willing to back down. Sevika's hand shot up, gripping the back of Ambessa's neck, her fingers curling into her short hair. While Ambessa's large hands found Sevika's waist, pulling her closer.

Your cheeks flushed as you watched, your mind racing. It was undeniably hot. You clenched your fists in your lap, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your belly as you continued to observe the exchange.

Ambessa's teeth caught Sevika's lower lip, tugging it slightly before she pulled back just enough to smirk. "Is that all you've got?" she taunted, her voice husky and breathless.

"Not even close," Sevika growled, surging forward to capture her lips again, this time with even more hunger.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. The two women before you were locked in a battle of dominance, their bodies pressed so tightly together that it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. The red light from the room cast their silhouettes in an almost ethereal glow, accentuating the muscles in their arms and shoulders as they held each other.

You felt a pang of longing in your chest, wishing you could be part of that. Your eyes drifted to Sevika's lips. You imagined her pressing her lips against your neck. And then your gaze moved to Ambessa's hands, the thought of them holding you like that making your stomach flip.

You didn't realize you were pouting until Ambessa pulled back slightly from Sevika, her eyes flicking toward you. She chuckled lowly, her voice thick with amusement. "What's wrong, darling?" she teased, the pet name rolling off her tongue like silk.

You quickly looked away, embarrassed that she'd caught you. "Nothing," you muttered, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

"Nothing, hm?" Ambessa stepped closer, leaving Sevika standing there looking both frustrated and dazed. She reached out, her hand brushing lightly against your cheek before trailing down to rest against your back. "I don't think I believe you."

Sevika, still breathing heavily, smirked as she noticed your reaction. "Looks like someone wants in on the fun," she said, her tone teasing but her eyes were dark. Your heart skipped a beat as Ambessa's hand pressed more firmly against your back, guiding you to your feet. "Join us.” she commanded softly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for only a moment before obeying, letting her lead you exactly where you wanted to be. Right inbetween the two of them. Her hand stayed firm against your back, her touch grounding yet electrifying.

"You've been watching like you want something," Ambessa murmured, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke. "Well?"

"I..." You trailed off, unsure of how to put into words the mix of desire and anticipation swirling inside you.

"Shy now?" Sevika teased, stepping closer until her chest was nearly brushing against your back. She reached out, her calloused fingers tilting your chin up so you had to look at her. "Don't be."

The proximity of both women was overwhelming, their sheer size making you feel small and delicate in comparison. Ambessa's hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against her chest while Sevika's fingers trailed along your jawline.

"You're trembling," Ambessa noted with a smirk, her voice a low rumble against your back. "Are we making you nervous, darling?"

"I-i’m not nervous," you managed to say, though your voice betrayed you.

Ambessa chuckled, the sound vibrating through her chest and into your body. "Good," she said. "Because we're just getting started."

Before you could respond, Ambessa leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both commanding and intoxicating. Her hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly against her as her lips moved against yours with expert precision.

You barely had time to process the kiss before Sevika's lips found the curve of your neck, her teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. The combination of their touches was almost too much to handle, and yet you craved more.

Ambessa pulled back slightly, her eyes dark with desire as she looked down at you. "Sevika," she said, her tone carrying a hint of command.

Sevika hummed in response, her lips still pressed against your neck.

"I think you want more," Ambessa said, a mischievous glint in her eye as she looked between you and Sevika.

Sevika smirked, her hand coming up to cup your cheek as she pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. "Then we shouldn't disappoint," she said, her voice low and full of promise.

As they both closed in on you, you couldn't help but feel excitement. Being caught between these two powerful women, their attention focused entirely on you, was a dream come true. And as their lips and hands began explored every inch of your body, you couldn’t resist.

THE NEXT PART

taglist. @blckbny @themostlesbianever @galaxydreamer468 @mpenguin7 @mvistl @dollstry @abitchnamedtia @ab2ysw1fe @lizzy222y @lexi2000 @sevslut @yer-boiiii @jayden-prentiss @humbledaylily556 @desnaa

[sourle]

About YFAT (yearning for a touch au), why does the survivors hate us? Are we some kind of retired hacker that was way worse than 7n7😭🙏

Anyway, keep up the work author! (Feed us more angst.....)

No Regrets

A fleeting memory

WARNINGS: please excuse my mispronouns and misspelling as i did this in a hurry(I'll probably read it back to fix it) vague gore, reader not regretting their actions at all, short drabble, etc.

Author note: haha good question dear soup!

The screaming, full of agony and anguish coming from below you. The damage is done. You've done it.

You've reached your desire, putting a pay back to these horrible people. Who rejected you. Your own kind.

It's a joy to watch them struggling, fighting, anything that of torture entertainment.

Even as you watch a child drag her mother's half across the ground, you don't even feel an itch of sympathy. Just— satisfaction.

"This is an immediate emergency to all robloxians! A message from Builderman himself for everyone to seek refuge, somewhere sa—"

You watch the static electricity sparkles put on the television you just punched. Staring at it in joy now that you've caught a certain higher-up. Though you don't know when he will arrive. Maybe just in time for your new show.

You're glad you got this help of a power from a being that's out of your comprehension. Giving you a second chance of worthy-ness. Oh it would make a very cult jealous since you don't associate on worshipping such being.

Now that half of robloxia is.. almost destroyed you thought you would be unstoppable. Until the man himself is here, Builderman.

"I advised you to stop your foolishness immediately." The authority in his voice only makes you chuckle.

"Foolishness, This is what you call foolishness, NOT the carelessness of yours from ignoring your own people?" Your voice hints at a tease and a venom. Trying to push the man before you.

You watch as he clenched his teeth, the undeniable anger from his eyes was no mistake. You hit quite a nerve.

It was all a blur from then on. You can't quite remember what happened next. Were you banned? Were you victorious? Though judging by Builderman's hatred towards you, you can be safe to say.. ot doesn't end well.

You fiddle with the small pendant in your hand that have a spawn symbol, staring into the light of the fireplace. Awaiting for the round to end.

Note:

I've kept it short since i have no idea what is left to give to reader's backstory. Anyway after that cut it's up for you to what happened, but like the reader thought. It doesn't end well.

[sharkbitten-sailor]

Hyello!!! Ive been loving your works so far, and I saw you were open for requests so could I req for a 007n7 x reader who simply likes to follow him around, not caring about the past. They always make their presence known despite barely talking at all. Which mmmighhttt be a little funny and scary at times when the reader doesn't respond at times and just, stares and stands too still (big ol eyes)

Reader very much does point out things lile generators and items or anything they find odd like a sign the killer or survivor is lurking nearby.

(Ahahahha this is somewhat based on my experience of my first time trying to myth hunt, and it ended with me following this 007n7 cosplayer for about 2-3ish hours because I felt bad they were getting bullied for like... 20 minutes, but I had no idea hoe to comfort them, nor interact in general. But we both did help each other find some things we found interesting!!)

[forsaken] 007n7 x reader who's kind to him headcanons .ᐟ

a/n; oooh hi anon! thank you so much for requesting, it's really adorable <33 i hope i got your idea right (please ignore any misspell & grammar mistakes, i only read this once-)

- 007n7 was once cast out by the survivor group, isolated even among those fighting for the same cause. keyword: was. that all changed when you appeared. - when you approached him with genuine warmth, he assumed it was a mistake. perhaps you hadn't heard about him yet. - but even after the admins shared his past, your kindness never wavered. that was.. new and unsettling. - he watches you carefully, waiting for the moment your smile fades, for the inevitable disappointment. but it never comes. - over time, he starts to believe, just a little, that maybe - just maybe he’s not beyond redemption. - he doesn’t fully understand why you treat him like someone worth knowing, but he’s starting to believe it. - he enjoys your quiet company. he appreciates the way you just… follow him around, watching him curiously while he works on a generator like a cat watching someone open a can. - or maybe, it's simply because you never judge him. not for the past, not for the present. - during rounds, you stick close to 7n7 like a shadow. the only times you're not by his side are when you aren’t chosen for that round or when you're off scavenging supplies, like boxy colas. - whenever you find something useful, he's always the first to get it. even an entire medkit. - of course, certain survivors tend to side-eye you both for that (*cough* elliot *cough*). - he genuinely appreciates your kindness, but he also reminds you that taking care of yourself should come first & depending on the situation. remember that time you handed him a medkit while sitting at a measly 20% hp? yeah, you scared him half to death. - your sharp eyesight makes you great at spotting generators for 7n7. but instead of fixing them yourself, you simply stay next to him, likely guarding him from the killer. - connecting wires isn’t your strong suit? no worries. you've helped 7n7 plenty, and it’s only fair that he returns the favor. - he’s a patient man, so he’ll take the time to teach you how to connect them. - after those grueling rounds, if 7n7 wasn’t chosen, he’ll immediately check on you, gathering supplies to patch you up like a worried father. - expect some head pats. they’re his way of saying, “you did well enough.” - if the bond between you two grows strong enough, he'll show his appreciation in his own way. - need to rant or vent? then congrats! you’ve found the perfect listener. he absorbs every word you say with deep intention, even taking mental notes. - the next time you bring it up, you'll realize he remembers everything. - you have a habit of playfully messing with his clones, like a cat batting at a new toy. 7n7 finds this oddly endearing and amusing. - it soothes him, melting away his stress. a quiet reminder that even in this hell, some things are still worth smiling about.

a/n; finally finished! sry 4 the delay, i got distracted slacking off mid-writing to play blocktales🥲 hope you still like it </3

[overly-verbose]

I'm just thinking that Uraume is a great cook, but the real masterpieces are made up of people. I understand that Sukuna will be a little uncomfortable eating people's kebabs (that usually scares teenagers, you know). BUT. The moral mobility of His Evil Majesty's mentality simply says to me: Find the enemy, and the big guy will finally get a nice meal. He worked so hard, he deserves dinner. ("Fu_k, Marry, Eat" game. Start). SO. ONE DAY. People tempura — yes or no? How much Curse is in our King?

Uraume is indeed a great cook, ridiculously even lol

- I mean afaik it's canon that, whilst human meat is supposedly difficult to prepare well, they managed to do it; which is one of the main reasons why Sukuna kept them around aside from the fact that they're a powerful sorcerer lol

(he most probably liked the unaltered taste by itself too (he did in my Series Canon for sure), but Uraume made it additionally enjoyable - so for Mr. I Do What I Want it was definitely a unique plus lol)

As for SIkuna eating people, hmm

Although he's pretty deeply in denial about it, he doesn't actually directly feel anything negative at the prospect

(as showed in Part 4, he actually found the little taste of Yuji's blood he got by accident ridiculously enjoyable, if in terms of Identity Issues and 'Ah Shit That's The Kid's Blood' extremely distressing as well. What a fun combination)

- it's Everything Else around it that makes him uneasy; like the fact that he Knows It's Wrong, The Kids Would Most Freaking Likely Not Like it, and just overall the Character Dissonance he feels about it all

because how the fuck can he be a protective inner marshmallow that would just like to hug the kids, and give them headpats, and heal their wounds, and just overall take care of them as best as he can 🥺

and someone that gets absolutely freaking giddy at the idea and acts of violence and bloodshed (as long as it doesn't involve Some People but especially if it involves Other Ones) at the same time y'know?

(sorry bro, you're not gonna get any less contradictory anytime soon if ever - have fun being yourself, whatever that means, lol

Complex characterisation and all that ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ)

But returning to the topic; I won't say anything about further down the timeline

(he might, he might not, who knows, probably not in a way that would upset the kids too much if anything but ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

but there is this one particular, hm, person that would fit all boxes in terms of being a mostly guiltless but still tasty snack, though not as tasty as possible, who miight be meeting him relatively soon (how??)

- and SIkuna wouldn't even need to break any promises with Yuji (oop spoiler 👀) to indeed have a spooky snack!

So, before anything as sophisticated as tempura - there may be moreso sashimi :] *HeeHee HoHo's a bit as lighting strikes in the background and I comically jump in surprise because wtf the sky's clear-????*

.

[clementineinn]

call me on the line

abstract: when the BAU investigates a string of disappearances in the forgotten logging town of Stillwater, Washington, two agents are sent to question a possible lead — deep in the woods, where a storm is rising, and the line between hunter and hunted begins to blur.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (usage of Y/N)

genre: angst / fluff

word count: deadass, you don't want to know. but it's long.

note: did i make this longer than it had to be? 1,000 percent yes. but finals are lowk kicking my ass so i let myself just go off on this. writing angst is kind of hard for me bc i love fluff, so if it's cringe SORRY LOL. also, it's not really proofread so, ignore any misspelled words. enjoy :)

The case had the air of something unfinished. Not cold, exactly—but quiet. Unsettling.

Stillwater, Washington wasn’t a town you stumbled into—it was a place you had to mean to find. Tucked between jagged peaks and black-needled evergreens, the logging town had once thrived on sawdust and sweat, its heartbeat synced to the drone of machinery and the scent of fresh-cut pine. But that was decades ago. Now the mills were silent, the tracks rusted over. Paint peeled in long, curling strips from shuttered storefronts, and hand-painted For Sale signs clung stubbornly to rotting fences.

It had the kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful.

It felt like watching eyes. Like a breath held just behind the trees.

Four disappearances in under eight weeks hadn’t made it past the usual bureaucratic filters—until one of them had a last name that opened doors. The niece of the mayor had vanished without a trace, and the calls went higher. Stillwater finally showed up on someone’s desk. That’s when the Bureau had been called in.

Now, the BAU team was crowded into the back room of the sheriff’s office, where the walls were stained an old tobacco yellow and a ceiling fan turned in slow, listless circles overhead. The air smelled of mildew, old paper, and coffee gone to burn.

A radio crackled somewhere in the front office, too far away to catch words. The rain had picked up again—sharp now, rhythmic, like fingernails tapping against the tin roof. It filled the silences between breaths, between theories.

A map of Stillwater was pinned to the far wall, dotted with pushpins and red-thread lines. Property boundaries faded at the edges, roads narrowing into nothing. The forest swallowed everything beyond a certain point.

And that’s where they were headed.

Soon.

Hotch stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. He didn’t like unknowns. Didn’t like how much of the town seemed to exist in whispers and folklore.

Reid’s fingers moved restlessly against the file in his lap, flipping pages he’d already memorized. Morgan leaned against a cabinet, the tension in his shoulders more visible than he thought. Emily paced, silent, her boots creaking on warped linoleum.

And Y/N sat still—too still—in the corner, her gaze fixed on the map, brows furrowed just slightly. As if she’d already seen something there the rest hadn’t.

“We’re working on the assumption that the unsub is someone local,” Hotch said, voice low but unwavering, the kind of tone that cut clean through the hum of bad coffee machines and rain-heavy silence. His hand swept across the makeshift evidence board—grainy photos, hand-drawn maps, weather-stained documents clipped under yellowing light. “None of the victims traveled far from home. No forced entry, no signs of struggle. Whoever this is… they’re moving through the cracks. Operating in the blind spots.”

The storm outside clawed at the edges of the sheriff’s office, wind rattling the single-pane windows. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.

Garcia’s voice crackled over the speakerphone, the brightness of her tone oddly eerie against the static interference from the rain: “I did some digging on anyone who might’ve had a reason to watch those woods closely, and a name came up—Walter Massey. Sixty-eight, retired forest ranger, lives alone near Deadman’s Ridge. He filed multiple complaints with Fish and Wildlife about unregistered hunting trails about three weeks before the first disappearance. That’s a breadcrumb if I’ve ever seen one.”

JJ flipped open a manila folder, brows furrowed. “Massey was also the last confirmed person to speak with one of the missing women. No phone record, but she was seen heading in his direction on a convenience store camera the day she vanished.”

“He has a cabin out past the old ridge road,” she added. “Next nearest neighbor is two miles downhill. Closest cell reception’s even farther.”

Emily leaned forward, arms crossed. “Could be nothing. He could’ve just seen something—or someone—he didn’t know how to explain. Or he might be too scared to come forward.”

“Or he’s a link to someone who is,” Rossi muttered, eyes never leaving the board.

Hotch gave a tight nod, arms crossed as his gaze swept the photos pinned to the board, then flicked toward the map spread across the center table. The rain outside hammered the windows in steady rhythm, underscoring every word.

“Either way, we talk to him,” he said. “Quietly. No flashing badges. No tactical presence. If Massey’s involved, we don’t want him running. If he’s just a frightened old man…” His jaw tightened. “We don’t want him shutting down.”

He turned, addressing the team with that low, clipped authority that didn’t invite questions — just motion.

“Emily, JJ — keep working the geographical profile. Focus on any repeat paths near Deadman’s Ridge. If he’s stalking the victims beforehand, he’s walking terrain he knows.”

He looked next to Morgan. “Coordinate with the sheriff. I want a list of locals with military backgrounds and hunting violations within the last ten years. Start with rangers. Forestry. Anyone who knows the woods well enough to vanish inside them.”

Then Hotch turned back to the table. To Spencer—then Y/N beside him.

“You two take the Massey interview.”

Spencer straightened slightly, nodding once. Y/N didn’t move, but her posture shifted — alert, coiled like she was already halfway in the field. The weight of the assignment passed between them like a silent current.

Hotch’s gaze lingered a beat longer. “No pressure. Just a conversation. If anything feels off, you pull back. Clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Y/N said, steady.

The room moved around them again — chairs scraping, files opening, murmured replies. But Spencer only glanced sideways, eyes catching hers just briefly.

No pressure.

Just a cabin in the woods.

Spencer dipped his head in a silent nod, already flipping the page in his notebook, though his hand paused briefly on the paper in front of him—just for a second, a flicker of tension behind his eyes.

Not fear. Just the quiet knowledge that something about this wasn’t sitting right.

But Y/N didn’t say anything. Just squared her shoulders, voice level. “We’ll head out now.”

Spencer glanced at her as they rose—catching that flicker again. Just long enough to feel it echo.

Morgan leaned forward in his chair, the legs creaking faintly beneath him. His arms were folded tight across his chest, the sleeves of his jacket pushed up just enough to show the tension in his forearms. Rain hammered the roof above them in steady pulses, the storm pressing harder against the windows with every gust.

“That cabin’s deep,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “Trees out there are old. Thick. Signal won’t last long once you hit the ridgeline.”

He wasn’t scaremongering, just stating facts. The kind of facts that only came from years of walking into places no one came back from easily.

“We’ll stay in range,” Spencer said, nodding as he adjusted the settings on the handheld GPS unit. The small screen flickered in the dim light.

But Morgan didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted, settling on Y/N.

He dropped his voice.

“Just… be careful out there,” he said.

There wasn’t a joke in it. No usual smirk. Just a quiet weight, something steady and weather-worn, like he’d seen too many people walk into places like this thinking they were fine—until they weren’t.

His gaze held hers.

“This feels like the kind of case that turns on you when you stop looking.”

For a moment, the room fell quiet but for the scratch of JJ’s pen and the whisper of the storm.

Y/N tried for a smile, soft and crooked. One corner of her mouth lifted just enough to pass for ease.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

Morgan stepped closer, his boots quiet on the worn linoleum. He stopped just beside her, voice dropping low—meant only for her and Spencer.

“I know you like to play calm,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to prove anything. Not to us. Just come back in one piece.”

Y/N blinked—slow, measured. For a second, her eyes flicked away.

And then, true to form, she bumped his elbow gently with hers.

“You’re getting soft on me, Morgan.”

He snorted under his breath. “You wish.”

They shared a look—mocking on the surface, playful even—but there was something else beneath it. Something older than the case, older than the moment. Trust carved out of too many nights watching each other’s backs in godforsaken places.

Morgan stepped back. Spencer shifted beside her, glancing down at the map again.

Hotch handed over the file without ceremony, the folder already creased at the edges from too many hands. His expression didn’t shift—still carved in quiet stone—but there was something in the way his eyes held theirs, a flicker of weight that went unsaid.

“According to county records,” he said, his voice low and even over the soft rumble of rain, “Massey’s property has one road in.”

Y/N took the folder, her fingers brushing briefly against Spencer’s as he leaned in to glance at the top page. The map was crude. Hand-drawn annotations. The kind that didn’t inspire confidence.

Hotch continued. “Narrow. Gravel. Unmaintained.”

He looked to them both.

“Use the Jeep.”

There was no room for argument in his tone—only the practiced cadence of someone who’d seen too many search parties stall because the wrong car bottomed out before the trailhead.

The overhead lights flickered once as the storm deepened, shadows slanting across the faded floorboards. Y/N gave a single nod, sharp and controlled, and tucked the file under her arm. Spencer followed, the weight of the assignment already settling between them like mist.

One road in. No promises about getting back out.

Y/N zipped her coat — a tailored dove-gray trench that framed her silhouette like it had been made for her. The collar stood slightly askew, catching the light with the faintest sheen of rain-soft wool. Beneath it, a blouse in the softest shade of lilac peeked through — silk, high-necked, and delicately ruched at the shoulders. It tucked seamlessly into crisp white slacks, expertly pressed, the hem brushing just above pale suede boots that clicked softly on the concrete floor.

She looked like she belonged in a courtroom or a gallery opening — not a muddy precinct hallway. But somehow, she always managed both. A study in contrast. Formidable. Graceful.

Spencer watched as she lifted her arms and swept her hair back — slow, efficient, thoughtless in its elegance. Her fingers worked easily, pulling the strands into a low knot at the base of her skull. Her hair, even when gathered, fell in wispy waves around the edges. Loose strands curled around her ears, temple, neck — impossibly soft, like the inside of a flower petal.

One wisp curled across her cheek, fine as a brushstroke, and rested just at the edge of her lips.

He couldn’t help it — he stared.

Not inappropriately. Just quietly. Like his eyes couldn’t quite let go.

He desperately wanted to reach out and tuck that loose strand behind her ear — the one that danced every time she turned her head, feather-light against the curve of her cheek. It would’ve taken barely a movement. Just two fingers. A breath of courage.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he swallowed the impulse, let the ache lodge quietly beneath his ribs, and cleared his throat like it might shake something loose.

His eyes dropped back to the map in his hands — too fast, too pointed — as if they hadn’t just been tracing the delicate fall of her hair, the light pooling in it like water catching sun.

As if he hadn’t almost reached for her at all.

Then, against his better judgment — against the quiet thrum of logic that always tried to keep him grounded — he looked up again.

Just for a second.

But it was enough.

The curve of her jaw, the way her lashes kissed the top of her cheekbone when she glanced down, the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her shoulders as she settled her coat more squarely around them — he took it all in like a man starved for something he couldn’t name.

There was a steadiness to her, a kind of elegant gravity that drew his gaze whether he meant to or not. She didn’t just walk into a room — she inhabited it, quiet but certain, the way a candle settles into flame.

And for a breath — a single, weightless breath — he let himself look.

Y/N caught the movement, just barely.

Her eyes flicked toward him — not sharp, not teasing, but knowing. A soft glance, almost accidental, that met his and held it just long enough to say I saw that.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she turned her head, adjusting her holster with practiced precision, her expression smoothing into something steady and composed.

The moment passed. Filed away between them.

Then it was gone — smoothed over with the practiced ease of someone who knew when to draw the line between charm and duty.

Her voice cut cleanly through the low hum of the room—measured, even, with just enough lift to draw attention without sounding urgent.

“Anything else we should know?”

Y/N didn’t look directly at anyone in particular, though her question angled toward Hotch. Her posture remained composed, the press of her palm against the grip of her holster casual but intentional—like muscle memory. Her other hand smoothed a slight crease in her light wool coat, the pale fabric catching dull gold light beneath the ceiling fan’s slow, uneven spin.

Garcia’s voice crackled over the line, bright and tinny through the static. “Only that Massey hasn’t answered his landline in over a week — but that’s not exactly uncommon. He’s more tree than man at this point.”

There was a short pause. A raindrop struck the window with a hollow tap.

Y/N’s brow arched, mouth quirking—not a full smile, but enough to show she was still listening, still present.

“Excellent,” she murmured, deadpan.

The room shifted faintly around her—Morgan exhaling through his nose, Emily’s mouth twitching in restraint. Spencer glanced at her, caught between fondness and concern, but she was already sliding the safety of her sidearm back into place. Calm. Professional. Sardonic, even when the air was thick with something heavier.

The storm outside groaned louder. But Y/N just reached for her coat collar and adjusted it with a practiced flick, already moving.

Spencer tucked the folder under his arm and followed her out into the drizzle. The air was sharp with the smell of pine needles and wet earth. Cold enough to sting, not enough to snow.

Y/N moved ahead of him without a word, boots scuffing lightly against the wet pavement, keys already in hand. Her coat caught the wind as she moved, the hem lifting just slightly before falling back in place. Her hair, still pinned into a smooth low knot, gleamed faintly under the lot’s overhead lights, rain-softened tendrils escaping to cling along her cheek and temple.

The Jeep door gave a low creak as she swung into the driver’s seat, motion fluid, practiced. She adjusted the mirrors like she’d done it a hundred times before, fingers moving with quiet assurance, sleeves pushed up just far enough to reveal a thin silver bracelet at her wrist — the only bit of ornamentation she ever wore in the field.

Spencer slid into the passenger seat, his coat damp where it clung to his shoulders. The door closed behind him with a muted thud. Inside, the air felt still. Sheltered. The faint scent of lavender and leather and coffee grounds clung to the cab like memory.

He glanced sideways.

Y/N was buckling her seatbelt one-handed, the other brushing droplets of rain from the cuff of her sleeve. Her jaw was set, lashes still wet, the curve of her mouth unreadable as she turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, a low, steady purr beneath them.

Outside, the trees swayed against a sky that hadn’t quite let go of the storm.

Spencer’s voice came quiet. Careful. “Think he’ll talk?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Her hand turned the key, and the engine stirred to life beneath them — a low, steady rumble that filled the hush like a second heartbeat. Her gaze lingered on the road ahead, eyes narrowing slightly as the rain skated across the windshield in whispering arcs.

And then — something softer.

She glanced over at him.

Spencer sat with one hand loosely curled in his lap, the other resting near the passenger-side door. His coat — charcoal gray, collar turned up just slightly from the weather — was still damp around the shoulders, drops clinging like glass beads to the fabric. A soft blue oxford peeked from beneath, the edge of his tie tucked neatly down, a shade somewhere between plum and midnight.

His hair was drying in unruly curls, the kind that always sprang free no matter how many times he tried to flatten them with nervous fingers. One lock in particular hung just above his brow — curled and dark and boyish in a way that made her heart catch for reasons she didn’t often name.

But it was his face she lingered on.

The angle of his jaw — elegant, sloped like a sculpture just slightly unfinished. High cheekbones flushed faintly from the cold. His skin, pale but not sickly, with the kind of delicate texture that caught every shadow and turned it poetic.

And his throat — she didn’t know why that part always struck her — but the long, clean column of it moved as he swallowed, Adam’s apple shifting subtly under skin. A tension there. A thought not yet spoken.

Then his eyes — always his eyes.

That soft, impossible shade: somewhere between warm hazel and the color of honey in shadow. Eyes that could go wide with childlike wonder one second, and dark with knowledge the next. Now, they watched her carefully, the way he always did — not intrusive, not pressing. Just waiting. Open.

Still, she didn’t answer.

Just studied him in the silence, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the steering wheel like they were holding something else in place.

And then — she smiled. Just a little. Just to herself.

“If he’s who we think he is? Yeah,” Y/N said, her voice steady — not clipped this time, but level. Assured, because Spencer had asked.

She didn’t take her eyes off the road — it was narrowing now, damp earth darkened by the rain, pines arching overhead like ribs. But she glanced his way just enough to let him know she was listening. That she always did.

Then her hands tightened slightly on the wheel — not fear, but anticipation. Her shoulders didn’t tense, but something in her posture shifted. Focused. Alert.

“But if something’s off out there,” she added, “we’ll feel it before it hits.”

She paused, only long enough to exhale — a breath that filled the space where silence might’ve gone. Then she continued, voice lower now, but still laced with that dry, familiar wit he’d come to memorize.

“And we’ll deal with it. Like we always do.”

Spencer glanced sideways at her. The road curved ahead, shadows crowding the edge of the tree line, but her expression hadn’t changed. Calm. Sharp. The kind of calm you could lean on if the world cracked in half.

He didn’t respond right away — didn’t need to. She’d already answered the part of him that hadn’t made it into words.

Then she added, almost too casually, “And if I get shot, I’m haunting this Jeep. You’re never playing jazz in here again.”

Spencer glanced over at her, brow raised. “I don’t play jazz.”

“Exactly,” she said, with a little smirk. “It’d be a tragedy. Think of the acoustics.”

He let the corner of his mouth twitch, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he said softly. “I worry about you.”

Her smile flickered, just for a heartbeat.

Then, without looking, she reached over and gave his knee a gentle squeeze — not quick, not rushed, just soft and familiar, like it was second nature. “You’re cute when you’re concerned. All furrowed brows and fidgety hands.”

Spencer blinked.

Twice.

And then sat up just a little straighter in his seat, hands fidgeting with the folder in his lap as though the paper had suddenly become very complicated.

“I—uh,” he started, clearing his throat like it might help him form a coherent sentence. “I don’t… do that. Exactly.”

But his ears told a different story — the pink rising fast beneath the ends of his hair, climbing like a confession he couldn’t quite swallow.

Y/N didn’t look over, but the corner of her mouth curved just slightly knowingly.

Outside, the trees loomed closer—still and watchful.

Inside the Jeep, the air was warmer. Charged. Quiet.

Not safe, but close.

The tires crunched over gravel as they pulled away from the sheriff’s station, the sound sharp and hollow beneath the growing hush of the woods. The world beyond the windshield blurred in shades of green and gray—fir branches heavy with rain, trunks slick with moss and time. Water clung to the windows in thin, trembling streaks, catching light like veins of glass.

Y/N kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other shifting gears with a smooth, practiced touch. Her eyes were fixed ahead—alert, but calm. The low clouds muted the light across her features, softening the curve of her jaw, casting pale shadows beneath her cheekbones. Again, a single strand of hair had slipped loose from behind her ear, curling along her temple, but still, she didn’t seem to notice.

Spencer watched her in that quiet way he always did, half out of habit, half out of awe. The shape of her profile had become familiar in the way only long hours and quiet car rides could make it — the slope of her nose, the way her mouth twitched slightly when she was thinking, the calm stillness she wore like armor.

She looked relaxed. Or—she had, until the forest deepened and the gravel began to thin beneath them.

It was subtle. Barely there.

But Spencer always noticed when it came to Y/N.

He noticed when she was happy, when her laughter hit a little higher in her chest. He noticed when she was tired, the way she rubbed at her temple with the back of her hand. And he noticed now—how her fingers tightened just slightly around the steering wheel. Not tense, not afraid. Just anchoring.

Her shoulders had crept a little higher, her posture shifting with the faintest trace of something coiled. Her breathing changed too—not loud, not shaky, but quieter. Calibrated.

Her eyes flicked toward the blur of evergreens passing the window, landing on something between the trees that he couldn’t see—but she could. Her jaw had settled tighter, not clenched exactly. Just bracing.

And that was all it took.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t leave her. He didn’t ask yet. Didn’t press. But he knew her. Every mood. Every flicker of emotion she didn’t want to show. 

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her from the corner of his eye as they bumped along the narrowing road, the Jeep swaying gently with each dip and rise.

The forest pressed in thicker now—trunks close, shadows dense, branches arcing overhead like a tunnel built from dusk. The sky had dimmed to a washed-out gray-blue, streaked with low, restless clouds. The kind of light that made everything look slightly unreal. Suspended.

Beside him, Y/N’s focus hadn’t wavered. But he could see the change in her.

He’d watched her do this a dozen times before—lock herself in, pull steady, stay quiet. And once, not so long ago, she’d noticed it in him.

Had reached over and tried to pull him back to center with nothing more than a quiet touch and a crooked smile.

Now he did the same.

As they rounded a bend and the cabin finally came into view—half-shadowed, still, like a smear of darkness at the end of the trail—Spencer reached over.

His hand settled on her knee. Gently. Warm and steady through the soft fabric of her pale slacks.

He didn’t say anything. Just let the contact speak.

She blinked, just once, and turned her head slightly toward him. Not enough to take her eyes off the road — just enough for him to see the flicker of surprise soften into something smaller. Something quiet.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low. Careful.

Her answer came after a beat — a breath. She nodded once and offered him a smile. Easy, almost light.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Probably just cold.”

But it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

And he knew her well enough to see it. The way she carried unease like a private secret — tucked neatly beneath her professionalism, beneath the steady hands and quiet confidence. He gave her knee the faintest squeeze, then let his hand fall back to his lap.

She didn’t say anything else. Just kept her eyes on the road, that smile fading to something quieter. More thoughtful.

When they finally reached the property, it emerged without warning — a jagged clearing carved into the forest like a scar, sudden and jarring beneath the darkening sky. The last sliver of daylight had already given up the fight, swallowed by the storm clouds pressing low and mean above the trees. What little light remained was the dull, coppered sheen of dying sun behind a curtain of gray, thickening by the minute as the rain picked up again — steady, cold, and relentless.

The cabin sat hunched in the middle of the clearing like it was trying to disappear into itself. Sagging at the roofline, its edges blurred in the mist, it didn’t look like it had been built so much as abandoned mid-thought and left to rot. Water streaked down the wood siding, gray and splintered, veins of moss threading between the boards like old scars. Shingles peeled from the roof like curling bark, flapping weakly in the wind. Ivy clung to one side of the structure, wet and slick, gripping like desperate fingers.

A rusted pickup truck leaned just off the gravel, half-sunk into the earth. One tire had collapsed entirely, and the windshield was filmed with grime. Moss clung thick across the hood, glinting damp in the half-light. The rear bumper was hanging loose, barely attached. An old blue tarp lay crumpled nearby, water pooling in its folds, its color leeched pale as bone.

Near the porch stood a battered rain barrel, the metal sides dented inward like something had struck it hard once and never cared to fix it. It was brim-full with black water, still and viscous. Leaves floated on the surface, already turning to pulp.

The porch itself looked no better. Boards bowed and cracked under years of rot, the whole frame tilting just enough to be unsettling. A mesh screen door hung half-off its hinges, the bottom corner torn, tapping irregularly in the wind like a slow, reluctant metronome. Thunder growled somewhere in the distance, low and constant.

Inside, the windows showed nothing. No movement. No glow. Just pale curtains stirring faintly — or maybe not at all — behind glass long gone cloudy. It didn’t feel empty.

It felt like it was waiting.

And the storm, as if answering that silent promise, surged harder around them — wind pressing against the car, the trees creaking in warning.

Y/N eased the Jeep to a stop, the tires crunching softly over damp gravel. Her hand slipped from the wheel and dropped into her lap, slow and deliberate, like something inside her had stalled with it.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Her eyes were fixed on the cabin just ahead—at the crooked front steps, the sagging roofline, the stillness that pressed against the windows like a held breath.

Spencer looked at her, not the house.

“You’re quiet,” he said gently. “What, nothing smart to say about the murder shack in the woods?”

That earned him a ghost of a smile.

But it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She inhaled slowly, eyes still on the porch.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “Something just feels… off.”

The wind moved through the trees then — not in a rush, but in a long, drawn-out exhale. It slipped between the trunks of the evergreens like a ghost, brushing needles aside with soundless fingers. It twisted around the Jeep in thin, spectral threads, pressing against the windows like it was trying to peer inside. A shiver of motion stirred the underbrush and carried the scent of rain-drenched soil and wood gone soft with rot.

It wasn’t stillness. Not really. It was silence with intent. A hush that hummed with something just beneath it — like the forest itself had stopped to listen.

Spencer felt it in the hollow beneath his ribs. A pressure that wasn’t pain, but wasn’t peace either. He shifted slightly in his seat, hand hovering near the door handle, fingers flexing once before curling tight. His eyes lingered on her — not the cabin. Never the cabin.

Y/N sat rigid in the driver’s seat, posture straight, every line of her body coiled with purpose. The faint light through the windshield brushed her features in silver — sharp across the line of her cheek, soft at the curve of her jaw. Her gaze had narrowed. Not alarmed. Just focused. Sharpened.

She felt it too.

Then, without a word, she moved.

The door creaked open, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the hush outside. The cabin lights flickered and died as the wind caught the door’s edge and pulled it wider — a breathless kind of opening. She stepped out with quiet precision, boots meeting the soft, saturated forest floor and sinking half a step into moss and old needles. Her coat flared slightly behind her in the gust, dark fabric whipping once around her legs before settling. Her hand slipped beneath the lapel of her blazer, fingers brushing the grip of her weapon — not drawn, but near.

The air around them felt dense. Drenched. Cold enough to cling to the skin.

Spencer followed, slower. The door closed behind him with a quiet thud, more final than it had any right to be. He slipped the GPS into the inner pocket of his coat, his fingers pale at the edges from how tight they gripped it. His eyes moved over the clearing with care — from the twisted vines along the base of the trees, to the rust-streaked pickup hunched by the treeline, to the warped wooden steps that led to the cabin.

Each one sagged with age, dark with moisture and furred in places with moss. The porch looked as if it would groan beneath a whisper of weight.

The clearing was still — painfully so.

No birdsong. No snap of twigs. Not even the distant hum of insects.

Just the soft rattle of the mesh screen door, its bottom corner torn, banging irregularly against the frame like a warning. The solid door behind it stood shut. 

Unmoved. Unreadable.

Faded paint curled from the panels, flaking like dry skin, as if the house was trying to peel itself away from whatever lingered behind it.

And above it all — the clouds pressed heavier. Storm-wet. Thunder rolled low and slow in the distance like something circling. Watching and waiting. 

Spencer stepped up beside her. Neither of them spoke.

But both of them felt it.

“Walter Massey?” Y/N called out, her tone firm but even, just loud enough to carry through the trees. “This is Agent Y/L/N with the FBI. I’m here with my partner, Dr. Spencer Reid. We just want to ask you a few questions.”

Nothing.

No footsteps creaking across old floorboards. No shadow shifting behind the warped lace of the curtains. 

No sound at all—except the wind.

It threaded through the trees like a murmured secret, brushing past the cabin with delicate, eerie intent. A breath against the siding. A whisper through the loose gutter. It rustled pine boughs and dead leaves on the porch in soft, spiraling motions—as if it knew something they didn’t. As if it had been waiting for this.

The mesh screen door swayed once, clicking faintly against the wood. Beyond it, the heavy main door stood silent and still, paint cracked in jagged lines like old scars. Just watching.

Spencer stepped up beside her, frowning as he scanned the shadowed windows. “Maybe he’s around back,” he said, though the uncertainty in his voice gave him away.

Y/N called out again, projecting just enough to reach through the stillness.

“Mr. Massey? We’re not here to arrest you. We just need to speak with you. If you’re inside, could you come to the door?”

Silence.

Not the kind that felt accidental.

The kind that felt chosen.

Y/N glanced at Spencer, then eased the screen door open with the back of her hand, careful not to smudge the handle. The hinges creaked softly, the sound swallowed by the mist-thick air.

Spencer stepped up beside her, eyes scanning the porch, the roofline, the stillness pressed into every crack of the old wood.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he murmured.

Y/N gave a small nod, more to herself than to him, her hand tightening instinctively around the grip of her gun.

With a sharp breath, she drew her weapon—fluid, practiced, no hesitation—but her posture shifted in a way Spencer rarely saw. Not just alert. Guarded. Protective.

She stepped in front of him before he could speak, placing her body squarely between him and the door. One hand briefly touched his chest—not forceful, just enough pressure to guide him back. Her fingers lingered there for a beat too long.

It wasn’t protocol. 

“I’ll take point,” she said, voice low and steady, but softer than usual. “You stay behind me.”

She didn’t turn to look at him, but she didn’t need to. The tension in her shoulders said it all. The subtle tremor in her breath. The way her body shifted like a shield between him and whatever was waiting inside.

She joked a lot. Always had.

But not now.

Now, she was dead quiet.

And she was ready to take the hit before it ever got to him.

Spencer opened his mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to offer something else—but the set of her jaw made him pause.

He just nodded—once, tightly. The motion small, but sure. There was a gravity to it. The kind that came from knowing there was no turning back.

His hand brushed against the fabric of her sleeve as he stepped forward, barely a touch—but enough to tether him to the moment, to her.

And then he followed.

Whatever was waiting inside the cabin had already started listening. There was a gravity to it. The kind that came from knowing there was no turning back.

Y/N stepped ahead, boots pressing softly into the damp wood of the porch, her body angled with trained precision. The mesh screen door creaked as she eased it further back, and in the same breath, her hand came up — steady, firm — guiding the barrel of her gun to the door’s edge.

The main door gave way with a low groan. Wood strained against rusted hinges as it swung open, slow and grudging, like the house itself was reluctant to let them in.

It wasn’t locked.

That alone rooted something cold and shapeless in the pit of her stomach — a sense that curled low and tight behind her ribs.

Spencer felt it too. He didn’t have to say it.

Cabins like this didn’t stay unlocked. Not in towns like Stillwater. Not with four people missing.

The door swung inward on a breath of cold air, and immediately, the smell hit her.

Pinewood, sharp and resinous—what should have been comforting—but laced now with something metallic and wet. The bitter, iron-wrought scent of something that had bled too long into the floorboards.

And beneath that, something older.

A rot that didn’t belong to nature. Stale carpet. Damp mold. The cloying, sour note of a refrigerator long left without power. It wrapped around them like old breath, like something exhaled by a house that hadn’t seen life in weeks—but still remembered the shape of it.

Y/N stepped inside first, every footfall deliberate. The floor creaked beneath her boots, the sound echoing too loud in a space that felt like it had been holding its breath.

The air was thick. Heavy. It clung to her coat, her skin, the back of her tongue. Wrong. Not empty or abandoned. Just waiting.

Y/N slipped through the doorway first, silent as a shadow, her weapon raised and steady. Her eyes swept left to right in quick, surgical passes, cataloguing the space in layers. The sharp angles of furniture. The thin shaft of gray light cutting through a crack in the boarded window. Dust spiraling in the beam like falling ash.

Her body stayed close to the wall, a breath away from the peeling paneling, boots placed with deliberate care on the worn floorboards to avoid giving herself away.

Spencer followed, just behind her—close enough to match her rhythm, but not close enough to disrupt her line of movement. His hand hovered near the grip of his firearm, fingers curled just shy of drawing it, every nerve thrumming with silent urgency. The weight of the weapon was grounding, familiar—but the air around him felt anything but. Cold. Pressurized. Like the storm outside had seeped in through the walls and settled beneath his skin. The air inside the cabin was colder than it had any right to be, clinging damply to his skin, to his throat. Like the house had its own lungs and was breathing around them.

A small table lay overturned just inside the entryway, its legs twisted at awkward angles like they’d been kicked or dropped. Two mugs lay beside it—one intact, the other shattered into a fan of ceramic shards, edges dulled by dust. Liquid long since dried had stained the floor beneath them a dark, reddish-brown. It wasn’t blood. It might’ve been tea. But it looked like a spill no one had cleaned up; like someone had planned to and then never got the chance.

Spencer crouched for a closer look, fingers tracing the uneven trail of footprints smeared into the dirt between the broken pieces.

“This wasn’t recent,” he whispered. His voice barely carried, but it pressed into Y/N’s spine all the same.

She didn’t answer. Just nodded once, jaw set tight.

They moved forward together—past the narrow hallway, where the faded wallpaper had begun to peel at the edges, curling like old parchment. The floor creaked beneath their weight, long and low, like something waking up beneath them.

They entered the den.

It was darker here. The light didn’t reach as far. The room felt sunken somehow, like the cabin had settled too deep into the earth. The ceiling sloped low above them, pressing down like a held breath.

Hunting gear lined the walls—bows, empty gun racks, a mounted buck’s head with glassy, dust-covered eyes. The fireplace beneath it was cold and lifeless, filled with half-burnt logs and ash long gone damp. A copper kettle sat off to the side, untouched.

Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust.

Except for one thing.

A single trail of muddy boot prints.

They cut across the wooden floor—messy, staggered, the pattern uneven. They led toward the far archway where the kitchen opened up, shadowed and still.

Spencer’s eyes tracked the prints. Something about the weight distribution was wrong. The left boot dragged just slightly. A limp?

Y/N moved ahead, muzzle of her gun rising with each slow step.

Then—

A crash. Not loud. Sharp. Sudden.

Metal against wood. The sound of something falling, something moving.

Then silence.

A birdshot of adrenaline spiked through Spencer’s chest. Y/N whipped her gun toward the sound, shoulders tight, finger ghosting the trigger.

They both froze.

In the stillness, every sound grew louder: the tick of something dripping in the next room, the groan of the wind outside, the faint electrical buzz of a dying bulb overhead.

Spencer’s breath caught.

Then—a door slammed open.

Hard.

The edge of it cracked into Y/N’s temple with a sickening thud, sending her stumbling backward into the wall. Her head snapped sideways, blood already welling where the wood had split her skin. The world tilted around her—sharp and white-hot—but she didn’t fall.

She didn’t even hesitate.

Her body jerked forward on instinct, staggering back into the hallway, gun half-raised, breath heaving, vision already blurring around the edges.

That’s when he came.

The figure burst from the bedroom like a wrecking force—tall, gaunt, clothes hanging loose over sharp shoulders, eyes blown wide with manic rage. A shotgun was clutched in both hands, its muzzle swinging like a compass needle toward chaos.

Y/N threw herself forward, arm reaching toward Spencer—

But she was a second too late.

The butt of the shotgun slammed into the side of Spencer’s head, full force, a brutal crack of bone on bone.

His body crumpled immediately, knees buckling. He collapsed in a heap beside her, eyes glassy, breath shuddering.

“Spence—!” Y/N shouted, the sound strangled by pain, voice cracking through the cabin like a whip, raw and full of alarm.

Her gun was up in a breath.

The motion was smooth—reflex, born from training and repetition—but what followed was anything but automatic.

The world sharpened around her. The air seemed to crystallize. Every sound pulled inward: the creak of wood beneath shifting weight, the faint tick of the cabin cooling in the silence, the whisper of breath between her teeth.

And then—Spencer, on the floor.

Still.

The sight knocked the air from her lungs.

Blood curled from the side of his head in a slow, serpentine trail — dark, too dark, in stark relief against the pale, fragile stretch of his skin. It traced the curve of his temple, threading through the fine strands of his hair before pooling at the edge of his jaw, where it soaked quietly into the collar of his shirt. The fabric was already turning crimson, blooming with it, blooming with him.

His lashes fluttered once.

Barely.

Then stilled again.

The room seemed to tilt. Or maybe that was her.

Her stomach dropped — a violent plunge, like the floor had disappeared beneath her feet. She could feel it then, the rise of something hot and nauseating in the back of her throat, clawing up as her eyes locked on the wound. It wasn’t just blood. It was his blood. Spencer’s.

And he wasn’t moving.

His face was slack — not peaceful, not asleep, just vacant. The faintest crease still lingered between his brows, like the pain had caught him mid-thought. There was something deeply wrong about it, about him lying there like that. Off-center. Unanchored. Dizzy, disoriented, even in stillness. Like someone had unplugged the world’s sharpest mind and left it flickering.

Her body locked down—every instinct bracing to protect, to react, to end this now.

Then the shotgun shifted.

The barrel snapped toward her chest with sudden, jolting force.

“Drop it!” the man barked, the words mangled and ragged—voice gone to gravel, each syllable trembling with something unstable. His lips curled back from his teeth, not in a snarl, but something worse—something uncertain, like he didn’t know if he was threatening or pleading.

His hands trembled around the shotgun stock—not from fear, but from how tightly he was clinging to control. The kind of trembling that came right before the trigger was pulled.

Y/N’s gaze didn’t waver.

Her arms held steady, the muzzle of her gun pointed square at his chest. Her breath slowed, deliberately measured, as if even the air between them might shift the balance.

She didn’t blink.

She took in everything: the angle of the barrel, the taut twitch of his jaw, the half-step he’d taken forward, the glint of something flickering in his eyes—resolve, maybe. Or desperation. There was no time. No room for fear. Only calculation. Only timing.

Her finger tightened over the trigger.

She could make the shot.

She was sure of it.

But Spencer was still down. And if she missed—if he flinched—if the recoil shifted his aim—

She didn’t lower the gun.

But she didn’t fire either.

The room held its breath with her.

The man shifted again—barely a step, but it was enough.

His boots scraped over the worn floorboards as he moved toward Spencer’s crumpled form, the barrel of the shotgun lowering, inch by inch, until it hovered just above Spencer’s head like a verdict already decided.

“One second longer,” the man growled, voice cracking like splintered wood, “and I’ll blow his fucking head off.”

Y/N didn’t move.

But something inside her shifted.

A full-body stillness snapped into place — not the poised quiet of control, but the rigid, sickened kind that hit when reality dropped too fast, too sharp. Her heart didn’t race. It slammed. Once. Hard. Then again. Every beat ringing in her ears like the tick of a detonator.

She had played this carefully, clinically — willing to risk herself, willing to bleed if it kept the attention off Spencer. She could take it. Had taken it. But this—

This was different.

Now it was him.

And the gun was angled down, close enough to his skull that she could see the reflection of blood in the barrel. Spencer lay curled against the warped floorboards, disoriented and dazed, his breath fogging faintly at the edge of the wood. His lashes fluttered. His mouth parted, like he was trying to speak but couldn’t find the thread of it. There was blood smeared along his hairline, drying now, catching in the curve of his ear and soaking down his collar. His pulse was there — visible, trembling in his throat. Too exposed. Too human.

The sight of it — him — nearly undid her.

Her whole body locked into place, a machine with too many variables flooding the system. Her brain calculated trajectories, angles, impact velocities. But no combination ended without risk to him. Every outcome cost him something— and that, she could not accept.

Her hands shook.

She could have made the shot if it were her life on the line. Could’ve gambled with her own ribs, her own skin. She’d taken worse. But not this. Not when it was his blood on the floor. Not when she’d promised — not him.

The weight of that promise settled in her arms like iron, and it took everything she had to keep from shaking apart beneath it.

Her throat burned. She swallowed against it.

And then, with a precision that felt like peeling skin from bone, she began to lower her weapon.

Inch by inch.

Slow.

Controlled.

Deliberate.

Her fingers ached as she loosened them from the grip. Her shoulders screamed with the effort it took to obey the moment’s demand.

Every cell in her body recoiled.

But she did it anyway.

“Alright,” Y/N said at last, her voice low, level—scraped clean of anything but clarity. Each word fell with weight, not surrender.

Her fingers loosened from the grip, slow and deliberate, knuckles pale as she uncurled them.

She didn’t drop the gun.

Instead, Y/N began to lower herself — inch by inch — until one knee touched the warped wooden floor. The boards creaked beneath her weight, the sound barely more than a breath. Her hands moved with careful precision, every motion telegraphed and measured.

She set the gun down flat on the floor. Not a toss. Not a surrender.

A choice.

The cold barrel met the wood with a muted clink. No ricochet. No chance of it firing by accident. Just the sound of something vital being set aside.

The silence that followed was cavernous.

But Y/N didn’t look at the weapon.

Her eyes stayed locked on his.

Unblinking. Unflinching.

Not begging. Not pleading.

Just there—steady and grounded in the storm of his breathing, reading every flicker in his grip, every tremor running down the barrel aimed squarely at her chest.

“Kick it away,” the man barked.

She didn’t hesitate.

She shifted her foot forward, slow enough not to startle him. The toe of her boot met the side of the pistol.

One push—measured, mechanical—and it scraped across the floorboards with a sound that felt too loud. Too final.

But her eyes never moved.

Not once.

He moved fast—faster than she anticipated, with a kind of jittery violence that didn’t follow logic, only impulse.

Before she could fully register it, his hand was on her—gripping her arm and yanking it behind her back, fingers digging in just above the elbow. The coarse scrape of rope unfurled from his belt with a harsh, leathery hiss.

She twisted against his grip, tried to shift her weight—anything to make it harder for him to drag her.

Her boot skidded against the floor.

She shoved backward once—elbow clipping his side, sharp and purposeful.

But the shotgun.

It was too close.

Even without looking, she knew it was hovering just to her left, the cold presence of it looming like a second heartbeat. Her brain echoed with the imagined sound of the blast. Too loud. Too final.

So she stilled.

Not from fear, but control.

She let him drag her toward the fireplace post, every muscle coiled and burning, her breath tight behind her ribs.

He slammed her back against the wood.

Her spine jolted.

Then came the rope—rough, thick, unyielding. It bit into her wrists as he yanked it tighter than he needed to, the fibers already cutting into raw skin.

Y/N clenched her jaw, head bowed slightly, refusing to make a sound.

But then—he cinched the last knot.

Too tight.

The pressure bit deep.

And before she could stop it—a small, involuntary whimper slipped past her lips.

It wasn’t loud.

But it was real.

Spencer flinched where he lay on the floor.

The unsub didn’t notice.

Or maybe he did—and liked it.

“You’re both just more of them,” the man spat, pacing in short, sharp bursts. “Spies. Liars. Think you’re gonna dig around in my head and tell me what I am.”

His voice cracked at the end—too high, too jagged, like the thoughts were unraveling faster than he could speak them. His eyes flicked between them with the wild precision of someone looking for betrayal in shadows.

Then he lunged straight for Spencer.

He grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up with violent force—fingers digging in, dragging him across the floor like dead weight.

Spencer groaned, a smear of blood trailing along his cheekbone like a brushstroke. His limbs lagged behind him—slack, dazed, his knees buckling as he was thrown down hard beside her.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“Don’t touch him,” she growled, low and raw.

There wasn’t room for rage. Only instinct.

But the man laughed—a high, manic sound, half-breath, half-breakdown. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Instead, he dropped to one knee and cinched the rope tighter around Spencer’s wrists—too tight, sharp enough to bite skin. Y/N jerked against her own bonds, but the rope held fast, burning against her raw skin.

She could hear Spencer's breathing now—shallow, wet, just inches from her.

The man stood again, chest heaving, eyes bright with something slick and poisonous.

Then—stillness.

He looked down at them, head tilted just slightly to the side, as if studying insects under glass.

“Let’s see what you’re really here for.”

Time moved differently inside the cabin.

Minutes passed like hours. The air hung heavy—thick with moisture and decay. It reeked of damp wood, mildew, and something more feral. Sweat. Fear. Old blood gone to rust. Each breath felt like swallowing the underside of a storm.

The ropes around Y/N’s wrists had long since burned their mark into her skin. Coarse and waterlogged, they bit into the delicate ridges of bone and tendon with each twitch of movement, the fibers soaked red where her skin had broken. Her fingers tingled—numb at the edges, aching down to the knuckles. She kept them still.

Beside her, Spencer sat slumped but conscious, his body curled slightly toward her. His head hung low, curls matted dark where blood had dried into them, crusting in uneven lines along his temple and jaw. A single streak of red had reached the collar of his shirt, staining it like a slow bloom. His breathing was shallow but even, lips parted just enough for each exhale to pass through. His lashes fluttered now and then—not from sleep, but from pain. Dizziness. That half-lost place between awareness and dark.

Across the room, the man paced in slow, uneven circuits—like an animal trapped in a cage of its own design. He hadn’t given a name. Not once. Just circled, muttered, barked at things neither of them could see. His footsteps creaked against the warped floorboards, syncopated by the occasional clatter of the shotgun being picked up, set down, picked up again. It never stayed far from his grip. Even when he spoke to the shadows, it was there—his anchor, his threat.

The windows were dark. Not because of nightfall, but because the storm still pressed against them in sheets, casting the room in the kind of gray that felt less like light and more like breath.

And then—Spencer’s voice. Quiet. Threadbare.

“What you’re experiencing—it’s not uncommon. Prolonged isolation can create patterns in the brain that reinforce a heightened sense of danger. It’s a survival response. You’re not crazy. Your mind is just trying to protect you.”

The man turned slowly.

Not with the casual movement of someone listening—but like a storm cloud gathering mass. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, pupils dilated so far they nearly swallowed the color. His breath dragged in through flared nostrils, ragged and wet, as if each inhale hurt. The barrel of the shotgun dipped slightly, but didn’t lower.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he hissed. His voice cracked halfway through, but it didn’t make him sound weak—only volatile.

Spencer stayed still. Perfectly still.

His eyes found the man’s, steady despite the pulse jackhammering behind his ribs.

“I think you’re scared,” he said softly. “And I think no one’s listened to you in a long time.”

Something shifted.

The man didn’t move, not visibly. But his shoulders dropped just enough to notice. His jaw flexed. One foot shifted back on the floorboard. The storm rumbled outside, low and distant, as if even the sky was holding its breath.

And Y/N—reading the moment like a fault line ready to split—spoke too. Her voice slid in beside Spencer’s, quiet but deliberate, threaded with caution and calm.

“We’re not here to take anything from you,” she said. “But the people who disappeared—”

“They were spies!” he snapped. The words broke out of him like shrapnel. “Government plants. They came to silence me. To bury me in my own house.”

The shotgun lifted a fraction. His hands shook with it. Not from hesitation, but from the force of his belief.

Spencer’s voice didn’t rise. If anything, it softened.

“You don’t have to hurt anyone else,” he said. “You’ve already proven you can outsmart all of them. You’ve stayed hidden for months. That takes skill. Foresight.”

For a heartbeat, the silence returned—tight, watchful.

Then the man exploded.

“Don’t patronize me!” he bellowed, the sound reverberating off the cabin walls like a gunshot. His body jerked forward, wild-eyed, the shotgun twitching like an extension of his nerves.

Y/N flinched—but barely. Her eyes flicked toward Spencer, the smallest movement, like a tether tightening between them. He didn’t speak again. Not yet. But his breath hitched, and Y/N could feel it—not just the air between them, but the weight of everything unspoken. 

The unsub had been pacing for minutes, muttering under his breath like the words were boiling over faster than he could contain them. His boots scuffed the warped floorboards in erratic steps, his fingers twitching at his sides. One hand dragged roughly along his arm—scratching, clawing—like there was something under his skin he couldn’t reach. Couldn’t dig out.

Y/N kept her gaze angled downward—not submissive, but steady. Controlled. Her breaths came in slow pulls through her nose, paced like clockwork. She was counting. The distance to the nearest window. The time between his steps. The angle of his shoulder when he turned.

And then, without meaning to, her eyes drifted sideways, toward him.

Spencer sat just inches away, his wrists still bound, shoulders drawn tight with tension. But it wasn’t that that made her stomach drop.

It was the blood.

A dried trail of it streaked along his temple, curling into his hairline—matted in soft, uneven strands. The edges of the gash were clotted now, crusted and angry red against the pale cast of his skin. His jaw was tight, lips parted just slightly, breathing carefully—like even that took effort.

His eyes weren’t on her. They were scanning the room with clinical precision, flicking from shadow to shadow, reading danger the way he read case files—quietly, methodically. But she saw the way his brows were pinched. The faint tremble in the line of his throat. The sharp, inward hold of his breath when the unsub moved too fast.

Her heart twisted at the sight of him—gentle and brilliant and so obviously in pain—and the ache that bloomed in her chest had nothing to do with the bruises blooming across her own head.

And everything to do with the blood on his skin.

The kind that shouldn’t have been there.

Not his.

Not ever.

Spencer sat still beside her, hands bound, blood still dried at his temple. His lips parted just slightly, not in fear—but focus. His eyes flicked toward the far wall, the boarded window, the crackling fireplace. Listening.

Beep.

Faint. Almost imperceptible beneath the restless creak of the old cabin and the wind pressing against the windows like a warning.

Beep… beep.

It wasn’t loud. No louder than a watch alarm. But in the silence that followed the shouting—in the dense, static-charged quiet—it may as well have been a scream.

The unsub froze mid-step.

His shoulders jerked to a halt, spine locking with an almost mechanical stiffness. His eyes snapped upward, scanning the room with twitchy, animalistic precision.

Then his head turned. Sharply.

“What the hell is that?”

The words came low, clipped, scraped raw at the edges with suspicion. Not curiosity—alarm. His gaze sharpened like a blade, eyes narrowing into slits as he started to pivot in place.

Y/N stiffened.

Not a flinch. Not a twitch. Just a subtle hardening of her frame, like a wire being pulled taut beneath her skin.

Her pulse stuttered once. Then leveled. But her mind was already racing—calculating how long it had been since the last team update, how close backup might be now, if the signal had already pinged—

Beep.

Spencer’s breath caught.

It was nearly silent—but she heard it. Felt it, even. The way his ribs expanded slightly beside her, the shallow edge of air slicing into lungs held too tight for too long.

Beep.

The sound was steady now.

A small, rhythmic pulse.

The unsub took a step backward, turning in a slow, tight circle—eyes scanning floor to ceiling, nostrils flared, the pipe still trembling in his grip.

Spencer stayed still.

Too still.

The tracker was close. Too close.

And they both knew it.

The green LED blinked softly beneath the hem of his coat pocket.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Like a countdown. Like the signal of rescue—or exposure.

Y/N’s breath ghosted across her lip. Barely a shift in her chest, but she felt it burn in her throat like static. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t dare turn toward the sound.

But the unsub heard it.

And worse—he understood it.

His eyes narrowed, head tilting with the eerie focus of a predator locking on. The shotgun rose a few inches, uncertain now—not who to point at, but what was coming. His jaw clenched, teeth bared just enough to show the ragged edge of molars grinding.

“Where’s that coming from?” he hissed. “What the hell is that?”

No one answered.

The storm outside raged harder, wind driving against the cabin in gusts that rattled the loose windowpanes and hissed beneath the warped doorframe. Rain lashed the roof in waves, a cold percussion over the mounting tension.

Y/N’s fingers flexed slowly in the ropes behind her back—blood slicking the coarse fibers where they bit into her skin.

She didn’t look at Spencer. But she felt him beside her. Breathing faster now.

The noise wasn’t loud. But it was loud enough.

A steady pulse, mechanical and unrelenting, threading through the cabin like a fuse being lit.

Rhythmic. Unmistakable.

Coming from somewhere on Spencer’s side—muffled beneath his coat or wedged between the folds of his satchel, but there all the same. A beacon. A countdown.

The unsub’s head snapped toward him.

His eyes went wide—too wide.

The whites stark in the dim cabin light, the pupils blown and darting. Something behind them gave way, cracked clean down the middle. That dangerous shift from suspicion to certainty. From unease to revelation.

“You’re tagged,” he spat. 

A whisper at first—horrified. Then louder, venomous, full of rage: “You sons of bitches—you led them here.”

Y/N didn’t breathe.

Spencer froze, spine rigid, his limbs still sluggish from blood loss and shock—but his gaze locked on the man.

The unsub moved like lightning after a coil—storming toward the fireplace, shoving aside a battered chair and knocking over a rusted floor lamp in the process. The bulb burst in a brittle flash—shards of glass scattering across the warped floorboards with the sharp crack of splintered light.

Sparks flashed, brief and bright, then vanished.

His boots crushed the debris beneath him as he spun back toward them, shotgun raised, his breath sawing in and out in uneven gasps. Every step vibrated the floor like a war drum. His finger tightened on the trigger—his face carved into something raw and volcanic.

Y/N opened her mouth—tried to intercept, to redirect, to deflect him back toward her—

But it was too late.

He lunged, grabbing Spencer by the front of his coat and yanking him forward with a violence that cracked through the air like a snapped bone. Spencer’s breath left him in a choked sound—sharp, involuntary—as his body pitched forward under the unsub’s grip, knees scraping the wood.

Then came the hands—rough, frantic, clawing through layers of fabric like a man possessed. Fingers tearing at the buttons, wrenching open the coat with jerking movements, searching for proof with the blind desperation of someone who already knew what he’d find.

Y/N strained against the ropes, breath caught behind her teeth, her wrists burning against the binding.

And then—

He found it.

A small black device, tucked just inside the inner lining. No bigger than a matchbox. Sleek. Silent. The unsub ripped it free, holding it up in a trembling hand.

It blinked.

Once. Green.

Steady. Alive.

A heartbeat in plastic casing.

Hope, caught in circuitry.

The unsub stared at it like it had just condemned him—like it had always been there, whispering in the dark, waiting to betray him. His breathing hitched, deepened, then turned ragged, fury igniting behind his eyes like fuel to flame.

“You think you can track me?” he hissed, his voice trembling with rage and disbelief. His grip tightened on Spencer’s collar. “You think you’re smarter than me?”

The GPS blinked again.

And somewhere in the woods beyond the cabin, help was coming.

But inside—

Inside, time had just started ticking faster.

Beep.

The unsub stared at the device—frozen, pupils blown wide, chest heaving like a cornered animal.

Then, without warning, the fury broke loose.

He snarled—a guttural, full-body sound that ripped up from somewhere beneath language, raw and unfiltered, more beast than man—and in the same motion, hurled the GPS unit to the floor. It hit the boards with a sharp crack, the plastic casing skidding across the grain and coming to rest by Y/N’s boot.

His foot came down a second later—hard—a stomping blow that sent a sickening crunch through the room. Sparks shot out in jagged arcs, tiny bursts of light skittering like electric fireflies into the shadows beneath the table, the edges of the walls.

The blinking stopped.

So did everything else.

The cabin fell still in the aftermath, as if recoiling—its very air taut with held breath, the storm outside now muffled by the weight of what had just been destroyed. Smoke curled faintly from the shattered casing, wires frayed and twitching like exposed nerves.

Spencer didn’t move. Y/N didn’t breathe.

It hit like a drop in barometric pressure—

the tilt in the unsub’s posture, 

the wild shine in his eyes,

the shift from suspicion to certainty to rage.

“You lying little shit.”

The words burst from him like a snapped wire.

Spencer’s mouth parted—instinct, an attempt at reason, at reach—but nothing came. No room for logic. No space for calm. Just static behind his ribs.

The man’s hand shot out, snatching a rust-flecked pipe from the clutter near the hearth—three feet of old steel, cold and cruel in his grip. His fingers twitched as he raised it, knuckles pale, tendons straining like they wanted to break free from the skin.

“You came here wired,” he spat, his voice cracking at the edges. “You fed them my location. You think you can dissect me? Turn me into a case file? Break me down into numbers and symptoms and—notes?”

His voice rose with every word, nearly feral now. Each syllable was jagged with betrayal. The pipe lifted—shoulder drawn back, locked and ready.

Spencer didn’t flinch.

He tensed instead, a small shift in his spine, a tilt of his head—not from fear, but readiness. Bracing not for pain, but for the rhythm of it, the moment to move, to shield.

But before the blow could fall—

“It was me.”

Her voice cut through the room like a scalpel.

Sharp. Deliberate. A clean slice through the thick, rancid air that hung heavy with sweat, dust, and old wood smoke.

The unsub froze—mid-motion, mid-breath—the rusted pipe still raised high in his trembling grip. His chest heaved under the weight of adrenaline, sweat painting dark patches across his collar. His eyes, rimmed red and ringed in sleepless mania, flicked between the two of them—Spencer on the floor, unmoving, and Y/N upright, bloody, but burning steady.

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

She held his gaze with the precision of a knife thrower lining up a kill shot. Her wrists bled where the rope bit into raw skin, her breath shaky from pain—but her posture never wavered.

And then—a chuckle.

Low. Dry. The kind of sound that slipped from the edge of a cracked smile—not amused, but knowing. Cold. Calculated.

She leaned forward slightly, enough to shift the tension in the room.

“You want the truth?” she said, her voice now wrapped in something quieter. Meaner. Intentional. “You’re right. You were always right.”

The unsub’s grip flexed around the pipe. He twitched—not from fear, but recognition.

“I’m the one they sent,” she continued, tone sinking deeper, silk over steel. “Not him.”

She jerked her chin toward Spencer without looking. Didn’t dare. Couldn’t see the expression on his face—the confusion, the betrayal, the heartbreak—because if she did, she’d fall apart.

“The kid?” Her voice dripped disdain. “He’s nothing. Still green. He’s read the textbooks but he hasn’t seen the dirt under the floorboards yet. He thinks we’re here to help you.”

She let out another soft, bitter laugh. “That’s cute, isn’t it?”

Spencer stirred beside her. His breathing hitched. But she didn’t look. Couldn’t. She was too deep now—buried in it. And this wasn’t about him. Not right now. This was survival. This was the only hand she had left to play.

“I’ve been inside this operation for weeks,” she said. “Studying your patterns. Cross-referencing your routines, your history, your trauma. I’ve read your medical records. Your military discharge. I’ve talked to the people who used to know you—before.”

She tilted her head, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving the unsub’s face.

“Before you woke up.”

He was breathing faster now. Mouth slightly parted. Sweat trickling down the side of his temple, collecting in the notch of his jaw. His eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t need to. He was locked on her.

“Everything you’ve been feeling? The eyes? The pressure? The sense that you’re being dissected in real time?”

Her voice dropped.

“That’s me.”

His fingers twitched. His grip on the pipe slipped a little before snapping back tighter than before.

“I was sent to infiltrate. Quietly. Completely. Not to arrest you. To study you. To peel you open. Reduce you to variables. Numbers. Labels. Paranoid. Unstable. Prone to violence.”

He twitched again. A sick little shiver of something that looked far too close to understanding.

“I was meant to map your entire psyche without you ever knowing,” she said. “To catalog your impulses, your threats, your breaking points. Not just to control you—but to reconstruct you.”

Another beat. Her voice dipped, softer now. Like a lullaby made of glass shards.

“We build the cage from the inside.”

And she smiled.

Not wide. Not cruel.

Just enough to make him believe it.

The unsub staggered back—just half a step, but it landed like a blow. As if her words had struck something inside his chest, something hollow and long-rotting, and rattled it hard enough to sound.

The pipe in his hand dipped slightly.

Spencer was staring at her now—wide-eyed, frozen, a single streak of dried blood tracking toward the edge of his jaw. He didn’t look dazed anymore. He looked like he was witnessing a slow-motion train crash with someone he loved still standing on the tracks.

“Y/N—” he choked out, voice cracked and raw at the edges.

But she cut him off. Fast. Sharp. Surgical.

“I made the call to come here,” she said, and her tone had changed again—now clinical, ruthless, the voice of someone who’d been hiding in plain sight. “I brought him with me because no one looks twice at the rookie. That’s how I got so close.”

The unsub’s breath hitched. The kind of breath you take before deciding to kill someone.

Y/N pressed forward.

“While he asked you polite questions, I was the one watching. Recording. Cataloging every blink, every tremor, every tell. The way your hand twitched when we said the word ‘discharge.’ The way your pupils shrank when I stepped too close.”

The unsub’s fingers flexed around the pipe—bone-white and twitching, the metal trembling just slightly in his grip.

His face contorted. Slowly. Not in confusion. Not in disbelief.

But in recognition.

Like something had finally snapped into place.

“You lied to me,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. But it held teeth. The kind of whisper that precedes a scream.

Y/N nodded once. Slow. Deliberate.

“Every word.”

The room shifted around them. The air grew heavier. The shadows deeper. The hunter had found his traitor—and now, the line between predator and prey was gone.

His jaw clenched hard enough to tick. His nostrils flared. He blinked once—a muscle twitch of betrayal—and then something darker flooded his eyes.

Rage.

“So you admit it,” he spat.

“I do.”

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t tremble.

Didn’t look at Spencer—not even for a second.

“I told them I’d draw you out,” she said. “Told them I could build the perfect bait. I designed the plan. I volunteered to come in first. And I brought him with me to play innocent, so you’d never look twice at me.”

The man stared at her like she’d just changed form—like every feature of her face was shifting into something monstrous, into the villain he’d been waiting for all along. The hand holding the pipe twitched again. The muscles in his arm drew taut.

He saw her now.

Not as someone in his house.

But as the one who’d built the trap.

And walked in willingly.

And Spencer—God, he knew.

Knew exactly what she was doing.

He could see it—unfolding in real time, like one of those impossibly slow Rube Goldberg machines, every gear turning, every trigger rigged, every step more dangerous than the last. Y/N wasn’t just improvising. She was sacrificing. Building the narrative. Crafting the role she knew he’d buy.

The villain. The infiltrator. The enemy.

Spencer’s heart thudded so loud it drowned out everything else. Not from the pain in his temple, not from the rope biting into his wrists—but from the sheer, gut-wrenching certainty of it.

She was painting a target on herself.

Not just with words—but with the precision of someone who knew exactly where to stand so that when the shot came, it would hit her and not him.

And he couldn’t stop it.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t reach for her. Couldn’t say her name the way he wanted to—not the warning, not the plea, but the real way. The way that meant don’t do this. Please.

His eyes flicked over her—sweat at her hairline, blood dry, hands trembling just barely where they rested behind her. But her face?

Stone.

The kind of stillness that came just before collapse. The kind that broke you from the inside out.

He felt sick.

Because Spencer knew this wasn’t just a bluff.

She wasn’t just buying time. She was making a deal. And she hadn’t yet figured out how she was going to get out of it.

The unsub’s knuckles tightened on the pipe.

And this time, he turned toward her.

The unsub stood in front of her, hovering like a storm about to break. His chest heaved, his breath fast and uneven, the sound wet at the edges—like he was choking on fury. His eyes shimmered, bloodshot and wide, and behind them was nothing but chaos: betrayal, humiliation, the raw ache of someone who believed he’d finally uncovered the truth—and wanted someone to bleed for it.

Y/N didn’t flinch.

She lifted her chin. Her wrists still burned from the rope, the skin there already raw, but she sat taller. Straighter. Not defiant— but anchored. She wasn’t trying to fight him. She was trying to pull him in. Away from Spencer. Away from anyone who couldn’t take what was coming.

“You want to dissect me?” the unsub hissed, spittle catching in the corner of his mouth. “You want to peel me open and write me down like some—some experiment?”

Y/N’s throat was bone-dry. Her breath felt thin. But her eyes didn’t waver.

“Yes,” she said.

The pipe arced through the air like lightning.

The first blow cracked across her ribs.

A sickening thud—deep and solid, metal against bone—and it knocked the air from her lungs like she’d been punched by the sky. Her body snapped sideways, collapsing onto her hip, rope barely catching her before she hit the floor completely. The sound that left her mouth wasn’t a scream. It was sharper. Shorter. Like breath torn in half.

Spencer’s voice broke behind her, sharp and helpless. “Stop—!”

Y/N didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. She didn’t risk shifting her gaze or moving even an inch toward him—didn’t dare let the unsub sense where Spencer’s voice had come from.

She kept her eyes locked on the man in front of her. Kept the weight of his rage squarely on her shoulders.

“It’s nothing,” Y/N gasped, her voice splintered at the edges like cracked porcelain.

The words weren’t for him—not really.

But they were said loud enough to reach the unsub, to thread into the air like a challenge. Flat. Dismissive. Designed to taunt.

And yet, there was something beneath it. A note of softness buried inside the brokenness—so subtle only Spencer would catch it.

She glanced at him. Just once. Barely more than a flicker. But it was there. Not a cry for help. Maybe an apology.

A warning. A reassurance. Don’t move. Don’t speak. I’m still here. Let me do this.

Spencer's throat constricted. He couldn’t breathe. His whole body screamed to reach for her, to throw himself between them, but he stayed frozen—because she was protecting him, even now, even like this.

The unsub didn’t catch the shift.

He was too deep in it now—

Too tangled in the scent of blood and sweat, in the heat of betrayal clinging to his skin like a second layer.

His gaze flicked to Spencer again—not with doubt, but with a kind of furious clarity. A moment of recognition between predator and prey.

“You see?” he rasped, voice hoarse and shaking with conviction. “She used you. Just like they all do.”

Spencer didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But his jaw twitched. His fingers curled slightly where they’d been slack.

“She’s one of them,” the man hissed, his eyes blazing now. “Wrapped you around her finger so you wouldn’t see it. Made you feel safe. Needed. Like you mattered.”

He took a step closer. The pipe shook in his grip.

“But it was a lie. And now you brought them to me.”

His head cocked sharply to the side, a grotesque mimicry of sympathy. “I’ll solve it for both of us,” he whispered, too calm now. Too sure. “You don’t have to suffer anymore. Neither of us do.”

His gaze was locked on Spencer—but his knuckles flexed around the pipe as he turned toward Y/N.

“They’re the poison,” he spat. “She’s the worst of them.”

He looked at her like he was seeing something grotesque and glorious all at once.

And then—

The rage twisted. Broke open.

With a jagged, animal sound caught somewhere between a sob and a snarl, the unsub howled and wrenched the pipe backward—

Only to throw it.

The metal spun from his hand, sailing across the room in a flash of rust and fury. It struck the floor with a brutal, echoing clang, the sound ricocheting off the cabin walls like a gunshot. The pipe rolled once, twice—then stilled in the dust.

Not mercy.

Not remorse.

Just escalation.

His shoulders rose and fell like a wave crashing, chest heaving with the strain of restraint. He ran a shaking hand down his face, smearing sweat and blood together, jaw locked tight like he was chewing on bone.

“No,” he growled, low and guttural, voice thick with the weight of too many nights spent talking to ghosts. “That’s too easy.”

He took a step forward.

Then another towards her.

“I want it real,” he seethed. “I want to look in your eyes and see it. I want you to know what it’s like—to feel hunted. Dissected. Reduced.”

His voice rose with each word, fraying at the edges.

“You think you’re clever. You think I didn’t see it. But I saw you the second you walked in.”

Spencer shifted beside her—slow, deliberate—but didn’t speak. He knew. Any wrong sound, any motion now could tip this into blood.

Y/N didn’t move either.

But her pulse thundered in her throat.

The unsub’s boots thudded against the warped floorboards, closing the space between them inch by inch. His hands trembled at his sides, fingers twitching like they still held the weapon.

“I want you to beg,” he said. “Not for you. For him. So he knows what you really are before it’s too late.”

His breath was ragged. Wild.

And his eyes—locked on hers—were lit with the glow of delusion, of violence waiting for permission.

Y/N didn���t have time to move.

His fist came down hard across her jaw.

Her head snapped sideways, a sharp gasp breaking from her throat as blood flew in an arc across the floor. Her body recoiled instinctively, but she had nowhere to go—arms bound, knees failing.

Another hit.

Knuckles against cheekbone.

Crack.

She didn’t cry out this time. Just a low, wet sound from deep in her chest. One eye squeezed shut. The other barely tracked.

Spencer shouted her name—screamed it—but she couldn’t look at him.

The next blow hit her temple, dazing her. Her limbs jerked once, then sagged, and she started to tip—eyes fluttering.

He grabbed her by the front of her shirt and hauled her up, letting her head loll against his shoulder for a split second before slamming her back down against the post.

She choked on her own breath. Blood pooled in the corner of her mouth.

Still, she tried to speak. Tried to draw his focus back—keep him off Spencer.

“Go ahead,” she gasped, voice shredded. “You’ve already lost.”

Spencer’s voice cracked wide open. “Stop! You’re going to kill her!”

“I’m supposed to!” the unsub roared. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know how this ends?”

He wiped his knuckles, hands shaking, and reached for the knife on the table.

“No—no—” Spencer’s voice rose, frantic now. “Listen to me, just—just wait—”

But the unsub was already behind Y/N, cutting the ties loose with the knife. 

She hit the floor hard, shoulder slamming into the boards, the air knocked from her lungs in a sharp wheeze. Blood was smeared across her chin, a glint of it now soaking into the collar of her shirt. Her arms shook as she tried to push herself up.

The unsub stood over her, chest rising and falling with erratic, animal rhythm. He saw the flicker of her hand as she reached—slow, shaky—toward the knife that had fallen nearby during the struggle. Fingers grazed the hilt.

He kicked it away.

Hard.

The blade skidded across the floor and disappeared under the edge of a cabinet.

Y/N didn’t react fast enough to hide the effort.

He saw it and laughed. It was a jagged, broken sound—half snarl, half thrill. Then he stepped forward and crushed her hand beneath his boot.

Y/N’s cry was small and raw—closer to a breath than a scream. Her eyes squeezed shut. Her other hand curled into the floor.

Spencer strained against the ropes again, his voice hoarse with panic. “Don’t touch her!”

The unsub didn’t even glance back.

He knelt.

Slowly. Like he was savoring it.

He flipped her over, one knee pressed into Y/N’s stomach as he leaned forward, one hand pinning her shoulder down, the other hovering just over her throat.

“I want to see it,” he murmured. “The moment you realize you’re not the one in control anymore.”

Y/N coughed—barely able to lift her head. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts now. Each one sounded like it scraped the inside of her chest.

Then his hand wrapped around her throat, and squeezed. 

She clawed at his arm, both hands wrapping around his wrist, trying to pry him off, her grip slick with sweat and trembling with effort.

A low, pained sound escaped her throat—part snarl, part choke—as she gritted her teeth and fought back, muscles straining against the weight of him. She twisted beneath his grip, her nails biting into his skin, but he only squeezed harder, knuckles white, lips pulled back in something that might’ve been a grin or a grimace.

Spencer’s mind was racing. Every second like a blade in his chest. Every flash of her body jerking beneath the unsub’s grip chiseled deeper into him.

“Stop!” Spencer shouted, voice raw. “Hey—look at me!”

The unsub didn’t flinch. His grip only tightened.

Y/N’s body arched slightly beneath the pressure, her fingers still scrabbling against his arm, trying to peel his hand away from her throat.

Do something. Think. Think, think, think—

And then—

He found it.

A fracture in the man’s mind. A mirror.

Spencer’s voice dropped an octave, fast and sharp now, like the sound itself might wedge into the fracture. “You were right. You were right, okay?”

The unsub didn’t stop—but his grip faltered. Fractionally.

Spencer lunged toward that moment like it was oxygen.

“You knew they were watching you. You knew they were lying. That they wanted to control you, label you, shut you up. But you were smarter than them. That’s why you’re still here. You saw the truth and no one believed you, and you made it anyway.”

Y/N gasped—one desperate breath into her bruised lungs—and coughed, chest heaving.

The unsub’s hand wavered. Confusion clouded his eyes.

Spencer’s words poured out now, urgent and unrelenting. “You didn’t lose it. You adapted. You survived. You outmaneuvered everyone trying to cage you. That’s not a breakdown. That’s brilliance. That’s strength.”

The fingers at Y/N’s throat loosened. Barely—but enough.

Spencer’s voice softened, but the tempo stayed fast. Intent. Begging. Calculating. Focused.

“Don’t give them what they expect,” he breathed. “Don’t let them turn you into the thing they’re afraid of. You’re better than that. You know you are. Don’t let your story end in their headlines. Don’t become the monster they want to write about.”

Y/N coughed again—sharp, alive—and Spencer’s heart crashed against his ribs like it wanted out of his chest.

The unsub’s shoulders dropped. Just an inch.

Silence.

The unsub’s breathing hitched.

His hands fell away.

And just then—the door exploded open.

Boots stormed the cabin.

Voices shouting.

The unsub turned, disoriented—eyes wild, breath coming in short, confused bursts as the front door burst open in a hail of shouting and boots.

But he didn’t even have time to reach for the shotgun.

Morgan was on him in an instant.

Not tactical, not measured, but angry.

He slammed into the unsub like a wrecking ball, driving him back with a crash that shook the floor. They hit the boards hard—shoulder to ribs, elbow to throat—Morgan pinning him down with every ounce of fury in his body.

“You son of a bitch!” he roared, his voice pure, guttural violence.

His fist cracked against the unsub’s jaw once—twice—before Hotch grabbed him from behind, pulling him back.

“Morgan!” Hotch barked. “That’s enough!”

But Morgan’s eyes were locked on the blood smeared across the floor—on Y/N, curled on her side near the fireplace, gasping.

Her throat was mottled red, fingerprints blooming dark against her skin, and her face—her cheekbone already purple and raw, lips split.

She coughed again, ragged and wet, and blinked through the sting of light and dust as boots thundered toward her.

Rossi dropped to his knees beside her. “Y/N,” he said, voice taut. “Are you—can you hear me?”

Her hand wavered slightly, lifting from the floor with a tremble that shook down her whole arm. And then—miraculously, impossibly—she gave him a shaky thumbs up.

“Madonna santa,” Rossi muttered, relief crumpling across his face. 

Morgan was still breathing hard, knuckles white, even as the rest of the team moved in—cuffs, weapons, orders flying like a storm around them.

“You don’t touch her,” he spat, voice shaking as the unsub was hauled to his knees. “You don’t get to touch her.”

And then he was on his feet, already rushing to her side.

Hotch’s voice echoed like thunder. “CLEAR!”

But Spencer barely heard it.

He was already crawling across the floor, knees scraping wood slick with blood, hands shaking as he pulled himself toward her.

“Y/N,” he choked out.

She was curled on her side near the hearth, one hand limp across her stomach, the other barely twitching. Her body looked too small, too still. Blood matted her hair, smeared across her jaw, soaking into the collar of her shirt. Her breathing was shallow—thin—but there.

“Y/N,” he said again, softer now, breath catching.

His hands hovered just inches above her. He didn’t know where to touch—what not to hurt.

She turned her head slowly, her face a map of pain and resilience. A small, broken smile curled at the corner of her mouth, tugging against dried blood.

“Still here,” she rasped, trying to catch her breath, voice barely above a whisper. “Told you it was nothing.”

And then her eyes fluttered shut—not from unconsciousness, but relief. Like she finally believed she was safe.

Spencer’s chest caved inward, his hand finally settling gently against her shoulder.

“Stay with me,” he murmured. “Please.”

A pair of hands touched his arm.

JJ.

“Spence—Spencer, you’re bleeding. Let us—”

He shook his head without looking at her.

“I’m fine. Help her.”

Emily dropped to her knees beside JJ, composure cracking the moment she saw her.

“God—Y/N,” she breathed, her voice tight with panic she didn’t bother to hide. Her hands hovered over the bruises, the blood, the torn fabric, unsure where to touch without making it worse. Her eyes flicked rapidly from Y/N’s face to her ribs to the blood trailing down her temple, cataloging everything, but none of it fast enough.

“Talk to me, okay? Just—keep talking.”

But Morgan was already there too, hitting the floor hard on the other side of her, breath still ragged from the fight, jaw clenched like he wanted to throw another punch.

He didn’t say anything at first.

He just looked at her.

Then he reached out, gently brushing a matted strand of hair from her face with the back of his knuckle—fingers trembling.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly. “You’re okay now. We’ve got you.”

But Spencer never let go of her hand.

Her voice was the first thing to break the silence.

“Well,” Y/N croaked, barely above a whisper, “that went great.”

Spencer let out a sound that hitched in his throat — somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

She winced as she tried to push herself up, breath catching sharply in her throat. “Oof—okay, okay, maybe I should’ve opened with a knock-knock joke instead.”

“Y/N—don’t,” Morgan muttered, crouched beside her, one arm braced behind her back to steady her as she shifted upright. “You’re barely standing.”

“I’m hilarious,” she argued through grit teeth, her voice rough with blood and pride. “You’re just not in the mood.”

“Damn right I’m not,” Emily snapped gently, crouching in front of her, eyes wide with worry that she didn’t bother to hide. “You look like you went twelve rounds with a semi. Sit your ass down.”

Y/N tried to grin. Failed. Winced instead.

But she stayed upright. Just to prove she could.

Emily shook her head, but her eyes shone. “You scare the hell out of me, you know that?”

“Mutual,” Y/N rasped, and finally let her weight rest back into Morgan’s arm.

Spencer moved in quickly, his hands gentle but firm as he helped guide her into a seated position. “You shouldn’t move yet.”

She glanced at him, eyes still glassy, one brow arching faintly. “If I wait for your approval, I’ll die waiting instead.”

Morgan huffed—less annoyed, more relieved.

Spencer didn’t argue. He simply shifted to support her weight as she slowly—agonizingly—got to her feet. She swayed, hissed, nearly buckled again, but he caught her. Both arms steady around her as he drew her into his side.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back.

The air outside hit like a wall.

Cold, wet, alive with stormlight. It smelled like moss and mud and gunmetal, and Spencer didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until it stung his lungs on the way in.

Behind them, the cabin was alive with noise. Paramedics rushed past. JJ gave orders into her radio. The unsub writhed on the ground beneath the knee of a state trooper, snarling, face twisted, voice hoarse from screaming.

“You don’t know what they do,” he shouted after them. “You don’t know!”

Y/N flinched slightly at the sound, but didn’t look back. Spencer angled his body in front of hers, shielding her from the view.

She let him.

Morgan followed close behind, jaw tight, eyes still burning. “Let him scream,” he muttered. “He’s got nothing left.”

The ambulance came into view—doors open, floodlights painting everything in harsh yellow. Emily waited by the entrance, but her face softened when she saw Y/N walking under her own strength.

Barely. But still.

Spencer helped her up the step, one arm still wrapped firmly around her.

“You’re okay,” he murmured again, more to himself than to her.

“I know.”

“Almost there,” he murmured, voice barely audible above the wind.

Y/N gave a rough, rattling chuckle. “You said that five steps ago.”

He looked down at her—at the blood dried in the corner of her mouth, the bruises blossoming along her jaw, the torn skin on her knuckles—and felt something fracture in his chest again.

“You shouldn’t be talking.”

“I’ve earned the right,” she rasped. “Pretty sure I just out-profiled you.”

Spencer huffed, incredulous. “You’re making jokes?”

“You’re the one who talked a man off my windpipe with behavioral theory. We’re even.”

Her knees buckled suddenly. Spencer caught her with a sharp inhale, adjusting his grip and pulling her tighter against his side. She didn’t fight it—just leaned in, forehead briefly pressing against his shoulder, blood smudging the fabric of his coat.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

“Know you do.”

The ambulance doors were open now, floodlights casting harsh gold light over the clearing. JJ ran toward them first, her eyes wide with horror when she saw the state of them both—but mostly Y/N.

The paramedics helped ease her onto the gurney, moving fast but careful. Spencer started to step back, but her hand caught his.

“Don’t go far,” she said, her voice going soft now. “I don’t want to wake up alone.”

He squeezed her fingers gently. “I won’t.”

And as the ambulance doors closed — sealing her from view with a dull metallic finality — Spencer remained frozen in place.

Rain streaked down his face in thin, icy threads, soaking through his shirt and coat until the fabric clung to him like a second skin. His curls lay plastered to his forehead, water dripping steadily from his lashes, from the sharp line of his jaw. The cut on his temple had gone from a sharp burn to a dull throb, blood mingling with rain and trailing down the side of his face in a diluted red smear.

The paramedics circled him now, gloved hands brushing over his injuries with clinical care — gentle, practiced — but he barely registered them. The world felt muffled, as if the storm had pulled a veil over everything. All he could hear was the sound of her voice echoing in his mind, hollow and brave and unbearably steady:

It’s okay. I can take it.

He hadn’t believed her — not really. Not in the way she meant it. And now the weight of that moment sat like stone in his chest, pressing against his ribs, caught somewhere between the cracked floorboards of that cabin and the way her eyes had locked onto his. Not pleading. Not scared. Just herself. Fierce and unwavering and hurt. So deeply hurt.

Spencer blinked, slow and stinging, and for a heartbeat he thought he could still feel her fingers curled around his, warm and trembling, as she told him not to go far.

His heart hadn’t moved since.

It was still there — with her — wherever they were taking her now.

And for the first time since it all began, he realized: 

She had taken it. 

But he hadn’t.

Not really.

The apartment was dark when he stepped inside.

Not silent — the rain still fell against the windows in a steady whisper, and the old radiator creaked with every shift in temperature. But still, it felt like stepping into a vacuum. Like his body hadn’t caught up with him yet. Like a part of him was still in that cabin, still on the floor, watching her bleed.

He dropped his go-bag by the door and stood there for a long time, wet curls dripping onto the hardwood. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Not badly, just enough that he noticed. Enough that he wrapped them around a mug he didn’t remember filling and stared into space.

He didn’t even hear the knock at first.

Just the rhythm — soft, then urgent. Three beats. A pause. Two more. Like she didn’t want to wake the neighbors, but she couldn’t not be there.

Spencer crossed the room in a daze. When he opened the door—

She was standing there.

Coat wrapped tight around her. Hair pulled back but messy, the bandage above her temple visible under the porch light. She looked small. Pale. But she was on her feet.

He stared at her for a heartbeat too long. 

Then stepped aside without a word and let her in.

Spencer took her coat carefully—more gently than she expected. Like she might break if he touched her wrong. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, lowering herself onto the edge of his couch with a hiss between her teeth. “You’re gonna make me think I actually look as bad as I feel.”

He didn’t answer. Just folded her coat neatly over the armrest and crouched down in front of her, eyes scanning her face like he could take inventory of every bruise, every cut.

Before he could speak, she reached out—fingers brushing his jaw, then cradling the side of his face with both hands, steady and careful. Her thumbs skimmed just beneath his cheekbones as her eyes flicked up to the angry stitches near his temple, expression darkening with concern.

“Spence,” she said, voice low and earnest. “How do they feel?”

He blinked, startled slightly by the question—by the way she always noticed, even when she was the one who nearly didn’t make it out. 

“Sore,” he admitted quietly. “But manageable.”

Her brow pinched as her thumb hovered just shy of the wound, like she could soothe it just by being near.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because if they botched it, I’m filing a complaint.”

He huffed a faint laugh. But his eyes never left hers.

She glanced down at herself — the clean bandages wrapped snug around her hands, pale against the faint shadow of bruises blooming at her wrists. The ache in her ribs pulled with every breath, dulled by medication but still present, a quiet reminder. Then she looked back up at him, her smile crooked and dry.

“I mean, it’s not my best look,” she said. “But I’ve definitely worn worse on surveillance gigs. Remember that one time Garcia put me in a wig and said I looked like a discount Loretta Lynn?”

Spencer blinked. His mouth opened, then closed again. He looked like he wanted to laugh, but couldn’t remember how.

She nudged his knee gently with her hand. “Come on, Spence. I’m okay. See? Talking. Breathing. Being obnoxious.”

“You’re not okay.” His voice came out quiet, hoarse. “You were—he was—”

She cut him off gently. “You were there. I know.”

A pause. She softened.

“But you were also the reason I got to walk out.” She reached out, brushed her fingers lightly across his wrist. “So maybe I’m not as okay as I usually am. But I’m still here. That counts for something, right?”

He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” he whispered.

Y/N’s smile faded. Just a little.

Then, with a lopsided grin: “Are you kidding? After all that? You really think I’d let some backwoods psycho have the last word?”

He huffed out a laugh. It sounded broken. Real.

“Besides,” she added, settling back into the couch with a wince, “I like your couch too much to die. I mean—this thing is weirdly comfortable, right?”

Spencer looked at her like she was made of glass and gravity and everything that could undo him. But he smiled.

And for the first time all night, she knew he believed her.

The apartment hummed quietly around them — the radiator ticking, the rain soft against the windows. Spencer moved to sit beside her on the couch, but not too close. Just near enough that their knees touched lightly, unspoken reassurance pulsing in that one point of contact.

Y/N leaned her head back against the cushions. Eyes closed. Breathing slow.

Then, without opening her eyes:

“You’re doing that thing again.”

Spencer looked over. “What thing?”

She cracked one eye open and gave him a look. “The thing where you spiral quietly and blame yourself for everything within a hundred-mile radius.”

“I’m not—”

“Spencer,” she cut in, gentle but firm. “Don’t lie to me. Especially not when I look like this.”

He swallowed hard, gaze dragging up despite himself.

The bruises along her cheekbone had deepened into dusk-colored blooms — stark against the bandage at her temple. A fainter one curled near the corner of her jaw, half-hidden beneath the fall of her hair. Even cleaned and stitched up, she looked like she’d been through hell. And she had.

His eyes dropped to her hands — wrapped in clean gauze — then to the faint rise of bandages under her shirt, just visible at the edge of her coat. Her throat bore the worst of it: a scatter of red and violet where the pressure had been, ugly and fresh.

“I shouldn’t have let you—”

“You didn’t let me do anything.”

Her voice was quiet, but clear now. Unapologetic.

“I made a choice. I saw what was going to happen. I knew what he was going to do, and I made a call.”

He didn’t speak. Just stared at his hands in his lap like they might have done something different, if only they’d moved faster.

“I would do it again,” she said simply.

That got his attention. His head snapped up.

“No—Y/N—”

“Yes,” she said, unwavering. “Every time. If it’s between me or you, I’m choosing me. Every time.”

“You could’ve died.”

Her expression softened. “So could you.”

His throat tightened. “But I didn’t.”

“Because I was there.” She turned to him then, fully. Her voice dropped. “And because you distracted him. You did exactly what I hoped you would.”

“I didn’t know if it would work,” he admitted, voice breaking slightly.

“But it did.”

He looked at her for a long moment. There were tears in his eyes, unshed, and he wasn’t even trying to blink them away anymore.

“I hate that you got hurt,” he whispered.

“I hate that I had to,” she said, not unkindly. “But I don’t regret it.”

He reached out then — tentative — and let his fingers brush lightly over the back of her hand. Just enough to let her pull away if she needed to.

She didn’t.

His hand shifted from hers — slowly, carefully — until it hovered just beneath her chin. When she didn’t move away, he let his fingers graze the edge of her jaw. Gentle as breath. Like she was made of something more fragile than bone.

Y/N blinked once, then closed her eyes.

And leaned into the touch.

His thumb brushed gently across the curve of her cheek, over skin still tender and faintly swollen. His touch lingered—careful, reverent—as if memorizing the shape of her face one fragile line at a time. Like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

She let out the softest breath — not pained, just tired. Trusting.

Her hand came up and wrapped around his.

Just that.

Soft. Steady. Real.

Spencer shifted forward before he could think better of it. Just enough to bring his face close, so close he could feel her breath fan lightly against his mouth. But he didn’t kiss her there — not yet.

Instead, he pressed his lips to her temple. A barely-there touch. Then the other side. Her eyelid, warm beneath him. The bridge of her nose. Her cheekbone.

Tiny, aching acts of reverence.

He paused at the corner of her mouth.

Stopped there, hovering.

Her lashes fluttered open, and she didn’t pull away.

But she didn’t lean in either.

Her thumb ran across the back of his hand, slow. “Spence,” she murmured, voice low, a little raw. “You don’t have to be careful.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But I want to be.”

They stayed like that for a moment — her fingers curled around his, his palm resting against the side of her face like he couldn’t quite let go.

Then Y/N exhaled a slow breath and pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Her voice was quieter now, but still laced with that familiar edge — dry, wry, undeniably her.

“So…” she began, dragging out the word like it weighed something, “I was thinking I might crash here tonight. You know, if the offer’s still on the table.”

Spencer blinked, lips parting — caught somewhere between surprised and relieved. “Of course.”

She nodded, pretending to consider. “Good. Because I’m not entirely convinced my legs still work, and if I try to drive, I’ll probably end up in Delaware by accident.”

He almost smiled. “You’re welcome to the bed.”

“Tempting,” she said, already shifting her weight with a small wince. “But if you give me the bed, you’re just gonna sleep out here on the couch like some noble, long-suffering martyr, and then I’ll feel guilty and it’ll be this whole thing.”

“You won’t feel guilty.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Spence, I feel bad leaving voicemails. I will feel guilty.”

That pulled a real laugh from him — short, breathy, almost startled. The kind of sound that cracked something open.

She smiled at that, but it faded slower this time. Her eyes dropped to where their hands were still joined — his fingers curled carefully around hers, the pulse at his wrist still quick beneath her touch.

Then her gaze flicked up again, quieter now. Sharper.

“And stop looking at me like that,” she said. “Like it’s your fault. I swear, if you keep blaming yourself, I really will be mad at you.”

He opened his mouth — to protest, to explain, he didn’t even know — but she was already lifting his hand gently to her lips and kissing it. Soft. Steady. Like a promise.

“Just… stay close, okay?” she asked. “I don’t want to wake up and think I imagined all of this. You being here. Us getting out.”

His reply was immediate. Steady.

“I’ll be right here.”

She nodded, swallowing whatever else she might’ve said. Then, quieter:

“And if I start snoring, you’re not allowed to mock me until at least after breakfast.”

His eyes crinkled faintly. “Deal.”

[the-s1lly-corner]

ADMIN IM NOT THE ANON WHO ASKED BUT I WANT IN ON THIS TOO

Artist!Reader asking the slashers if they can pose naked for a still life drawing please!!/non sexual

Jason, Michael, Brahms being asked to pose nude for artist!reader

chat dont tell anyone this but i keep misspelling michaels name and always rely on the red squiggle line to remind me to fix it i keep putting e before a notes: reader is gn, including their reactions and general feel for the request, non sexual post, short post cws: nudity

JASON

he has mixed feelings about being nude- on one hand he knows its just his natural body, but on the other hand the only time hes seen others nude is when theyre doing something sexual so naturally he cant help but tie that to his own nude body... it also makes him feel... vulnerable to you

if he does agree to it hes not going to be fully nude, and its going to take him a long while to warm up to the idea- dont pressure him, of course... will be wearing the mask, honestly hes probably more likely to get naked in front of you before he takes the mask off

tries his very best to stay still but even if hes covering his bits up he feels flustered under your gaze... even worse if youre really focusing and your face happens to scrunch- shoot him a smile and reassurance and he loosens up enough to not make his position ridged

lots of scars and markings on him to take into consideration... he does feel a certain way if you capture them correctly- a good way, of course!

MICHAEL

honestly? i can see him not caring about you seeing him naked in any context, its just him... so whats the fuss? so he agrees

stands as still as a statue for as long as you need him, it can be hours and he will remain in the same position youve asked him to get into

the mask stays on, though, you can pry it form his cold dead hands... assuming you can catch him dead in the first place... you... may have some explaining to do if someone were to find the piece.. though the odds of them escaping the house alive after is low

pretty solid choice all in all, but good luck getting him to stay if he decides to do something else, hes not going to stop any plans to stand nude for you

BRAHMS

oh you want him naked? hes already stripping down.... hey why arent you getting naked too/hj

keeps changing positions because hes never satisfied, its going to take a minute until he finds something he likes... from laying on his side on the couch to propping his chin on his hand in a mock attempt at the thinker statue- you might have to guide him into a pose that works for you... you... cant help but think it was a ploy to get you to touch and guide him how you want

lots of body hair, if youre not used to drawing it its going to give you a fun little challenge- and its everywhere, too

the only one who might take his mask off, will make eye contact the entire time youre drawing him so hopefully youre fine with that

[chrisstvrns]

blurb of chris loving his girl so much, he would do anything for her forgiveness.

warnings: light angst, fluff in the end

word count: 876

chris knew he had fucked up.  

and not in the way where he could flash that lopsided grin, mumble out some half-assed "my bad," and wrap his arms around you until you begrudgingly accepted his apology. no, this was the kind of fuck-up that left his phone void of your name, your texts, your voice. it had been three days. three days of silence, three days of you ignoring his texts, leaving his calls to ring out, and worst of all, three days since you had stormed out of his house with fire in your eyes and venom in your words.  

matt and nick had given him shit for it. repeatedly. but chris didn’t care about their ribbing—he cared that he hadn't been able to fix it yet.  

so, in an act of desperation, he did something he never thought he'd do: he sat down with an actual pen and paper and wrote you a letter. no texting, no notes app draft, no voice memo where he rambled until he hoped he made sense. just ink and regret spilled onto three long pages.  

chris folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope, and, with a determined heart, drove over to your place. he carefully placed the letter into your mailbox, texted a simple “i left something for you,” and prayed you’d read it.  

you did.  

and not only did you read it, but you also grabbed a red pen and went absolutely feral on it.  

when chris found the same envelope in his mailbox the next morning, his heart leapt in hope—until he pulled out the letter and saw your handwriting scribbled all over it, ruthlessly correcting his grammar, circling misspelled words, and writing snarky little comments in the margins.  

“you don’t blame me? then why did you fight me on it?”  

“you should’ve listened to me? damn right. make this a thesis statement instead of burying the lead.”  

“good, this part actually sounds like you mean it. keep going.”  

and the kicker, written at the very bottom in bold, underlined letters:  

“if you can rewrite this and turn it in by tomorrow, i’ll unblock you.”  

chris stared at the letter, torn between laughing and groaning in frustration. only you would take his heartfelt apology and turn it into a goddamn english assignment.  

he grinned.  

challenge accepted.  

chris spent the rest of the day hunched over his desk, muttering to himself as he scribbled out a new draft. he had never put so much effort into writing anything in his life, not even the one essay he actually cared about in high school. he read and reread your comments, taking them seriously, and making sure that this time, every word counted.  

he started over twice. the first draft felt too stiff, too formal - like he was writing a resignation letter instead of an apology. the second had too much rambling, and you’d already told him not to bury the lead. so, for the third attempt, he took a deep breath and wrote like he was talking to you. like you were right in front of him, arms crossed, waiting for him to say something real.  

by the time he finished, his hand was cramping, his desk was covered in discarded drafts, and the clock read 2:14 am. but for the first time in three days, he felt like he had a shot at fixing things.  

chris sealed the new letter in an envelope, drove to your place, and left it in your mailbox, yet again. this time, he didn’t text you - just knocked once and walked away, leaving it in your hands.  

the next morning, his phone buzzed.  

a text from you.  

chris’s heart jumped as he unlocked his phone and read the text.  

“you passed. barely. but i’ll allow it.”  

before he could even think of a reply, another message popped up.  

“come over.”   

chris didn’t waste time. he was out the door in minutes, barely remembering to grab his keys. the drive to your place felt longer than ever, anticipation and nerves tangling in his chest.  

when you opened the door, he barely had a second to register the look on your face before you were pulling him inside, your arms crossing over your chest like you were still debating whether or not to be mad at him.  

“well?” you prompted.  

chris ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “i meant every word.”  

you eyed him for a moment before unfolding the letter and holding it up. “this was good,” you admitted, tapping the paper. “and better yet, you actually listened.”  

his lips twitched. “had to. i was being graded.”  

your glare was half-hearted at best. “i don’t think you understand how close you were to failing.”  

chris grinned. “guess that makes this an extra credit assignment,” he said, closing the space between you.  

you rolled your eyes, but when he hesitated, waiting for permission, your expression softened. finally, you sighed, tilting your head up just enough to meet him halfway.  

“i hate that you’re kinda good at this,” you muttered.  

chris smirked. “oh, i’m great at this.”  

and when his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, you didn’t pull away.

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a/n: this was made based off of this post by @muwapsturniolo !! finally out of my writers slump (???) i kinda hate this sooo ?

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

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