#so that's where i am with this thought process

[socialobligation]

Salutations. 🤓🤚 (this is kinda rambly sorry)

How we feeling about Todoroki not understanding social cues and completely messing shit up w/ shawty. (Personally I think it's a hilarious idea.) "Ommgg get outtt" "...okay?" Dips the fuck out. I think it could be a funny smau thingy or a drabble or WHATEVER it'll be good cus ur hella funny!! (ALSO I SAW UR KIRI× ALT-ISH READER AND I KNOW THAT WOULD ALSO EAT WITH LIKE AN ALT READER X TOKOYAMI OR SHOJI literally my favorite characters and I always thought that alt reader was very similar to dadzawa reader person so aizawa v. Readers bf would be funny too) okay I'm stopping nooowwww much love

get out | s. todoroki

what starts as a miscommunication lesson slowly unravels into something much softer, where teasing turns into quiet confessions, and maybe—just maybe—you're both a little more obvious than you thought.

it’s been months now. the two of you have fallen into that rare kind of friendship that feels effortless—the kind built from shared late-night study sessions, stupid inside jokes, and a surprising amount of mutual patience. shoto isn’t someone you expected to become your closest friend; he’s too formal, too literal, too composed. and yet somehow, he became your person. steady. dependable. stubbornly honest.

he's smart, meticulous, and considerate in ways that sneak up on you—the way he memorizes your coffee order, the way he lends you his umbrella without comment when he knows you forgot yours, the way he notices when you're tired and offers to carry your books without asking. but even after all this time, he still stumbles over basic social cues like they’re potholes on an otherwise flawless street.

and honestly? it's a little endearing. a little dangerous, too, when you’re harboring a crush you can’t quite figure out how to hide.

case in point: today.

when you shove his shoulder lightly, laughing as you say, "oh my god, get out," he reacts without hesitation.

he stands up.

"okay," he says, already halfway to the door with the solemnity of someone obeying a direct command.

you blink at him, stunned. "wait—no, i didn't mean—"

he halts mid-step, looking at you with genuine concern. "you told me to get out."

"it’s a figure of speech, dude," you groan, dragging a hand down your face. "like… 'no way!' or 'shut up!' it doesn't actually mean leave."

he blinks, processing this new data. "i see."

"do you?"

"not entirely."

you laugh, shaking your head as you pat the cushion beside you. "sit back down, you're fine."

he hesitates, then retraces his steps with careful precision, lowering himself stiffly into the chair across from you, posture perfect like he’s bracing for another misunderstanding.

you snort into your drink. "you're so formal. it's like hanging out with a very polite cat."

he tilts his head slightly, considering. "is that meant to be a compliment?"

"sure," you say, grinning.

he looks genuinely pleased, though the slight furrow between his brows suggests he's filed the statement away for later analysis.

you pull your legs up onto the couch, scrolling lazily through your phone while he watches you with quiet attentiveness, like you might do something critical at any moment. it's not weird. or at least, it’s not weird to you anymore. shoto pays attention to people he cares about.

he just doesn’t always know how to show it.

"you can chill, you know," you say, glancing up.

"i am chill."

"you're sitting like you're about to recite the national anthem."

he straightens further. "good posture is important."

"relax, mr. posture," you tease, grabbing the nearest pillow and tossing it at him.

it smacks him in the face with a soft thud. he doesn’t even blink.

he catches it carefully, setting it on his lap like it’s a fragile object.

"thank you," he says, genuinely.

you burst out laughing.

"okay," you say, setting your drink down, "lesson one. when someone says 'get out' while laughing, it usually means 'i can't believe you just said that, that's hilarious.' not 'please leave.'"

he nods slowly, committing it to memory with grave seriousness.

"lesson two," you continue, leaning forward a little, "if i call you 'stupid' or 'dummy' while smiling, it doesn't mean you're actually stupid. it usually means i think you're being… cute."

he processes this with a blink. "so verbal insults can sometimes signal affection."

"exactly."

he nods again, more confidently.

"lesson three," you say, gesturing to the pillow he's still holding, "if someone throws a pillow at you, it's usually affectionate. like, it means they like you."

he stares at the pillow. then at you. back at the pillow.

"oh," he says simply, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

you clear your throat, suddenly needing to look very intently at your shoes.

"not—not always like, like-like," you add hastily, stumbling a little. "sometimes it's just friendly. but… sometimes it’s… y’know."

he watches you for a long moment, his gaze steady, thoughtful.

"is it… like that?" he asks.

you glance up, heart hammering.

"maybe," you say, soft, unable to summon anything cooler or smarter.

he tilts his head again, as if weighing the information.

"good," he says finally, in that same plain, almost reverent voice.

you blink. "good?"

"i like you too," he says, with all the certainty of a fact he's double-checked.

he tosses the pillow back at you—lighter this time, more casual—and there's a flicker of a real smile tugging at his mouth.

"reciprocal," he adds, because of course he would.

you catch the pillow against your chest, laughing despite the way your heart is doing somersaults.

"lesson four," you say, regaining your composure, "if someone says something obviously ridiculous, like 'i could totally fight a bear,' you're supposed to play along. not start listing reasons why it's inadvisable."

he looks genuinely troubled by this. "but fighting a bear would be strategically unsound—"

"shoto."

he stops. reconsiders.

"you could absolutely fight a bear," he says, voice deadpan.

you cackle, tossing the pillow at him again. he catches it without effort, a glint of humor in his eyes now, subtle but unmistakable.

"you're getting there," you say, sinking back into the couch with a grin.

"thank you," he replies, a little looser, a little lighter.

he's still shoto—precise, literal, impossibly sincere.

and now, maybe, a little yours too.

[hotchs-big-hands]

A little bite never hurt

Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader

18+ Minors don’t interact

For @l1v1ngz0mb1e

Warning(s): reader bites Aaron, suggestive

This was a lot of fun to write 🤭 I hope you enjoy it!

You didn’t know why you did it, normally you had better self control than this.

The music in the bar pumped through your body, but it was nothing compared to the racing of your heart in this very moment as, out of the blue, you leaned over and bit down on your goddamn boss Aaron Hotchner’s, bicep- exposed to you as he was wearing a polo shirt that day.

Well, it wasn’t completely out of the blue for you, it had been an urge you’d had for a long time. Day by day it slowly brewed inside your mind, the need to sink your teeth into his arms, his hands, anywhere. But of course, that wouldn’t be appropriate, would it? It was bad enough you were sporting a big crush on your superior, but the things you wanted to do to that man… you dreaded him, or any of the others for that matter, finding out about any of this.

It was a bit too late for that now though, your body filled with the horrible sensation of humiliation and shame as you straightened back up and promptly stood up from your seat. All eyes were upon you, your friends and coworkers, while they processed what had just happened. Your eyes flicked to Aaron, who was stiff in his chair and he stared at you with an unreadable expression.

You trembled and stepped back.

“I- oh my god, I am so sorry, sir!” You babbled, your chest tight with anxiety. “I’m- I’m gonna go home.”

Without another glance back, you turned on your heel and bolted out of the bar, not wanting to wait and hear what he or the others would say or do. Your thoughts were racing a million miles a minute, stressing over the fact that you’d just bitten down on Aaron’s bicep, enjoyed it, then realised what a fucking weirdo you were. And now, now you wondered if you were going to lose your job for inappropriate behaviour.

As soon as you made it outside the bar you paused for a moment as you thought about what you were going to do next. You certainly couldn’t stay here, but you’d gotten a ride there with Derek. Maybe you could take an uber? Good idea. With trembling hands, you fumbled around with your phone as you attempted to find the app you needed to get a ride home.

What you didn’t expect was a hand to grasp your arm carefully but firmly, startling you to spin around to see who had grabbed you.

Oh god.

Aaron’s brows were knitted tightly together in a frown and your stomach coiled.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his voice low and serious.

You swallowed thickly.

“I- I was getting a ride home! I- I’m so sorry sir, I don’t know what came over m-“

“-I’ll drive you home. Come on.”

“But-“

The man glared at you.

“Come on.” His voice was a rumble; he meant business. And so, with a defeated sigh, you relented and nodded slightly.

This satisfied Aaron and he turned to lead you towards where he’d parked his car.

Neither of you spoke at first when you set off, you didn’t know if you should dare to. So when Aaron finally spoke it caused you to jump.

“So, care to explain why you bit down on my arm, hm?”

You shuddered slightly, shifting your legs a bit as you stalled answering.

“I… I don’t know.” You said finally. Aaron hummed.

“Really? That’s funny, I don’t believe you.”

“S-sir!?” You squeaked and turned in your seat to face him, eyes widened. But the man continued to watch the road, seemingly unphased.

“You really want me to spell it out for you, hmm? Or would you rather you told me the truth?”

This couldn’t be happening. Surely he didn’t know how you felt about him… right? But then again, he was an excellent profiler, far more experienced than you were, and that was almost frightening.

You exhaled through your nose and dipped your head slightly.

“I- you- you have, um, very nice arms, sir… and just overall physique- not- not that that’s important though!” You stuttered. The car rumbled quietly. “I guess… I just sort of wanted to bite you. God- I’m so sorry, this is terrible-“

“-do you think about biting me a lot?” Aaron cut you off, finally casting a glance at you. You shuddered.

“Y-yes… but! I wasn’t ever going to do such a thing! I don’t know what happened tonight!”

“Really?” Aaron quizzed, slowing the car to stop for the traffic lights. “So it has nothing to do with your feelings for me, right?”

What.

“S-sir?”

Aaron turned his head in your direction this time and he studied you broodingly.

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me? The way you talk to me? The way you act around me? It’s far different than how you interact with the others, more… intimate. An underlying sense of affection towards me.” He smirked slightly and faced forward again when the lights changed to green. “Perhaps while you were preoccupied with trying to keep your feelings for me a secret, you neglected to notice the way I interact with you too.”

Your head snapped in his direction, mouth agape slightly the second you processed what he’d just said to you. Aaron was still slightly smirking, his dimple casting a crescent shadow on his cheek.

“Wh-what-?! You-!”

“Yes, I have feelings for you too.”

“What the fuck.” You gasped, earning a delightful laugh. Aaron reached across to lay his hand on your knee, causing you to jolt in your seat and, once more, he chuckled.

“You’re cute.”

The hand remained on your knee, which you were more than happy about. Your body felt as though it was on fire, you’d daydreamed about his touch before, but it could never compare to how it actually felt as it did right then. It was all you could focus on, that is until he spoke again.

“Now, to return to how we got to this point in the first place,” he said, more than likely feeling your leg tense up under his grasp. “If you’re biting me, I think it’s only fair if I get to have my own fair share of biting you, right?”

A small sound escaped the back of your throat, a hybrid of a squeak and strangled gasp, and you could have sworn the man beside you chuckled quietly. Aaron’s hand on your knee squeezed down slightly, prompting you to speak.

“I-” You idly glanced out the window; it wouldn’t be long before you pulled up where you lived. Perhaps…

“H-how about you follow me inside and you’ll see how much you’re allowed to bite me, sir.”

Aaron glanced at you, his gaze dark and his lips pulled into a smirk.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Thank you for reading! I’m still trying to get back into the groove of writing, this was a fun little quick thing to do!

[rainrot4me]

hello!! can I request on if creeps would have any fears/phobias

✦ . jeff the killer

Irrelevance.

He’s terrified of being forgotten. For someone who made himself a legend through blood and rage, the idea that time could erase him gnaws at the edges of his ego.

“You think people are just gonna stop talking about me? That I’ll just… disappear?”

His nightmares are quiet ones: empty rooms, blank stares, no one looking when he screams.

✦ . ticci toby

Loss of control.

He lives in chaos, but the one thing he needs is control over his own mind. He’s scared of the day when even that slips. The ticking in his head never stops—and he’s scared of what happens when it drowns him out.

“I can’t tell if it’s real or no-not sometimes. But I know w-when I’m losing it.”

He’ll fight tooth and nail to stay grounded—even if it means hurting himself in the process.

✦ . eyeless jack

Attachment.

He’s been alone for so long that the idea of needing someone again terrifies him. He’s scared of being seen as human, of being vulnerable, of someone having the power to leave.

“It’s easier when I’m just a monster. Easier when they run.”

His fear isn’t about being feared—it’s about not being feared enough to keep them at a distance.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Becoming what he hates.

He’s lived under the weight of possession, mind control, fractured identity. What terrifies him most is not knowing where he ends and the other begins.

“If I don’t remember doing it, does it still count? Am I still to blame?”

The scariest thing for Tim isn’t dying. It’s losing himself again and becoming the one who ruins others.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Being watched.

Ironic, considering how often he’s behind the camera. But it’s being the subject—the thought of some force always watching, waiting, knowing.

“You think I wear the mask for fun?”

He masks up not just to hide his face—but to hide from the feeling that something’s still out there.

✦ . kate the chaser

Being manipulated.

She’s been burned before—used, gaslit, turned into something she didn’t recognize. Her greatest fear is being someone else’s puppet again.

“I followed orders once. Look where that got me.”

She’ll run headfirst into danger, but the idea of trusting someone and being wrong again? That cuts deeper than any weapon ever could.

✦ . ben drowned

Powerlessness.

Drowning wasn’t just how he died—it’s how he lives. He’s scared of being trapped again, stuck in some system or cycle where he can’t control the outcome.

“I glitched out of hell and I’m never going back.”

He keeps hacking, jumping bodies, changing code—because staying still would mean sinking again.

✦ . clockwork

Being underestimated.

After years of being dismissed, called crazy, locked away—her greatest fear is being seen as weak or pitied.

“Go ahead. Call me broken. I’ll show you what broken does.”

She wears her trauma like armor. But deep down, she’s afraid the cracks go too deep to fix.

✦ . laughing jack

Boredom.

Jack thrives on chaos, laughter, reaction. The idea of silence—of nothing—makes him anxious and mean.

“What’s the point of existing if no one’s laughing? No one’s screaming?”

His mania is a mask for his fear that without performance, he’s nothing but empty stuffing.

✦ . slenderman

Entropy.

He is order, manipulation, ritual. But the universe trends toward disorder—and he knows it.

“Even gods must decay.”

The thought that one day he’ll erode into myth, then nothing—that’s the only thing that rattles him.

꩜ .ᐟ

[luck-lasts]

Please correct me if I am wrong because I am slightly fuzzy on the details, but why is it assumed that the actions done by JGY were purely in self preservation? I don't think we can believe all his claims at Guanyin Temple, because A) He was already established as a manipulative character and B) He was trying to convince LXC, his only potential ally, of his innocence. I am genuinely asking because from how I interpreted the text (purely subjective), it doesn't seem like we are supposed to believe everything he says.

And once again, I am fuzzy on the details, but the curse on Jin Zixun, or even the killing of Nie Mingjue doesn't make sense as an act of protection, because if I recall correctly, JGY had been in the process of somewhat regaining the trust of NMJ, which would have allowed him to turn the situation in his favour. Also, if we do talk about his primary motive to get to a position of safety, how do we determine what this position is? Is Chief Cultivator the only position where he is truly safe? Or would the future reign of Jin Zixuan, who treated him better than his father did, mean a better, safer position for JGY, if he had bided his time? Power means safety, absolutely, but at what point do we say his actions stopped being for protection and started being solely for power? I think that depends a lot of how individuals intepret the Guanyin Temple scene, so there won't be an objective answer.

In matters of intent, I am unfortunately a corp lawyer who really misses studying criminal law, and any discussion of mens rea will have me rambling way more than anyone would want. So to summarize my views, I would say intention matters because without intention it becomes very difficult to determine the morality of any action ( basic example would be why there is a lesser punishment for manslaughter than for culpable homicide). How dangerous someone is does matter, but your culpability for causing that danger again ties back to intention. (which is why someone who is legally unsound may be more dangerous than a legally sound person, but is seen as less culpable) (also relevant is that it is indicated that WWX, by a point, had become unstable, and while not unsound, was not fully in his right mind either).

Basically, from my perspective, WWX made horrible, horrible choices, which caused a lot of damage. If he had done so with malice, the consequences would be far far worse, and I agree, the Wens would not have survived because it would have triggered even worse escalation. JGY also made horrible, horrible choices., some of them out of necessity. But as per my interpretation (again, very subjective), he didn't just do it with the aim of self-preservation, he did it with malice, for political gain. And intention cannot be eliminated as a relevant consideration, because once we do that, we reach a slippery slope of essentially legal and moral chaos (not going to expand because I guarantee, I will end up rambling, but this is the most agreed upon perspective in most branches of jurisprudence, not sure about it works in moral philosophy).

Really sorry about how all over the place this reblog is, just putting my thoughts out there. TLDR; The veracity of JGY's claims is doubtful, and his actions show malicious intention. Intention absolutely matters, and that is what sets WWX and JGY apart.

As much as I love and appreciate fandom metas, especially in mxtx fandoms, a lot of times I find myself thinking "the book is deep but not THIS deep". There are many layers, but there is clear intention from the author in portraying things a certain way. Acting like Wei Wuxian is a villain and Jin Guangyao is a poor meow meow who did all of this because he was poor just detracts from the fact that both characters had a certain level of autonomy and they used it in very different ways. Despite his flaws, Wei Wuxian used his abilities to help the innocent. Jin Guangyao, despite how much he sufferered, chose to murder and destroy lives because he wanted to be at the top. His background humanizes him, it isn't intended to justify his actions.

[winnie-wine]

Fantasy First Aid Common Mistakes

This is going to be about some first aid mistakes I see in the fantasy genre, but specifically before the magic fix its and stuff, where the first aid is a bit more grounded. This applies to fantasy because this similar type of WRITING (not medical) advice from paramedics is all through a lense of "it's going to get fixed in a hospital in like 20 min anyway" while wilderness medicine is "I may be out here for days before receiving any kind of help." An EMT in a city can throw on a sam splint and an ace wrap on a broken arm and it's fine for the 30 min drive+waiting room time, but that is not acceptable to be worn for hours-days in the wilderness because it gets too uncomfortable after a while, and may rub and chafe, for instance.

So who am I, and why can I talk about this? I am a Wilderness First Responder. This is a certification, NOT a medical license, and I am giving advice for WRITING injury treatment, not treating them irl. Brad Mondo gives tutorials about cutting and dyeing hair and we all have SEEN from his hairdresser reacts videos that the ability to do it comes from PRACTICE, not how-to's, or he'd be out of his youtube career, frankly. So, I'm going to tell you guys what I know so you can write a good field medicine scene, and you guys aren't going to sue me because we all acknowledge you aren't getting hands on practice through a tumblr post, deal?

So that being said, the topics I'm yapping about will be: Moving the patient, concussions and sleeping, CPR, broken bones, and arrow wounds.

So let's jump in. Your healer, uhhh Hallie, we'll say, finds a patient, Patty. First question

Do we stay, or do we go?

And the answer depends on "is there substantial benefit to moving the patient?" If you're in an actively erupting volcano, yeah, move. If Hallie is in a quiet forest, she doesn't need to move her to bandage her up, unless the bandages aren't with them, in which case, if say her leg is broken, Hallie might consider going and grabbing them, while Patty stays there with a weapon, depending on how far away camp is. Did Patty fall off a cliff, and her spine is broken, and in the process of moving her, Hallie will make Patty paralyzed, but Magnus the Magic Healer can do the macarena and fix anything wrong? If so, don't worry about the temporary inconvenience of being paralyzed, get her to help! It's all about "will moving the patient help them?"

One time I read a fic where a patient had a seizure. They were already lying on a mattress, and I suspect the author had heard "if someone is going to have a seizure, lie them on the ground" but hadn't thought through that that advice is because you don't want a standing patient to fall down, not that the floor has inherent seizure-healing properties. It would be better to leave them on the bed, clear of obstacles, because a seizing patient is going to get less bruises and less of a concussion banging their head against a mattress than a hard floor.

Concussions- should the patient sleep?

yeah. The wive's tale of "don't sleep with a concussion" comes from people getting a hit to their head, falling asleep, and dying. They attributed the death to the concussion. In actuality, it came from intracranial bleeding increasing pressure on the brain until it basically squeezes the brain through the spinal columnn like a tube of toothpaste.

This is not a problem that can be solved by keeping the patient awake. To be honest, if you're in a wilderness context (delayed access to definitive care, hostile environment, limited resources), this isn't a problem I could really fix at all. I would get them out of the field at the concussion, and hope that's all it is. But, that may not be an option in your fictional world, so unless you have magic that can treat this, the patient won't do very well.

So how do you write this? If Hallie is supposed to be a medical professional, she would let Patty sleep, because sleep helps a concussion, which Patty definitely has. Hallie would also periodically wake Patty up to see if Patty is getting more confused, less alert, less coordinated, etc. and otherwise mentally compromised. If that happens, Patty either gets magical treatment or dies ig.

CPR

CPR is chest compressions combined with rescue breaths. The compression-only CPR was a COVID compromise that acknowledged no one wanted the mouth to mouth contact, and said that compressions are better than nothing.

Let's just play fact or fiction with common things I've seen in writing

"Patty isn't breathing! Hallie should start CPR!" FICTION. Hallie should check for a pulse. If no pulse, CPR is appropriate. If there IS a pulse, then Hallie only needs to do the rescue breaths part of CPR. DO NOT give CPR to a patient that HAS A PULSE. Plz.

"Good CPR will always break the ribs" FICTION. It usually does, though, to the point that if the ribs AREN'T broken, it probably wasn't good CPR, so go ahead and write some broken ribs into your story. We love whump : )

"The ratio of compressions to breath is 30:2" FACT. Yep. I once read a fic where the healer only did like 4 compressions in each cycle and that will do nothing, because it takes like 8 or so to build up enough pressure to pump blood.

"Sing 'Stayin Alive' For the right rate!" FACT. Yep. The range of good CPR is 100-120 bpm. Stayin alive is 120. I will caution that you tend t rush it, so personally I aim a little slower. Also, you're probably not going to have Fantasy Bee Gee's so I will also say that a lot of military marches, Sousa marches in particular, are also in the 120 range, and more likely for your healer character to have heard and kinda vaguely remember.

Setting Bones

Patty has a broken leg and the bone is sticking out. I have seen people write the healer pushing the bone back in and oh my god it was so painful. So you know when you break a stick and it has jagged edges? That's ur bones too. When Hallie pushes it in, she's going to break off more bone, which is the opposite of helpful. Hallie needs to pull the ends apart to allow them to line back up.

Pardon me, I tried. What happens when the bone is pushed in, is that it breaks off more fragments to float around in the injury. Please don't do that.

Arrow wounds/Impaled Objects

This one's really fun because we're getting to the end of my scope of practice. I cannot close wounds, by sewing them, glueing them, etc. I am taught to control bleeding, stabilize, and then evacuate. This is a good first step for Hallie, and then her Magic Land Medical License can let her or someone else stitch them up later. But what I'm going to talk about still holds.

If someone has been impaled but not all the way through, should someone:

Cut the arrow shaft off? If they're stabilizing it until Patty gets to Hallie, then maybe? The thing is, if Hallie's just going to pull it out, it doesn't really matter how long or short the shaft is, if it's an arrow or javelin. If it's debris and pinning Patty in a position Hallie can't help her, then yeah cut it. But cutting it will jerk around and aggravate the wound and if you, the author, can't see the benefit of your healer doing it, there probably isn't one.

Force the arrow through the rest of the way? No! Why would that help? If the arrow has a jagged head, and they can literally see it through the skin I can see the argument, but flesh is soft, and if it went in, it can come out with some careful digging. Pull the arrow out. Please. Cause here's the thing: Stitches won't control bleeding deeper down. Packing the wound will, and packing it takes a LOOOOT of shoving gauze in. If there's two holes, the gauze will go in one and out the other. If there's only one, then the gauze will stop at the end of the wound, and thus Hallie can get enough pressure to control the bleed.

@sirenwriterxxx you mentioned that this would be cool. Here it is!

[mistleaneous-chaos]

Disclaimer: Halfway through when I was writing this post initially, I took a break for a while since I didn't really know what I wanted to do with all the information in it, since I didn't understand the egg rooms in Chapters 3 & 4 Properly. Then I did understand them.

Finally got around to doing the egg room for chapter 3 after missing it and only getting the others and I am so glad I did.

I have lots of thoughts and want to sum them up here, so pardon me if I rehash information, speculate, or just sound outright unintelligible. These won’t just be limited to the Egg Rooms but will involve a good amount of stuff related to them.

There will be many things I discuss, and in the end I will be discussing a theory that I think others have had, but it's been one that's stewing in my brain and I desperately need to get it out.

I feel like out of all the egg rooms, this one and chapter 4’s really gave us a lot to think about in terms of the eggs themselves and their surroundings.

Chapter 3’s being the first ones we’ve seen with other beings is really interesting to me for a number of reasons.

In this room, Kris starts out as if they were not in the Dark World. And it makes sense because they’re not in the Dark World, they’re “Nowhere”. It’s not a place where darkness is deeper than it can be, nor is it the normal world, it is just that, Nowhere. And I think it's possible that whenever it started to become a real, tangible place when Kris visited, that's when it started to creep in, whatever it is that was outside of Nowhere, which is why Kris became their Dark World Form again, because the outside was coming in, the Dark was let inside of a place it wasn't aware of before.

It’s a place for people who are forgotten and “Copies”, such as:

the Rudinn “cards”.

Before anything serious I just love Kris’ thought process of “I suck at cards so I’ll just make my own copies!” These glimpses into their character pre-Us is always so charming to see. But anyways, the Rudinns give us some insight into certain “Rules”, such as those of copies. It’s a slight thing, but they tell us that copies have no color, and the only reason they do is because Kris gave them their color. Now this leads us to something people already probably knew about

The Goners, the characters in Undertale that had no real “place” outside of random chance. The Goners, to me, always seemed as if they were some kind of parodies of certain NPCs such as Monster Kid and The Clam Neighbor. Some of them may not exist in the world people inhabit(depending on FUN value), and some actively replace people who do exist, such as the clam neighbor. I still have no clue what they are meant for, but I do think that Gaster had a hand in their creation, considering the Goner Maker in Chapter 1 and the followers consistently mentioning him.

Everything that's been said about "Copies" takes more of a form when you also look at the pipeline of The Prophecy turning into The Lord of The Hammer turning into Dragon Blazers. Now, there's an entire discussion to be had with Dragon Blazers and Undertale (not Deltarune) and the symbolism of it being a "simplified" and "altered" version of Deltarune the way Dragon Blazers could have been of Lord of The Hammer and so on. But that's for another day. All I want to say is that I think there is a difference being drawn between copies and things that truly had passion put into them, after all:

It makes me think that maybe Gaster's Followers/The Goners could have either been copies of existing people such as Goner Kid(If they even are a copy)

Or some could have been beings that had something drained from them that caused their "color to fade", such as the Clam Girl/"Suzy's" Neighbor

Now then, this brings me to my last point:

The Forgotten Man.

The Forgotten Man, The Man that was behind the tree, is something that's been in the back of my head for years now.

And I think with Chapter 4, it's at least possible to interpret what he means in the context of the Egg Rooms.

In Chapter 3, he talks about how "You"(We'll just assume it's Kris for the sake of this discussion but it could very well be the Player) forgot about him multiple times, and he discusses things such as his schedule (The last part of which I totally think foreshadows Chapter 5's egg room because of Chapter 5 having been intended to be released alongside 3 & 4)

And also, he talks about the Egg. We learn what it is he gives us the egg for.

It's so we remember him.

Which brings me to what I think he means to Kris.

Throughout Chapters 3 & 4 Toby brings to light so many things he'd been foreshadowing with Dess, her disappearance, and what it did to Kris. And that brings us to Chapter 4's Egg Room.

Therapy.

In Chapter 3, when you get the Shadow Mantle, there's an enemy in the dungeon that you don't kill. Kris kills them.

There is no added context in-game for what it is, but in the files, you can see the placeholder for it.

A black deer.

December's disappearance was something that clearly affected Kris a good deal, and it becomes more and more apparent when you think about the things that they've done for "The Knight". They work with the Knight to create the Dark Fountains, but also close them. They do everything in their power to not impede the Knight, but they still want to make Susie and Ralsei happy.

I think that Kris is beholden to something that they promised Dess long ago, maybe around the time she disappeared. I think Kris flinched when they saw the Shelter in the game because they know what's in there. I think the reason they didn't immediately throw the controller out when you got in is because they were relieved. Because they realized that whatever force made the game didn't put what was actually in the shelter in the game.

I think the reason why Kris didn't open the closet even though Susie was gone and they could throw us out, is because they were scared of what they would see in the real world.

I think that Kris killed, or at least indirectly caused Dess' death. Do I think it was intentional? No. I do not think for a second Kris ever would have purposefuly harmed her. I think Kris regrets it. I think they regret it every single second they're awake. And I think, that more than anything else, they try to Forget it.

The Forgotten Man, I think, either represents or parallels the way that Kris constantly represses everything about Dess' disappearance. I think that every time Kris remembers something, they immediately push it down. They keep forgetting...

But we just keep. pushing.

Every time we push to remember, they forget. And every time they forget, the path to reach those memories again gets more and more complex. We went from going into a random room over and over again(With the only thing to remind them of her being an enemy that throws STARS at us), to finding a random room hidden behind a stained glass window with one part of it that resembled an egg.

We just push. and push. and push. And every time we push, the dam gets leakier.

Because at first it was just an egg. Then it was still an egg. But then it was a conversation with a man they want to forget. And then it was a painting that they so desperately wanted to forget about. And next? If the clues are right? We're going to Asgore's Dark World.

And while Tenna only referenced Dess in a manner that implied her being alive? Asgore is heavily implied to have a very, very, personal stake in Dess' disappearance.

I think that the purpose of the eggs is not something tangible that'll be visible in-game or in stats. But rather, I think that they're a sign that we are on the path that leads to Kris finally having to confront whatever it is that they want so badly to forget. And I don't know if it'll have an effect on the game, but I think it'll have an effect on Kris. And whether or not they move on from it, from feeling indebted to a rotting corpse, from feeling like they owe Carol or whoever's manipulating them their service, I think that maybe, juuust maybe, it'll lead us down a path that, while not important to our progress, is important to Kris' progress as a person.

[beardedhotchner]

El Tango De Roxanne

(Part 3 of Spencer Reid x Prostitute!Reader)

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: Three flashbacks of your relationship with Spencer... I hope you guys enjoy, Amia xx

T/W: Prostitution, trafficking (?), sexual assault, swearing, Reggie talks about Reader like she is his property, talks of Reader's body, an attempt at smut, unprotected sex, sex after an argument,

"Shit-" Reg says, his ridiculously expensive scotch now half on the table and half over you. Even while more-than-slightly inebriated, Reggie's eyes still roamed over you. Your tight white dress now turning sort of see-through where his drink had landed.

"It's fine. I.. I'm gonna go grab a new dress." If it was anyone else, Reg wouldn't let them out of his sight. But he knew you, he trusted you to come back. You always did.

He waves a hand, dismissively, "Go get changed." His attention moves back to his 'business partners'. Yet as you stand, his hand comes down hard on your ass, like always when he is showing off his dominance over you. "Hurry up now." He warns, a small smirk on his face.

"Sure thing, I'll be back in a moment, boys." You tease cheerfully, the men raking their eyes across your form. As you left the hotel's bar, you tried not to shiver in disgust. Out of sight of Reg, you kick off your heels, knowing you had to be quick. Reg would've undoubtedly put a time limit to what he thought was reasonable for you. So the quicker you got to the room, the longer you had to fix yourself up.

Picking up your shoes by the straps, you dashed across the shiny lobby into the first elevator with open doors. Instead of finding yourself alone, you ran straight into someone else, slamming you both to the floor as the door shut behind you.

"SHIT. I am so sorry!" You squeaked, trying to scramble to your feet and collect your heels that had scattered across the floor. The lean man under you, whose hands had instinctively gone to your hips to break your fall as you both tumbled to the ground, has flushed red and is rambling.... something? If you were honest, you'd been too distracted by the feel of him under you and his gentle hands holding you steady to pay attention to his words. Now standing, his hands finally drop and you catch the last of his speech.

".... chance of running into someone or bumping into them in an elevator is pretty low, less than 5% actually." You couldnt help but stand in awe as the doe-eyed man infront of you tripped over his words. "It depends on how many people are in the building and how crowded the elevator is, but overall, it's unlikely to happen often."

You blink a few times, trying to process his words before you (almost dumbly) say, "What?", complete with a slight head tilt.

Spencer couldn't help his mind from wandering as he looked at you. You looked adorable and sweet. And my god, you smelled heavenly. Your perfume lingering around him in a cloud had his own head buzzing and now he could see you.... even with the brown stain across your dress' middle.

He moves to speak but the moment is interrupted by the ding of the elevator. You realises he's at his floor and try not to show the disappointment on your face. However, you cant stop the butterflies when he gives you a small wave before leaving.

You couldn't help but think about him for the rest of the evening. After changing quickly and heading back to the bar, Reg nodded in approval. Even with the slight blip in the elevator, you still beat the time limit he had set for you. His eyes raked over you and you could tell you chose the right dress.

A bright red corset with a deeper wine coloured skirt that hung around you legs. His partner's eyes clung to you as you came to rest yourself next to Reg's seat. One of your hands rested on the back of his chair, holding your weight as you let youself be undressed by these men's gazes. This was the job...

You never had thought that this would be the way that your first argument with Spencer would end. You were furious just moments ago, and now?

Now, your clothes gone, your face was pressed against the wall and your back arched. Your ass pressed against his crotch, his cock was already straining in the fabric. His hands were everywhere: pinching and tugging at your nipples, groping your ass, trailing over your clit teasingly.

"Please..." You moaned out, begging him to touch you as arousal pooled between your thighs. You couldnt remember what you had been fighting about. Your mind was now only focused on the feeling of Spencer's hands on you.

"Such a dumb girl for me, hey?" He whispered, pressing kisses across your shoulders, "just begging for me to touch you. What happened to the girl that was just screaming at me? Only takes my hands on you and you fall apart... isn't that right?" You let out a whine, rubbing your thighs together for some friction. "You need me to help you, baby? Want me to wreck you?" The way Spencer would talk to you had you melting in a puddle. "Yeah I bet you do..."

It didn't take long for Spencer to turn you around, leading you back to his bedroom. You barely could think as the man you love pushed you back onto the bed, your head hitting his pillows with a thump. The smell of him surrounded you and you let out a soft moan. You can hear his chuckle beside you as he strips himself down to match you.

His cock, thicker and longer than you had had before, was hard and upright, pressing to his lower stomach. The tip was red and leaking already. You wanted it so badly you could only whine again, "please Spence... please..."

"You've got to be patient, my girl." He chides, climbing onto the bed with you. Spencer was enjoying himself too much to waste the opportunity to have you writhing beneath him. He loved the way you reacted to him, like you never had anyone better (which you had told him several times over).

You whined and moaned again, as he pulls apart your thighs, the cold air hitting the wetness pooling there, "Ah Spencer please..." He didn't make you wait any longer, pushing the tip of his cock in gently, letting you get used to the feeling as he guided himself in.

"Fuck, baby, so tight. So wet. All for me." He gritted his teeth as he held back. You had barely taken half of him and you were already cock-drunk under him. Your soft gasps and the way you tried to buck your hips to take more of him was addictive. "Slowly baby. I don't wanna hurt you." He says, his voice soothing and low.

Nodding, your hands went around his neck, trying to pull him closer as he pushed into you again. Bottoming out, Spencer hissed at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him. "Mm..ah!" You cried out, the stretch slightly painful but felt oh-so good. He gave you time to adjust to his size, like always, before he began to move, pulling out of you gently before pushing back into you fully. "Feels so good!"

Spencer chuckled at you, his forehead pressed to yours. Soft kisses caress your face as his hair falls like a curtain around you both. You push it back with one of your hands, keeping the other as an anchor at the nape of his neck. He builds up speed and you feel yourself tremble. His hands holding your waist keep you in position as he thrusts in and out of you, grunting as he kisses you.

It doesn't take long for you both to fall apart. You first then again when you feel Spence come undone and fill you with his cum. He pulls out, immediately cleaning you up with tissues on his bedside table, before pulling you into his arms, holding you close as you fall asleep together.

Just relaxing and laying in Spencer's arms was the best feeling. Just curling up on his sofa, your head in his lap and he read some book aloud to you. He said it was written by one of his co-workers and you were trying to stay awake. His soft, soothing voice was like a warm blanket, his hand playing with your hair, massaging your scalp softly.

Your phone went off and you groaned loudly as Spencer passed it to you. It was Reggie, obviously. He seemed pissed, you could tell just from the way he sent 4 messages at once.

Noah is sick. She's being useless.

Bring back some cough syrup for him.

Where are you?

Need you here.

Ah. Noah was sick, so Reg was upset that Callie wasn't dealing with it. You texted back an excuse about where you were and when you'd be back. He seemed to buy it.

You knew Spencer was trying not to read your texts, he respected your privacy. But this time you wanted his opinion. "Babe, should I go? I really don't want to... but I don't want him to chase me down either..."

"You should leave. Tell him you're done. You know I'd protect you." His words were sweet but they only heightened your anxiety. You were desperate to make Spencer understand. You couldn't leave. Not even if you wanted to. Which you did... didn't you?

"Spence..." You sighed, sitting up and turning to face him. You couldn't begin to explain why you couldn't leave. You couldn't think of words to explain the fear you would carry with you even if you did escape. "I can't. I can't have this argument again. Please let's not do this. You've been away all week. I just wanna be held by you." You pleaded, pulling him into your arms, and falling back onto the couch. You kissed his face over and over, trying to distract him. "Just hold me?"

He knew something was wrong. Everytime he suggested your freedom, you freaked out and changed the subject. He was desperate to get you out of this situation. But it was all you knew.

His arms wrapped around you, his head on your chest. "I love you." It was the first time either of you had said it. He felt you tense and heard the small gasp that came from you. What he didn't expect was to almost instantly hear:

"I love you too, Spence." You felt him smile against you and couldn't stop the grin spreading across your face. "Stop smiling. You know I do." You hear him softly chuckle and feel the need to repeat yourself, "Spencer, I love you."

He squeezes you tightly before kissing you once again. He hope he could one day finally take you far away from it all. But for now, he was glad he could jut hold you like this. You were his and he was yours. That's all that mattered.

[to-the-stars8]

Reviving Love

Jason Todd x Reader Chapters AO3

Chapter 18

It had been more than a couple of years since you had looked at your high school yearbook—Or rather, anything from that sticker-covered, torn box that sat at the back of the top shelf in your closet. Yet, what Tessa had said the other day rattled you. Your thought process wasn’t rational. It couldn’t have been rational. 

Because Jason Todd was dead. 

And dead people don’t come back to life. 

Still, your hands shook slightly as you set the box on the ground. Plopping down next to your bed, you began to unfold the torn flaps at the top, only to be met with an old framed photo of you and Jason. It was from freshman year during homecoming, with the two of you in that classic prom-pose—him behind you with one hand on your waist and half turn towards the camera. 

You thought you looked ridiculous, smiling too widely at the camera and leaning back into him far too much. Jason, though, had looked at the picture of a handsome young boy. His hair was swept back and he had just gotten his braces off earlier that year, so his smile was perfect and vibrant. He hadn’t been looking at the camera. No, instead, his eyes were focused on you.

When you had pointed out to him that he wasn’t facing the camera, Jason Todd had flashed a smug grin and said, “You’re much prettier than a camera.”

At the ripe age of twenty-two, you were still impressed with how smoothly he had delivered that line. Setting the photo aside, you searched deeper into the box until you pulled out an old newspaper clipping of Jason’s obituary and funeral program. They had been tucked into your freshman yearbook, right next to the page where he had signed his name. On the front of both pieces of paper was his picture from the school’s yearbook. 

This was enough proof that Jason Todd was dead. 

“You're dead,” You said to yourself, imagining your Jason now.

Jason Richards. The dots that seemingly wanted to be connected couldn’t be no matter how hard you stared down at the photo in the yearbook and the one on your phone. They looked too identical, but everyone had a doppelganger, right? That had to be it. Some weird joke that the universe was actively trying to thrust into your face. 

As you put the box back into your closet, you mumbled to yourself, “You’re dead, Jason Todd.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 

Jason was juggling a cigarette and McDonald’s Sprite in one hand while the other checked his phone for any messages from you. There was one, just a text telling him to have a safe trip. That’s what he told you he was doing, going on a trip with one of his friends—In reality, it was a mission with Roy that had dragged him all the way to Chicago. 

Roy glanced over and asked, “Ya know, of all the names you had to tell her, you picked Richards? I mean, Jason Roy sounds a lot cooler.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face. He had told Roy, against his better judgement, about the run in with your friend Tessa. How she had managed to clock him as the dead boy from their school, without remembering that he was, legally, dead. Roy had pretended to pity him, but Jason had felt the lecture brewing. 

“I just picked the first name that came to mind. And, Peter seemed a little too close.” Jason took a drag of his cigarette before flicking it out of the window. After a few minutes of silence, he went on, “I want to tell her who I am—Who I really am, but I like what we have.”

Roy snickered, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter before letting go. “Jason, you selfish motherfucker.”

Now, that caught Jason off guard and he sat straighter in his seat. “What?”

“You cannot build something real by keeping her in the dark. In fact, you’re taking away her choice from choosing if she wants to be with you for, well, you or if she wants to tell you to fuck off. You can’t keep running around like this, she’ll find out eventually.”

Jason couldn’t muster a response, and could only lean further into his seat in hope that he might disappear. He hadn’t thought of it like that. That he’d been so caught up, so self-fish, that he didn’t see he had the potential to hurt you in such a cruel way. Jason knew he had tried, but trying wasn’t enough anymore. Your relationship was getting too serious. 

“Jason?” 

He dragged himself out the depths of his mind to answer. “What’s up?”

“Didn’t cause you to spiral there, did I?”

Roy had, but Jason wasn’t going to let him know that. “Nah, you’re fine. I think I’ll take your advice, though. I’ll tell her that I’m Jason Todd.”

Roy clapped him on the shoulder and told him that he was glad. Jason wasn’t listening. He was pondering how odd it felt to say his own name aloud .It was like he was real—Alive again. Feeling alive also meant feeling fear again. 

Jason sucked in a breath, trying to take in the feeling. He could take in the fear if it meant keeping you.

[coffeegnomee]

I am nothing but predictable, so. Any thoughts on the devious finale interactions? Cause. What was any of that. They both just didn't want to fight each other at all and I find it sooo interesting.

dude yes. every time zam died spoke just stopped fighting. and mapicc just cautiously sweating, waiting for the final blow but it never happened.

in my spoke-pilled mind, the whole finale was spoke giving zam a good ending, right? Like no holds barred, that was the truth when he said that. And spoke knows analysis better than anyone.

SPOKE: “do you think like, the vision of you completing your goal is it like a vision where people acknowledge you as that player?” ZAM:” i think so yea” SPOKE:” like you have the social proof”

Spoke asks if anyone has acknowledged that, and Zam just says Derap might've but not anymore. But bro. Woogie, Mane, Flame, Pagni, Derap too, and 4c and probably someone else im forgetting have ALL said that zam is the soul of lifesteal or something thereupon.

But you know the one damn person who refuses to say that, that matters more than anyone else, who made zam sad when he wasn't cheering for the flame void kill?

Mapicc.

Spoke isn't dumb. He's got better analysis of his friends than anyone else.

And zam compared giving hearts to bacon as a betrayal in the same way giving a blessing to minute counted as a betrayal. Both times mapicc was the one hurt.

So when he's fighting the finale Spoke keeps Mapicc alive.

And now we get back to devious in truth, Spoke was listening to the entire conversation from Mapicc's side! Stalking him invis, eating the gapple on woogie's tower.

Spoke heard Mapicc lament about his team, heard his pain at feeling like a pawn sent out to get zam back, how he felt like the server was already over bc of the one tapping, he heard him say "i thought it was going to be us two obviously doing our classic fighting adventures and then spoke would being in the middle going against both sides”.

So he gave him that reality.

and, perhaps most importantly, he heard that Mapicc didn't want to risk his only mace in a 1v1 with zam. He knew Mapicc only had one mace.

And what gets me crazy is Spoke instantly knew how bad it was when he killed Mapicc. And from Mapicc's pov, he just sits, dumbfounded on the respawn screen. You can hear the gears in his head processing he just lost his mace. You can feel him about to hover over the "title screen" button and give up right then and there.

And he only respawns when Zam messages him "i have your mace".

Spoke orchestrates at all times. And keeping Mapicc alive was important for the goal he wanted. Which is to give both his friends a good ending.

Spoke is a master at maintaining hope vs despair. And killing Mapicc there turned him closer to despair than hope. he knew it was bad.

And Mapicc for his part has been consistent in not wanting to fight Spoke. The reason he wanted to be the third party chaos faction with hannah was precisely because he didn't want to fight Minute and he didn't want to fight Spoke. He didn't have the heart to go after his two teammates, didn't want to choose sides.

But he also knows when a battle is impossible: and anything less than a 2v1 was not going to keep Spoke distracted enough for Mapicc to get a hit in without dying.

And ugh, remember s4 right before the eclipse breakup after the prison was made? Planet and Bacon interview Mapicc about why he's sticking with Spoke when Spoke is clearly behind all of this. And Mapicc basically just says where else would I go, Spoke provides protection, I'm safe from Spoke if I'm on his good side.

And to Zam in this finale, he asks who's the bigger threat, him or Spoke. And crashes out on Zam when he says Mapicc bc obviously Spoke is the bigger threat bc he can one tap people.

Mapicc doesn't often feel scared about dying. He's competent and capable enough that no standard pvp fight scares him, not Flame or Mane or Clown. "i'll just survive" he says over and over. He's completely confident in his ability to get out and live, and if he dies, well, he did his best.

The only thing that scares Mapicc is power beyond pvp. And normally Spoke is not a danger, normally Spoke is a great teammate, good at surviving, but when he gets like this, Mapicc starts walking on eggshells, trying to swallow his fear. How many times did Mapicc message Zam sure that Spoke was going to kill him.

Anything to not provoke the sleeping beast. He could fight Spoke with Zam, but not alone. So he goes along with whatever Spoke is talking about every time Zam dies, keeping a distance, waiting and hoping that Zam will return soon. And he finds out Spoke doesn't want to kill him bc their past team. Which gives him the confidence to go in for a kill a little later when Zam got back. And that got him killed.

The devious dynamic shifts so much when Spoke goes into exploit mode. You can just feel the dread coming off Mapicc. He doesn't want to fight his friend but he's equally upset he has to because Spoke doesn't give him any other option.

And so at every other time he denies that Spoke is doing anything at all. He believes nothing. Because to believe that Spoke is doing something devious is to loose his friend again. Bc Spoke goes where he can't follow. Not anymore.

[jungkoode]

FIVE SECONDS TO FREEDOM | 02

˗ˏˋ broken cars and police chases ˎˊ˗

"Sometimes the most dangerous thing isn't the race itself—it's who you trust to have your back when everything goes sideways."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 5,5k

rating: mature

content: police chases, engine diagnostics, unexpected alliances, & the dangerous intimacy of small spaces

jimin's skyline r34 | y/n's toyota ae86

✧ author's note ✧

Well. Hi again. (ಠ_ಠ)

Welp. Here we are. Chapter 2?!?? Already??? I see you little freaks going feral for Latino!Jimin and I can only say: relatable. Honestly. You’re not wrong and you shouldn’t be ashamed. You are exactly as God (me) intended. Now sit back and enjoy the consequences of your lust because this chapter is rich in feral Jaque behavior.

NOW. As for my obligatory prefacing ramble that none of you asked for but must endure because I am mentally ill and this is my sandbox: I really, really loved writing this chapter. Early chapters carry so much weight in a story’s rhythm—they’re the place where you need to anchor, to plant seeds, to seduce the reader into forgetting they have jobs and responsibilities and instead need to sit here with me and spiral over my little fictional rats. And this chapter let me really dig into the interpersonal dynamics that are going to unfold like slow-burning emotional grenades later on.

Let’s talk Maya for a second—my angel, my demon, my unhinged menace in matte black nail polish. I’m so obsessed with female friendships and I will never forgive media for flattening them into either aesthetic sidekicks or exposition machines. Maya is real. Maya is sharp. Maya has her own shit going on that affects how she shows up for Y/N. She’s not a foil—she’s a force. And Y/N having someone like her, someone who gets it and doesn’t coddle but also doesn’t leave? UGH. Peak feminine solidarity. She gives me Yeji and Irya (FMU coded) energy in the way that her presence changes the emotional architecture of a scene just by existing in it.

And Maya and Taeyang?? HA. You thought that was banter? You thought that was throwaway dialogue? BE SERIOUS. I am planting a garden and you better water it, because that seed is going to grow into something chaotic and gorgeous and definitely juicy.

Speaking of juicy: Taeyang and Jaque’s friendship is so dear to me. Like. I’m sorry. That entire “bro I’d die for you but never say I love you or make eye contact for longer than 2 seconds” dynamic is sooo real and sooo important and sooo boy. I needed that energy in here. It’s just so honest. And yeah, Taeyang has a backstory. And yes, he speaks Spanish too. And yes, there are layers to how and why. (‘Tiz’? Tiz is not just a sound. Save that. Save it. Bookmark that bitch.)

Also random but crucial: everyone calls Taeyang “Yang” and not “Tae” because my mentally ill fanbrain kept jumping to Taehyung every time I typed it and I simply refused to confuse my sons like that. Thank you for understanding.

And okay—Y/N checking the RX-7? Y/N getting her hands dirty? That scene is everything. It’s not just for the car girlies (though I see you and I love you). It’s about proving narrative integrity. Your main character needs flaws. Needs competence. Needs internalized biases, too. The world doesn’t split itself neatly between heroes and villains, misogynists and feminists. It’s messy. Characters are flawed. They don’t have all the information. They say the wrong thing. They’re not mirrors—they’re human. Jimin is just arrogant and doesn’t yet have the context to understand who he’s talking to. And that’s what makes it compelling. He fumbles. And the point is not that he never messes up—it’s that he learns. And Y/N gets to have her reactions and process and growth through it, too. We love a dual-arc pipeline. That’s what gives us growth and payoff and tension down the line. Plot wise. Character wise. Relationship wise.

AND THEN JIMIN???? IN THE AE86???? That man is literally the bane of my sanity. He’s cocky. He’s relaxed. He has one arm up on the roof like he owns your apartment, your body, and your last two brain cells. I hate him so bad I want to sit on his face. He’s all smirks and muscle memory and unreadable glances. The worst kind of guy. And I mean that in the way that makes my toes curl.

And the best part? Y/N and Jaque aren’t even talking to each other. They’re talking to their own assumptions. Two people playing poker with half the deck missing, trying to parse subtext that neither has context for. They’re both so certain they have the upper hand, and they’re both so wrong. I love them so much. I want them to suffer and also kiss about it.

Okay okay I’ll shut up. Go read the chapter. Report back. Tell me what you noticed. Tell me what you felt. Tell me if you would also fold like wet paper if Jimin stretched out in your passenger seat.

Love you always,

Kiki ♡

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

The sound that comes from Taeyang's RX-7 isn't right.

You catch it immediately—that telltale whine of a rotary engine pushed beyond its limits, the kind of noise that makes every experienced driver in a fifty-foot radius wince.

Taeyang's black Mazda limps into Daikoku like a wounded animal, steam wisping from under the hood, the distinctive growl of the 13B rotary replaced by an unhealthy rattle that has nothing to do with the aftermarket exhaust.

Maya whistles low beside you. "That doesn't sound good."

Understatement of the century.

You watch Taeyang kill the engine and sit there for a moment, hands still gripping the steering wheel. Even from this distance, you can read the frustration in the set of his shoulders, the way his head drops forward against the headrest.

He gets out slowly, like he's afraid sudden movements might make something else break.

The hood release pops with a sharp metallic click that echoes across the lot, and when he lifts it, a cloud of white steam billows out.

"Fuck." The word carries clearly across the parking lot. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

That's when you notice the other car—a lime green Honda S2000 that's still running, its driver standing beside it with his hands raised in what looks like apology.

Young kid, maybe twenty, with the kind of nervous energy that screams 'new money, bad decisions.'

You start walking before you consciously decide to move.

The scene becomes clearer as you approach—the S2000's front bumper has scrape marks. Fresh ones. Taeyang's examining something on the passenger side of his car—probably where contact was made.

"—didn't mean for it to get that heated, man. I was just trying to—"

"Shut up." Taeyang's voice is flat. Dangerous. "Just… shut the fuck up for a second."

The kid's mouth snaps closed.

Maya appears at your shoulder, silent backup, while a small crowd starts to gather.

Word travels fast when someone's car gets damaged in a race.

Everyone wants to see how it plays out, who's going to pay, whether fists are going to fly.

You catch a glimpse of Maya's face as she assesses the damage to Taeyang's car. She has a weird expression, far more personal than her usual detached amusement around these type of situations. Like she's taking this shit seriously for once.

You whip your head back to assess the situation—back to your more analytical side; the one you bring to every corner, every gear change, every decision that matters.

The S2000 kid is nervous but not running, which means he's either decent enough to face consequences or too stupid to realize how much trouble he's in.

In this city, this young, it's probably a mix of both.

The damage to Taeyang's car looks superficial from the outside—some scraped paint, maybe a dented quarter panel—but the engine noise suggests the real problem is internal.

Which means expensive.

Really fucking expensive.

"What happened?" Your voice cuts through.

The S2000 kid turns toward you, and his expression shifts the moment he recognizes who's asking.

Everyone in Daikoku knows you. Everyone knows your reputation.

And right now, you're not here as a racer—you're here as the person who decides how these situations get resolved.

"We were just—" he starts.

"I wasn't asking you." You don't even look at him, your attention fixed on Taeyang, who's still staring at his engine like it personally betrayed him. "Taeyang."

He runs a hand through his hair, leaving streaks of grease from whatever he just touched under the hood.

"Kid wanted to run here at Daikoku. Nothing fancy, just a quick pull to the back section." He's forcefully modulating his tone, but you can hear the anger simmering underneath. "Started clean enough. Then this fucking amateur decides he wants to get creative with the bump draft."

Your jaw tightens.

Bump drafting at Daikoku is dangerous enough with experienced drivers. With some kid who probably learned racing from video games? It's a recipe for disaster.

"Caught my bumper on the overtake," Taeyang continues. "Sent me into the barrier. Engine red-lined trying to keep control."

Which explains the sound. Rotary engines are temperamental bastards on their best days. Push one past its limits—especially when it's already running hot from racing—and expensive things start breaking.

You turn to the S2000 kid, who's been standing there looking progressively more uncomfortable as the story unfolds.

"Name."

"Uh… Hiroaki. Hiroaki Matsuda." He fidgets with his car keys. "Look, I already said I was sorry. I'll pay for the paint job, no problem."

Maya snorts. "Paint job."

"This isn't about paint," you say, voice flat. "How much cash you carrying?"

"I… what?"

"Cash. In your wallet. Right now. How much."

He fumbles for his wallet, hands shaking slightly as he counts bills.

"Maybe… forty thousand yen?"

You glance at Taeyang, who's now leaning against his car with his arms crossed. The expression on his face suggests forty thousand yen wouldn't cover a tenth of what this repair is going to cost.

"Forty thousand yen," you repeat. "For an engine rebuild on a built rotary. Do you have any idea what you just did?"

The kid's face goes pale. "Engine rebuild?"

"Apex seals," Taeyang says, voice clipped. "Side seals. Probably the whole fucking rotor housing at this point. You red-lined a bridge-ported 13B, genius."

The silence that follows is educational.

You can actually see the moment the kid realizes he's not dealing with a simple fender bender.

"I… I don't have that kind of money."

"Then we have a problem." You step closer, and he actually gulps down, audibly. "Because that car isn't just Taeyang's ride. It's his livelihood. You just cost him weeks of work. Weeks of races he can't run. Money he can't make."

The crowd has grown larger now, forming a loose circle around the drama. These kinds of disputes are part of Daikoku's entertainment, but they also serve a purpose.

Because everyone gets to see how conflicts get resolved, who pays up, who tries to run.

Reputations are built and destroyed in moments like this.

"Look," the kid says, desperation creeping into his voice. "I can get more money. Give me a week, maybe two—"

"No." The word comes out sharp enough to cut glass. "You pay what you owe, tonight, or you don't race at Daikoku again. Ever."

It's not an empty threat. Being blacklisted by you means being blacklisted from Daikoku. The most prestigious lot in Tokyo.

The kid knows it. You can see him running calculations in his head, probably wondering if he can liquidate something fast enough to cover the debt.

"My car," he says abruptly. "It's worth maybe two hundred thousand. Not enough for a full rebuild, but…"

"But it's a start." You nod toward the S2000. "Title's clean?"

"Yeah. No loans, no liens. It's mine."

You look at Taeyang.

"Your call."

He considers for a long moment, gaze moving between the kid and the lime green Honda.

It's a decent car—well-maintained, some nice modifications. Not enough to cover a complete rotary rebuild, but probably enough to get him mobile again while he sources the rest.

"Fuck it," he says finally. "Yeah. Transfer the title. I'll part it out to cover what I can."

Relief washes over the kid's face.

It's expensive as hell, but it beats being completely blacklisted from the scene he clearly wants to be part of.

"Maya," you say without looking away from the kid. "Make sure the paperwork's legit. No bullshit."

She nods, already moving toward the S2000 to check the registration and title—because Maya's dealt with enough car transfers to spot forged documents from across a parking lot.

The crowd starts to disperse now that the drama's winding down.

Entertainment's over, justice has been served, and there are other races to prep for.

You notice Maya leaning against Taeyang's broken RX-7 then, watching him poke around the engine bay with obvious frustration.

"So," she says, voice carrying that edge she gets when she's about to start shit. "This is what happens when you try to show off for someone."

Taeyang's head snaps up. "I wasn't showing off."

"Right." Maya's grin is sharp. "Just coincidence that you accepted a race from some amateur right after that girl with the pink Civic was asking about your car."

"That has nothing to—"

"Sure it doesn't." She picks at her black nail polish. "Because you're so level-headed when it comes to female attention."

"At least I don't start fights in club bathrooms," Taeyang shoots back.

"That was one time—"

"Last month."

"She had it coming."

Their bickering is interrupted by footsteps on gravel.

You don't need to turn around to know who it is—that particular stride has been getting under your skin for months.

"La puta madre, cabrón." Jaque's voice is a whistle as he approaches Taeyang's car. "What the fuck happened to your baby?"

"Yeah, la puta madre indeed," Taeyang responds grimly. "Some amateur with more money than sense happened."

Jaque reaches the RX-7 and immediately starts examining the engine bay with the focused attention of someone who actually knows what he's looking at.

Most posers in this scene can talk a good game about turbo specs and suspension setups, but few of them have actually held a wrench outside of basic maintenance.

Jaque, unfortunately, isn't a poser.

"Dude," he says, voice dropping to something more serious. "This is fucked. Rico needs to see this."

"Rico's busy prepping your car for tomorrow," Taeyang says immediately. "I'm not fucking with that."

"Hermano, Rico's been working on both our cars for three years. He's not gonna mind taking a look."

"He's got your tune to finish," Taeyang insists. "Tomorrow's race is too important. I can figure something else out."

"Like what?" Jaque's voice carries genuine frustration. "Take it to some random shop that's gonna charge you double and probably fuck it up worse?"

Maya snorts from her position against the car. "Boys and their loyalty issues."

Both men ignore her, but you catch the way Taeyang's jaw ticks at her comment.

"I'm serious, Yang," Jaque continues. "Rico can handle both. He's got my car for the night. Had him pick it up earlier for some final checks but the tune on my car is basically done anyway—just final adjustments tomorrow morning."

"And if something goes wrong with your setup? If the tune needs major changes?" Taeyang shakes his head. "You're racing for what, half a million yen tomorrow? I'm not risking that over my car."

Half a million yen.

That's serious money, even by underground racing standards. The kind of stakes that attract either the very confident or the very desperate.

Judging what you know about Jaque, it's probably the first one.

"Look at the scoring on the housing," Jaque says, pointing to something deep in the engine bay. "This isn't just apex seals, bro. This could be a full tear-down."

The genuine concern in his voice surprises you.

Not that he cares about his friend's car—that's obvious—but the way he's examining the damage suggests he might actually have some mechanical knowledge beyond basic maintenance.

"I know how bad it is," Taeyang says quietly. "I also know I can't afford to fix it properly."

The admission hangs in the air.

Financial reality is a bitch in this scene—a lot of people live paycheck to paycheck, dumping every spare yen into their cars to try and make a profit through the races.

You don't know what that feels like.

But you respect it enough to voice something out.

"I'll take a look at it."

Both men turn to stare at you like you just announced plans to sprout wings and fly away.

Jaque recovers first, that familiar smirk spreading across his face.

"Since when are you a mechanic, princesa?"

The condescension in his tone makes your hackles rise.

Just because you don't walk around covered in grease stains doesn't mean you don't know your way around an engine bay.

"Since I was sixteen and could outbuild half the idiots in this scene," you say, voice flat and unimpressed.

"Right." He drawls the word out, skepticism dripping from every syllable. "And I'm sure your manicure is really gonna help with rotary seals."

You look down at your hands—nails painted matte black, perfectly shaped but not impractical—then back up at his face.

"My manicure costs more than your car payment," you say sweetly. "But I can still rebuild a 13B faster than you can say 'thirteen bee.'"

Maya snorts beside you. "She's not wrong. Girl's been elbow-deep in engines since middle school."

"Is that right?" Jaque's eyebrows climb higher, and there's something in his expression that suggests he's genuinely intrigued rather than just skeptical. "And where exactly did you learn rotary engine repair? YouTube?"

This absolute jackass—

"Uncle's garage," you say, keeping it vague on purpose. "Started sweeping floors when I was eight. Graduated to actual engine work by fourteen. Rebuilt my first rotary at fifteen."

"Which garage?" Taeyang asks, sudden interest in his voice.

You hesitate—because any specific details might create connections you don't want. Connections to the Hayashi.

No fucking way.

Your reputation here was built on skill, not family money or connections. You've worked your ass off to earn respect based on merit alone.

"Just a local place," you say finally. "Been working there since I was—"

"Alright, I'll check it out with you."

The words stop you mid-sentence. You blink, processing what he just said.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He grins, challenge in his expression. "If you're gonna diagnose my boy's engine, I want to see this legendary mechanical expertise in action."

You stare at him. "You don't trust my assessment?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then why—"

"Because this should be interesting."

The way he says it makes your pulse spike with irritation.

Like you're some kind of entertaining novelty rather than someone with legitimate mechanical knowledge. Like he's humoring you rather than acknowledging your skills.

Fine.

If he wants a demonstration, you'll give him one.

"Whatever," you say, voice deliberately casual. "Just don't disturb me while I work."

You move toward Taeyang's car, pulling a hair tie from your pocket to get your hair out of the way.

You can feel Jaque's eyes on you on the periphery.

You ignore it.

Back to the work at hand—The RX-7's engine bay is cramped and complex—rotary engines pack a lot of components into a small space—but you've worked on enough of them to navigate the maze of hoses, wires, and manifolds.

"You got a flashlight?" you ask Taeyang.

He hands you a small LED light from his glovebox, and you click it on and lean into the engine bay, immediately focusing on the areas most likely to show damage from an over-rev situation.

The first thing you check is the coolant system.

Rotary engines run hot under normal conditions, and an over-rev situation generates enough heat to cause catastrophic cooling system failure.

You trace the hoses with your eyes and hands, looking for signs of bursting or leakage.

"Coolant seal's definitely blown," you confirm, voice slightly muffled by the hood. "But that's not necessarily catastrophic. Seals are consumable items anyway."

Behind you, you hear Jaque moving closer.

You can feel his presence even without looking—that annoying awareness you've never been able to shake.

Irritating, the way he seems to take up more space than he should.

"What about the scoring?" he asks.

You aim the flashlight deeper into the engine bay, examining the intermediate housing where the rotors make contact.

What you see makes you frown.

"Hand me that rag," you say to Taeyang.

He passes you the greasy cloth, and you use it to wipe away some of the accumulated grime around the housing.

The scoring is there, but it's not as extensive as you initially feared.

"It's there," you admit, "but it's not as bad as it could be. Most of this is just normal wear. The over-rev didn't help, but it didn't destroy everything."

You straighten up, wiping your hands on the rag.

All four of them are watching you with varying degrees of attention—Taeyang hopeful, Maya amused, and Jaque…

Unreadable.

"So what's the verdict?" Taeyang asks.

"The coolant seal definitely needs replacement. Probably the apex seals too, just to be safe. The scoring on the housing isn't great, but it's not rebuild-territory either. With some careful cleaning and new seals, you could probably get back on the road."

"How much?" The question comes out tight, like he's bracing for bad news.

You run quick calculations in your head.

Parts, labor, shop time…

"Maybe eighty thousand yen if you do the work yourself. Double that if you pay someone else to do it."

The relief on Taeyang's face is immediate and obvious.

Eighty thousand yen is still a significant expense, but it's manageable. It's the difference between being back on the road in two weeks versus being sidelined for months.

"You sure about that assessment?" Jaque asks.

You turn to look at him, eyebrow raised. "Are you questioning my diagnosis?"

"Just want to make sure we're not missing anything." He steps closer to the engine bay, leaning in to examine the same areas you just checked. "Because if Yangie gets this thing back together and it grenades on the first race, that's on us."

"It's on me," you correct. "I made the assessment. I take responsibility for it."

Jaque blinks at you, but doesn't comment. Instead, goes back to examining.

You watch him trace the same components you just checked, noting how his hands move confidently.

It speaks of someone who's spent serious time working on cars. Not just maintaining them, but actually building and rebuilding them.

Frustrating.

It would be so much easier to dismiss him if he was just another pretty boy with a fast car and no real knowledge.

But watching him work makes it clear that his reputation isn't built on luck or money alone.

"Coolant seal's definitely toast," he confirms after a few minutes. "But yeah, the housing damage isn't as bad as it looked. Good call on the apex seals though—no point putting this back together with worn seals."

You resist the urge to say 'I told you so.'

Barely.

"So we're good?" Taeyang asks, looking between the two of you.

"We're good," you confirm. "Just need to source the parts and find time to do the work."

"Rico probably has the seal kits in stock," Taeyang says immediately. "And if not, I know a guy in Yokohama who specializes in rotary stuff."

"What about workspace?" Jaque asks. "This isn't really a parking lot repair job, and Rico's spot is packed."

Good point.

Replacing rotary seals requires clean conditions, proper tools, and enough space to lay out components in order.

It's precision work that can't be rushed or done halfheartedly.

"I can get us bay time," you say without really thinking about it. "After hours."

The offer surprises you almost as much as it surprises them.

You're not in the habit of volunteering garage space for other people's projects, especially not when it involves the jerk and his circle.

But Taeyang's a solid driver, and this wasn't his fault.

And even if it costs you to admit it, you respect Jaque's loyalty to his friends.

"You sure about that?" Taeyang asks. "I can pay for the bay time."

"Don't worry about it." You wave off his concern. "Won't be a problem."

"When?" Jaque asks.

"Tomorrow night, probably. Give Yang time to source the parts, and give you time to handle whatever race you've got scheduled."

"Yeah," he says. "Tomorrow works."

The conversation is promptly interrupted.

A commotion from the other side of the parking lot.

Raised voices, the sound of car doors slamming, the general atmosphere of tension that signals trouble.

All four of you turn toward the noise, and you immediately spot the source of the problem.

Police cars.

Three of them, moving slowly through the lot with their spotlights sweeping across the assembled cars and people.

Not racing toward anything specific—just the general patrol presence that every underground meet dreads.

"Shit," Maya breathes. "Time to go."

Engines start firing up across the space, conversations cut off mid-sentence, and the universal message spreads without anyone having to say it out loud: scatter, now, before this turns into something worse.

You move toward your AE86 without hesitation, muscle memory taking over.

Maya's already pulling out her car keys.

Taeyang looks torn between his broken RX-7 and the need to get away from the police presence.

"Leave it," Jaque's tone goes harsh. "We'll come back for it later when things cool down."

"I'm not leaving my car—"

"Taeyang." There's a warning tilt in the way he says his friend's name now. "It's not worth the risk. We'll get it later."

"Your car's fucked anyway," Maya cuts in, already moving toward her Silvia. "Can't drive it, can't race it. What's the point of getting arrested over a paperweight?"

Taeyang's jaw ticks. "It's not a paperweight."

"Right now it is." She throws him a look over her shoulder. "Come on, don't be stupid."

The police spotlights get closer—radio chatter from one of the patrol cars loud enough to be heard.

"Shit, they got unmarked units too," someone calls out from across the lot.

The urgency ratchets up another notch.

"Tiz." Taeyang's voice carries frustration and something else—concern. "The fuck you gonna do without a car?"

"I'll figure something out—"

Maya's engine roars to life immediately, exhaust note cutting through the chaos. She leans out her window, eyes finding Taeyang across the lot.

"Taeyang! Move your ass!"

He makes a sound of frustration, but it doesn't take him even two seconds to start jogging towards her.

You don't miss the way his shoulders relax the moment he slides into her passenger seat. Like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.

Which leaves Jaque standing there, carless, while police spotlights sweep closer to your section of the lot.

"Y/N." His voice comes from directly behind you. Close. "You know the back exit?"

You unlock your door. "Yeah."

"Mind if I—"

"Get in."

The words come out before you can think about them; before you can consider the implications of Jaque in your passenger seat, in your space, close enough to touch.

You slide into the driver's seat and fire up the engine.

This is what home actually feels like—everything exactly where it should be, everything perfectly calibrated for your hands, your reflexes, your driving style.

Jaque opens the passenger door and the dynamic shifts immediately.

You hate how small your car feels with him in it.

The minimal interior that you love for its racing purity suddenly seems intimate rather than functional.

He settles into the passenger seat way too nonchalantly, one arm draped along the door frame, fingers drumming against the roof.

The position does things to his shoulders, fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest. He tilts his head back against the headrest, and you catch a glimpse of the line of his throat in your peripheral vision before forcing your attention back to the road.

Fucking annoying.

"Cozy," he comments, and there's amusement in his voice despite the urgency of the situation.

"Don't touch anything."

"Kinda makes me wanna touch more, princesa."

He spreads his legs slightly, knee nearly brushing the center console, and now it's like the space between the seats has shrunk.

As if his mere fucking presence on its own fills the car in ways that shouldn't be humanly possible.

Besides the sufferable smirk you can hear in his voice.

When he reaches up to adjust the rearview mirror—checking behind you for police, probably—the movement draws your eye to the line of his forearm, the way his fingers curl around the mirror's edge.

His tattoos.

You had never really paid attention to what they show or the meaning they harbor.

Somehow, now, you're curious.

But right now, it's whatever; because you've got bigger problems than your passenger's… passenger-ness.

Like the police sweep happening behind you.

In your rearview mirror, Maya's Silvia falls into position behind you, Taeyang's silhouette visible in her passenger seat.

It's no mystery they're sitting closer than necessary—Maya's not exactly built for long-limbed passengers, but still.

Another set of headlights sweeps across the lot.

Not police this time—unmarked sedan, but with the telltale antennas and spotlight configuration that screams undercover unit.

"Fuck," Jaque mutters. "They're serious tonight."

"They're always serious." You shift into first gear, hands steady on the wheel despite the adrenaline starting to spike. "The question is whether they're smart."

"Smart how?"

"Smart enough to block the obvious exits before they started their sweep."

You've been through enough police raids to know the pattern. The smart cops set up checkpoints on the main drags before they move in on the lot. The lazy ones just roll in loud and hope to catch whoever's too slow or too stupid to run.

"Well," Jaque says, settling back into the seat with that stupid attitude of his that should not be attractive but somehow is. "Guess we're about to find out which kind we're dealing with."

The service road you're heading for is narrow and poorly lit, tucked behind the warehouse that borders Daikoku's rear boundary. Most people don't even know it exists—just a maintenance access that leads to a residential street about half a mile away.

It's risky. If a patrol car happens to be watching that exit, you're trapped.

But it's better than trying to leave through the main entrance where half the lot is already bottlenecked.

"You sure about this route?" Jaque asks.

"No." You downshift as you approach the narrow opening between buildings. "But it's better than sitting here waiting for them to run our plates."

The 86 slips through the gap with inches to spare on either side.

Behind you, Maya follows, her Silvia's wider body kit making the squeeze even tighter.

"Fuck, that's close," Jaque comments.

"Maya knows what she's doing."

"I wasn't worried about Maya."

You glance at him, noting the way his free hand rests casually in his lap, no white knuckles or nervous fidgeting.

Either he trusts your driving completely, or he's very good at hiding his nerves.

The service road stretches ahead of you, potholed and uneven, designed for maintenance trucks rather than performance cars.

You keep the speed reasonable—fast enough to put distance between yourselves and the police sweep, but not so fast that you bottom out the 86's lowered suspension on a hidden crater.

"So," Jaque says after a few minutes of navigation. "Tomorrow night. This garage where you learned to build rotaries."

"What about it?"

"Just curious. Not many people your age know their way around a 13B the way you do."

You can feel him watching you in the dim light from the dashboard, trying to read something in your expression.

Probing for information you're not willing to give.

And it's a bit unsettling, the way he's studying you. Because most people in the scene take you at face value—the skilled driver with the built AE86 who showed up one day and started winning races. They don't dig deeper because your driving speaks for itself.

But Jaque isn't most people.

"Not many people start working at eight years old," you say, voice neutral.

"Eight." He repeats the number like he's testing it. "That's young. Even for family business."

Family business.

It's a bold assumption, but a correct one.

Damn him and his perception.

"Not family," you lie smoothly. "Just a family friend who needed someone to sweep floors and organize parts."

"And this family friend taught you to rebuild rotaries."

"Among other things."

Jaque's quiet for a moment, and you can practically hear him processing this information, filing it away with whatever other details he's collected about you over the months.

The silence stretches.

Not comfortable. Never comfortable with him.

You reach for the gear shift, muscle memory guiding your hand through the familiar motion. Third gear. Engine settling into its rhythm.

The movement pulls your tank top slightly, fabric shifting against skin.

You catch it in your peripheral vision—the way his gaze drops. Deliberate. Unhurried.

He's looking.

Actually looking.

At the way the black cotton clings.

At the neckline that sits lower than you'd prefer but higher than most girls around here dare to wear.

At the curve that's always been more than other girls your age carry in this society, the one that draws attention you never asked for.

"Nice tank top." His voice carries that lazy drawl, eyebrows climbing with obvious appreciation.

Of course he makes a show of it—letting his gaze drift down and linger, like he's got every right to look. Like you're something on display.

Heat flares up the back of your neck. Instant. Unwelcome.

Is he fucking serious right now?

Your hand moves automatically, tugging the neckline higher.

Habit. Defense mechanism.

The same motion you've been making since you were sixteen and realized that this particular genetic lottery came with complications.

"Thanks," you say, voice flat as asphalt. "Compliments my urge to tell you to fuck off."

He laughs. Actually laughs, the sound filling the small space between you.

"Heeeey now," he drawls, and there's something in his voice that's pure trouble. "I wasn't complaining."

The back of your neck burns hotter. You rub at it with your free hand, trying to erase the feeling, the awareness of his eyes still on you.

Asshole.

"I am. Keep your eyes on the road, nuthead."

"I'm not driving, princesa."

"Then keep them on your own fucking side of the car."

His only response is a snort. Then, quiet.

Minutes pass.

The tension in your shoulders doesn't ease.

If anything, his sudden silence makes it worse—like he's thinking about something you don't want him thinking about.

"You know," he says finally, "most mechanics would charge serious money for rotary knowledge. Especially someone good enough to diagnose Yang's engine damage that accurately."

"So?"

"So I'm wondering why you offered to help for free."

You take a right turn onto a wider street, finally emerging from the industrial maze into a residential area. Normal streetlights, normal traffic patterns, normal life continuing oblivious to the underground drama playing out in parking lots across the city.

"Maybe I just don't like seeing good drivers sidelined by amateur mistakes."

"Maybe. Or maybe there's something else."

Before you can ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, Maya's voice makes an appearance.

She's pulled up beside you at a red light, window down, calling across the gap between cars.

"Babe, I know a place we can actually park without worrying about cops."

Taeyang leans forward in her passenger seat. "There's a 24-hour konbini about ten minutes from here. Lot's usually empty this time of night."

"Lead the way," you call back.

The light turns green, and Maya takes off with a chirp of tires that's totally unnecessary but perfectly Maya.

Show-off, your girl.

Gotta love her for that.

"They're interesting together," Jaque observes.

"They're idiots together," you correct. "Maya's been hung up on him for months, and he's too dense to notice."

"Or too smart to acknowledge it."

You glance at him, surprised by the insight. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sometimes the timing's wrong. Sometimes other things have to happen first." His voice drops lower, more thoughtful. "Sometimes you're not ready for what someone's offering, even when you want it."

You glance at him for a second before your own voice fills the car instead.

"Sometimes, you don't have much choice."

Now it's his turn to steal a glance at you. He doesn't say anything else, however.

But the air suddenly feels denser.

Which is ridiculous.

You follow Maya's taillights through a series of residential streets, the Silvia's exhaust note echoing off buildings as she navigates toward whatever sanctuary she has in mind.

"So," you say, needing to fill the silence. "This race tomorrow. Half a million yen, Taeyang said."

"Yeah." The playfulness drops out of his voice entirely. "Something like that."

"Must be important."

"It is."

That's all he offers.

No details, no explanation of why this particular race matters enough to have Rico working on his car at night, why Taeyang was so concerned about disrupting the preparation schedule.

He's always like that, you note. Always loud and nosy about what he wants people knowing, but quiet and vague about what he doesn't want anybody knowing.

Like his mango allergy, apparently.

"Well," you say as Maya's brake lights flare ahead of you, signaling the turn into the konbini parking lot. "Don't crash."

"Worried about me, chiquita?"

"Worried about having to find a new rival," you correct, pulling into a parking space next to Maya's Silvia. "The scene's boring enough without you disappearing."

It's not entirely a lie.

Jaque chuckles as he reaches for the door handle. "Don't worry, gatita. I'm not that easy to get rid of."

Before you can respond to that—and you're not sure what you would have said anyway—he's already getting out of the car, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of hinoki and leather.

And the uncomfortable realization that some part of you was actually worried about tomorrow's race.

goal: 400 notes

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[irrevocablecondition]

i want to write a twdg au so fucking bad. so fucking bad just for clem and lee as remus and teddy. but then like,,, yk there's so many ROUTES you can take these things! i'd have to decide what route to take. and then it would just be s1 because what after that? who's aj? yk??? like it would just be s1 but it would just be my playthrough and then it would be like "here is this fic specifically crafted for me and only me"

but it would be fun to do like. alt endings? because we know how s1 ends and i could AHAHAH give that false sense of security with two endings and people (me, again this is made for me and me only) are like "wow i am sad i'll read this othe- AGAIN!?" and that'd be funny.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Then all those years of building - were they worth anything? Yes - they're just hoping you don't realize it.

Rebecca Sugar going in for the kill with some sketches out of absolutely nowhere. Here's my best attempt at getting an okay-ish image out of a blurry vertical phone recording of a screen. Original video was posted on the official rebeccasugar account on TikTok - a big thank you to @jeejyboard for bringing it to my attention.

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

chat is this real

x

[son-of-avraham]

Jewish (convert) culture is getting together all your jewish books and hounding the new jew-by-choice at shul

[beetlehoven]

someone said it on here that wade didn't introduce himself to logan like at all. logan just was chill w being kidnapped then listened to what other ppl called this rando red guy. had me thinking

[kangals]

Keps recently started feeling the urge to mark on walks, as expected of a boy dog his age. but so far rather than lining up and lifting his leg to pee on objects during the walk, as expected, his process goes like this:

Sniff thing

I am going to pee on this thing!

Pee immediately, right now. don’t bother moving.

😎 I did it

this ends up with him peeing on the ground/sidewalk 3 feet away from the object he intended to pee on. i am assuming at some point he’ll put it all together.