#I mean. Welt is canonically from there

[consumeroflemoans]

I don’t think people talk about the fact Aha knows they’re in a game enough

Like. They and their followers have been shown breaking the fourth wall. Specifically in the Simulated Universe and with Sampo after Belobog.

The simulated universe is meant to, well, mimic the real universe so the genius society can learn about aeons and past events by simulating them. Which is why it’s so fitting that the simulated Aha realized they’re in a false universe so quickly. The real Aha has already climbed the world tree and witnessed the truth of their existence.

I’ve joked about them ascending to aeonhood because they watched a baby fall before, which is true. But a large part of their true elation comes from knowing they’re in a game. Nothing matters so they can truly do whatever they want. Why not just have fun? They can sow plenty of discord. They can turn a worm into an emanator. They can witness wars and just laugh and laugh. They know it’s all meaningless. That’s why watching everyone else try so hard to keep their fake universe alive is so funny to them.

And this is even shown through the Masked Fools. Sampo speaks directly to the camera and both he and Sparkle have referred to themselves as supporting characters. Their purpose is to put on a show and make the game more entertaining. Would Belobog been as fun without Sampo coming in and making us collectively groan at him obviously trying to scam people? Would Penacony’s events or ending be as mysterious or shocking without Sparkle’s meddling behind the scenes? Penacony would have ended with a pretty boring party if not for Sparkle’s antics.

Honkai star rail needs characters you can laugh at, groan at, and poke fun at. The elation is delighted to be the game’s jester, poking fun at their false universe and the ones outside witnessing it.

[musubiki]

how was playing hsr? was there anything that you liked in the game and the story?

ITS BEEN AMAZING AS EXPECTED!!!!!!!!! i actually havent played genshin in a while since starting it, i have no motivation to do the filler event while a perfectly good star rail is sitting there waiting to be played :')

but for mechanics, i love they have auto battle so you dont have to nessecarily sit there and invest in every little battle you gotta do....and i love that the resin (resin??) system is a lot more forgiving with a higher cap, lower cost, and allow for overflow...thats nice...i also love that the mc and starter units are very useful. im so emotionally attatched to the star rail crew so im glad they never have to leave my team !!!!

storywise im LOVING IT SO FAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i started playing it at the beginning of spring break 2 weeks ago and im almost all caught up!!! i went through belabog and penacony and now im just doing those leftover intermission main quests which im only now realizing i shouldve done before going to penacony LMAO

and of course.....danmarch....im so soft for them......and also i love sampo i cant wait to see what they do with him

[fushiguruuzzzz]

know my name, know my face.

megumi is sick and tired of you being so formal. he is silent in his feelings until one day, when something as simple as a little shop and your eagerness about a keychain tips him over.

just a really silly fluffy fic. canon verse. was supposed to be a drabble but I yapped too much so I formatted. megumi yearns and longs and broods and- you get it. a mix between a drabble and a short fic kill me. no beta we die like everyone in the jjkverse. word count of 1046.

masterlist . join the gen taglist

although he loathe to admit how deeply he is being affected by this whole situation, the truth is that megumi is getting fed up with you.

not you, per se, but the way you seem to view him. he feels more distant to you than the others; you seem more personal with them, more friendly. even though you choose to spend more time with him than anyone else and speak to him more fondly and overall express more affection for him, he feels out of place. when you call upon the other first years, his name rolls off your tongue differently. it leaves your lips akin to that of a stranger.

you see, there is yuji and nobara and then there is fushiguro.

(he recalls the early days of your friendship with the group. your voice had been so sugary, lined with honey as you asked “is it okay if I call you yuji?” and, “you don’t mind nobara, right?” …you had not even asked him. he had looked straight ahead and pretended to feel less invisible.)

it meets his ears and makes him wince internally every time. it is soft and sweet as it always is, but that does not change the facts. you refer to him as a classmate rather than a companion. he wants to grab you by your shoulders and make you repeat the syllables of his first name until it is engraved in your mind and vocals alike — his ears too. maybe, if he were feeling really desperate, he would fall to his knees. however, he does neither. he simply gives a nod and lets the sound ring through him, lets the echo of it beat against his insides and leave welts big enough to have him crumpling to the ground. he greets you back like he is neutral, keeps his knees steady. he calls you by your last name also.

perhaps he is being dramatic. perhaps he is irked by it more than he should be, but he cannot help himself. what is it about him that is so alien? he had always been different from other people, but jeez.

he is silent in his brooding, quiet in his troubled inquiries. they fester in his mind and do not pollute the air. until one day, his mouth betrays him.

your feet have the gravel crunching beneath you as you bound up to him, a smile on your face. the others were not in sight—the three of you had gone off into another part of the shop whilst he lingered in a different isle. you had returned to him alone. it made him feel seen, even as he schooled his expression to indifference.

you hold a keychain out to him. “look, fushiguro! isn’t this cute?”

the warmth in him flickers, fading into a dull ember. he gives a short nod, hoping you would not notice the way the corner of his lips tugged downward. a long, silent exhale leaves his nose, eyes focused a little too intently on the trinket than necessary.

you pause, because you noticed, as you always did. you saw him. but unfortunately, you only saw fushiguro.

“fushiguro?” you questioned tentatively.

that was the final straw; the words escaping him before he could will them away, “why do you do that?”

a pause. the meaning of the cryptic statement is somewhat lost on you, he quickly realized. the tips of his ears heat up as he continues, “speak to everyone so personally except for me. we aren’t strangers, you know.”

tilting your head, your brows furrow, not because you are still confused but because it was so ironic. not one person at jujutsu high called him by his first name save for gojo, who was met with the meanest scowl every single time. you would much rather be left out of his wrath, therefore did not bother pushing him for it. your eyes flicker oddly for a moment and he is left to drown in the silence.

“everyone calls you fushiguro.”

he averts his eyes completely. the tips of his ears are turning pink, but you can only see if you look very closely. “what makes you think you’re just a part of everyone?”

“well, when we met. you stared at me deadpan and introduced yourself with it’s fushiguro, point blank.”

his cheeks warm further. he scowls, both because of your horrible impression of him and because of the recollection. he did do that, but… that was different. that was a long time ago. that was before you had become so close to his heart that you could touch it, feel it beat against your palm and speak his first name in morse code for you. now is now.

“that was different.”

“so… you want me to call you megumi?”

the sound of his first name hits him like a punch to the gut. his heart speeds up, fingers twitching at his sides. finally, he thinks. after multiple months and a bit of mild mortification, you had done it. his soul eases and sinks contently back into his bones. he shrugs, though, despite his entire conscious screaming yes. “do whatever you want. I was just asking.”

you chuckle. he is a bit of a terrible liar when it comes to these things, you have learned. you choose to humour him. “okay. i’ll call you megumi, then.”

he nods. silence falls again, but it is different this time. easy. transparent. it does not settle thickly and add to the weight on his shoulders, instead lifting it, if even a little. then, “I don’t sound like that, by the way.” his voice is a low grumble.

“you totally do, don’t lie.”

“shut up.”

“okay, whatever, megumi.”

despite himself, he smiles. he would let you torment him so long as you eased the sting with the soothing balm that was his name on your lips. hell, you could curse his entire existence and he would forgive you if it was followed by the gentle whisper of megumi against the shell of his ear. it is a scary thought, but he accepts it with surprising ease.

as long as you called out to him like he was a little more than a stranger, he was anything to you. he was yours.

tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @xianji @cinnamxnangel @sickpatientt @megapteraurelia @scoutings @anotherwriternamedclara @spookypeacesandwich @titititititixo @wizzzierr @jadeyaps @whoevenisjessica @nishislcve @rustymind @grndz3r000

[minart-was-taken]

The wild references to Finland in Honkai Star Rail

Hello, in this post I'm going to go over the various references to Finland in Honkai Star Rail (Also touching a little on HI3) and explaining them the best I can so that non-finns can understand how hilariously delightful they are.

_

Starting with a funny one: Welt Yang.

The man is canonically 1/2 finnish, 1/4th chinese and 1/4th german according to sources I dont understand.

The way this is represented in Honkai Star Rail comes in one intentional form and one that may be an accident but I love it anyway:

1.

Welt's given name is Joachim Nokianvirtanen, a name that is utterly hilarious to a finn like me. Why? Well Nokianvirtanen is not a surname anyone here would ever have. Virtanen is a real surname, but for some reason Mihoyo decided slap Nokia in the front of it??

The name translates to "Nokia's rapids." Which adds to the funniness because yes Nokia is an actual place in Finland and not just the brand, but it is also very much the brand.

(Also Joachim is not a finnish name even if many finns are christian.)

This is the equivalant of naming an american character Jesus McDonaldslake.

2.

Welt's hair colour! A lot of people imagine blond and blue eyes when imagining a finn, but that's not actually accurate to the statistics. The most common hair colour here is in fact "Maantien harmaa." Translating to country road grey. Sometimes they leave out the word grey or replace it with blond. The colour is known as dirty blond or pale brown in english speaking countries 👍 This is less funny and just a cute detail.

_

Secondly we'll be going over Sampo Koski, a man many know to have a very finnish name.

BUT FIRST Fun backround info: I didn't know Sampo was in this game when I first started playing, so when he showed up and suddenly dropped finnish words at me I was utterly jumpscared.

Finland is very rarely referenced in media outside of our country, so most of us are NOT used to hearing anything about our home in media.

Furthermore there's actually a meme about this very thing that everyone in the country knows: Torilla Tavataan. This translates to "Lets meet at the marketplace" which is referring to the idea that when something massively cool happens we should gather together and celebrate.

The finns REALLY want to be acknowledged by the wider world lol

Anyway back to Sampo. His name is actually something I could totally see a real finn having, although his first name is a little out there.

Sampo is an item from finnish* mythology that was forged by a super capable smith with the help of his whole village. The item is golden with multiple spouts that produce valuable things like flour, gold and I believe... salt? You can find more about the item online.

Koski meanwhile means a river rapid. Uhm, lotsa water themed names here, huh!

Nothing that funny going on with his references to be honest. I can even say the voice actor did an amazing job pronouncing his name correctly.

_

Yunli's companion quest!

This is the newest batch of references I've ran into, but if I or anyone else finds more I'll be updating this list :]

In Yunli's companion quest we meet... Paavo. His name is Paavo--

This NPC introduces himself as a traveler from far away who's come to deliver a sword from his homeland back to the Xianzhou where it was originally forged. Here's why he made me giggle uncontrollably every moment he was on screen.

1.

Paavo is considered kind of a joke name, very comparable to naming someone Bob in america. The way NPC's referred to him sounded like "Mr. Bob" to me. It was so funny

2.

He is from the PLANET KALEVALA?? SAFlJ LJ ???

Kalevala is the national epic of Finland* and tells stories such as the one of Sampo's creation. The title does refer to setting of the story, but it is still weird to hear it as a name of a planet lol.

3.

Our food is really repetitive u right Mr. Paavo

4.

Paavo explains the sword he has come to deliver is called Miekka Kivessä. This is the finnish translations of "The sword in the stone." he proceeds to then explain the legend of the sword in the stone, which. It's not a finnish legend. We've never had a king, yet alone chosen them with a sword-- Not even in myths. Kalevala's highest ranking guy in the mortal realm is Väinämöinen who's an old wise man.

Also he says Miekka Kivessä wrong but that's to be expected, very funny, and also I admire the effort to at least try and make it sound natural.

5.

Finally, he later reveals his last name-- Which, why are we refering to him as Mr. Paavo if he has a last name...? Oh well! Mr. Paavo's last name is Kalastaja, which translates to Fisher. This is not a real last name in Finland. The english equivalent of this man's goddang name would be something like Mr. Bob Employee.

_

Since you've made it this far I assume you won't mind me rambling a bit more. I'm personally psyched to see Finland mentioned in non-finnish media and love the wonky but genuine attempts to include us!

I think considering how many weebs there are in Finland who've come up with illogical "Asian names" to sound cool online, it's only fair we got the same treatment back :P I hope they'll keep delivering and I'd love to visit planet Kalevala one day.

_

*It's worth noting Finland is a colonizer of the Sami people, and a lot of their culture has been annexed without any care or respect towards them.

Finland was also under colonialism itself for hundreds of years, and our myths have been largely lost to time with only some information left. It's super difficult to tell what is finnish mythology and whats the Sami people's mythology.

That's a fact that's deeply important to remember when discussing things like this, and I hope that the people reading this consider looking into how to help the indigenous people of the nordic region. Thank you.

[beckyninja]

Revelation

Pairing: Lt. Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: descriptions of torture

Description: Our favorite Ultramarine Captain Lieutenant realizes his personal serf means far more to him than he thought. And all it took was his subconscious concocting a truly horrific scenario.

Alright guys, you seemed to like my fluff. Now I thought I'd try my hand at some angst. As always, please forgive any non-canonical details. And thanks to @solspina who's Dante dream fic heavily inspired this.

Pain.

Demetrian Titus knew this feeling. In his long life as an Astartes, he’d experienced more kinds of pain than most Imperial citizens dreamed of in their worst nightmares. Stab wounds, shattered bones, burns, bites. He’d endured them all, healed, and moved on.

Not this time, though. This pain… lingered. It welled and pulsed within his very nerves, bypassing all attempts by his enhanced body to neutralize it. It stemmed from the chains bolted to his wrists and ankles, from the hundreds of injection sites scattered across his skin.

And from the mind of one Inquisitor.

“Ah, awake again, I see.”

The deceptively calm voice echoed inside his skull. A face came into view, seeming to float in the endless void.

It smiled.

Once, he would have lunged at that smug face. He would have strained against the shackles that bound him, warrior’s instincts screaming at him. Fight back! Kill!

No longer. That time had passed. Days? Months? Years ago, perhaps. Now he simply stared. He would not speak. He could not give the answers this madman desired, and he would not dishonor himself by lying. 

His silence was the only resistance he could give.

Normally, this infuriated his tormentor. He would rant and rail, promising new and varied forms of agony. 

“There is heresy within you, traitor. And I will dig it out, if I have to do so from your broken corpse!”

The Inquisitor often promised death, either as punishment… or reward. At times, Titus welcomed the idea. Then thoughts of the shame such a ignoble death would bring his Chapter filled him and he silently vowed to live another day. 

Eternal service. The vow of an Astartes. The vow of an Ultramarine. It did not matter the circumstances. He would endure. He would-

“I have something new planned for you this time, Titus.”

A sickly light illuminated his surroundings. It slowly revealed a figure crouched at the Inquisitor’s feet. After years of silence, a word fell from Titus’s torn lips.

“No…”

You. It was you. How? Titus’s mind whirled, trying to piece together a timeline that suddenly made no sense. You couldn’t be here. He hadn’t even met you yet! A deception. It had to be.

Then the Inquisitor reached down and yanked your head back. The hood of your serf’s robe fell and Titus looked into your eyes. Those beautiful eyes that had looked at him with hope and adoration. Now full of terror.

He jerked against his bonds without thinking, trying to reach you, trying to shield you from what was to come.

The Inquisitor laughed. “Such a reaction! And here I thought Astartes were above such mortal frailties as affection,” his hand left your head and strayed lower, “and desire.”

You yelped as that hand groped your flesh. Blind fury filled Titus and he lunged once again. 

“Do not touch her!”

“Or you will do what, exactly?” The Inquisitor gripped your chin and forced it up. “Look at him, girl. Look at your hero.” Another cruel laugh. “So strong and noble. And now all he can do is watch as I do this… and this…”

Your cries brought a pain greater than all the Inquisition’s tortures combined. Your eyes fixed on him, begging him to save you. He thrashed against his chains harder than ever before.

They only grew tighter.

The Inquisitor’s laughter rose to a shriek. “You swore to protect her, Titus! You swore to never let her come to harm again!”

He drew back his hand and struck you across the face. Again. And again. Titus watched welts and bruises bloom across your skin. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed. 

“This is your fault, Titus.” The Inquisitor grinned.

My fault. 

He had taken you for his own. Your companionship, in a galaxy that had abandoned him, soothed the ache in his soul. 

Now you suffered the consequences of his selfishness. 

For the first time in his life, the proud Ultramarine begged. “Stop, please!”

The Inquisitor threw you to the ground and brought his booted foot down on your arm with a sickening crack! You screamed.

Titus felt something break within him as well. “I WILL CONFESS!”

Silence. Darkness. He found himself alone in the void. He could no longer see you or the Inquisitor. For an eternity he hung there, waiting for something… anything.

Then, a voice whispered in his ear. “She means so much to you, doesn’t she?”

The sound of a blade splitting flesh. The overwhelming scent of blood. 

***

Titus’s eyes snapped open. All three of his lungs expanded as he gasped for breath. He lay on his cot, in his quarters, surrounded by the soft glow of candles. The omnipresent hum of the ship buzzed in his ears. 

His torment at the hands of the Inquisitor had ended over a century ago. You were not there. You had never been there. 

Why, then, did he still smell your blood?

At that moment, a soft beep came from the door as it slid open. You stepped inside, a bucket of cleaning supplies perched upon your hip. You glanced at him with a smile.

The scent of blood grew stronger.

In the blink of an eye he knelt before you, hands grasping your shoulders. “Where are you wounded?” 

“My Lord?” You gasped, the cleaning supplies clattering to the floor.

He noticed the reddish marks on your sleeves and growled, low and predatory. “Who hurt you?”

He’d find them and tear them limb from limb.

“No one, my Lord. I am not hurt.”

“Do not lie to me!”

You flinched. He winced, removing his hands.

“I am not injured.” You repeated. “The medicae are short-staffed at the moment and I offered to assist with the wounded in the infirmary. I know I should have asked your permission, but I didn’t think you’d disapprove. I’m sorry, my Lord.”

“I… I do not disapprove.” Titus closed his eyes and tried to regulate the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “There is no need for you to apologize.”

You were silent for a moment.

“You had another nightmare.”

“Yes.”

“It involved… me?”

“Yes. You were… injured. I could not… I tried to…”

Emotions ran riot through him. Some he could name: anger, guilt. Others were entirely foreign. He felt unmoored, severed from the comforting order of practical and theoretical.

“Perhaps I am indeed corrupted in some way.” He muttered, almost to himself. “Perhaps I deserve to suffer.”

“No!”

Something soft pressed against his face. He opened his eyes to find your hands cupping his cheeks. 

“Forgive me, but I hate it when you say such things.” Your beautiful eyes burned with conviction. “You saved me when no one else would. You are honorable and courageous and deserving of whatever happiness can be found in this life. You, Demetrian Titus, are a good man.” You hesitated then, your voice dropped to a whisper only an Astartes’ ears could have heard. “Emperor forgive me, I love you for it.”

Your words. Your touch. The strange emotions stirred up by his subconscious. All these things ignited in his mind… and Lieutenant Demetrian Titus of the Ultramarines experienced a revelation.

He covered your mouth with his own.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @lemon-russ @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith

I hope I tagged everyone who asked!

[aventurineswife]

How about a Reader who is just Done™️ with everything and is (usually) a shut-in but their parents said “Aight, you’re going on your Pokemon Trainer / Digidestined / Naruto / whatever’s popular hero’s journey and you’re gonna like it!” and practically forced Reader onto the Astral Express. You’d be forgiven for thinking Reader was a Self-Annihilator but nah they’re just Tired™️ in the same way a grumpy cat is Tired™️ and that translates quite hilariously into their experiences.

Arrest warrant on Jarilo-VI?

Reader: “So, let me make sure I understand this clearly… We’re being arrested under suspicion of plotting to incite rebellion?”

Bronya: “That is correct.”

(Note: the presence of the Stellaron wasn’t known to the public at this time)

Cue Reader pulling out their phone and blasting at full volume a recording of the crew’s earlier meeting with Cocolia, meaning everyone in the area — guards, civilians, shopkeepers, Serval’s workshop — ends up hearing the whole conversation, from Cocolia’s greeting to the crew’s footsteps leaving the office (and March’s chatter about sightseeing); so everyone there, not just Bronya and the guards, is a witness.

Bronya: “Th— This wasn’t what was reported…!?”

Guard no.1: “What’s a Stellaron…?”

Guard no.2: “No idea, never heard of it.”

Reader: “As you have seen, and heard, your quote-on-quote ‘Supreme Guardian’ gave you orders based on false information. At no point did we ever threaten to undermine the authority of Belobog’s government. We have nothing to gain from taking over a city on a literally dying planet. All we did was promise to get rid of the Stellaron for Belobog’s safety but, it seems like she never intended to treat us like guests in the first place.” 😑

And after Cocolia is defeated—

March: “Time to celebrate—!”

Reader: “A mother’s death right in front of her grieving daughter?”

March: 🥶

Trailblazer: ☠️

Dan Heng: 🙂‍↕️

Reader: “You could at least wait until we’re out of earshot.”

Questioned by Yukong on the Luofu?

Reader: “I honestly don’t know what to tell you, ma’am, we heard there was a Stellaron on your ship and I, personally, got kicked out of the train to go with these guys. I just wanna hole up in my room and play video games.” 😞

Trailblazer: “But you haven’t even touched your dailies?”

March: “Yeah, all you do is lie in bed and sleep!”

First time hearing about the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus?

Reader: “…I’m going to be real with you, that just sounds like a creepy cult getting together under a medical con artist.”

Jing Yuan: 😅 “They do call themselves ‘the Disciples.’”

Reader: “And the ones who came before you actually fell for the scam.”

Jing Yuan: 🫠 “Unfortunately, they did…”

Reader: “And they even took your life insurance, in a way, and the life insurance of future generations.”

Welt: 🙂‍↕️ “You don’t need to rub it in.”

Heliobus breakout?

Trailblazer: “Hey.”

Reader: “No.”

Trailblazer: “? I haven’t said anything yet.”

Reader: “My answer is still no… Wait, why am I in a group chat with random numbers—”

Guinaifen: “Hiiiiiii~!”

Reader: “Oh no.”

Guinaifen: “WHATAYA MEAN ‘OH NO’ I’M THE LIFE OF THE PARTY” 💢

Plus the fact that Reader’s ‘negative’ energy has rubbed off enough on Yanqing that when Apyra (a heliobus) offers to teach him sword-training instead of Jing Yuan, Yanqing actually refuses (compared to canon).

Yanqing: 😑 “Sounds like a bunch of lazy amateurs getting together under a con artist.” (Now why does this sound familiar…)

They’re also kind of listening to Sunday not because of his pathos speech and trauma, but because “every day should be a Sunday.”

Reader: “I don’t know about you but my Sundays were stressful deadlines.”

Sunday: “Then stress no more, for your Sundays will now consist of lying in a fluffy bed with plushies while watching your favorite shows and playing video games~!”

Reader: 👀 “Let him cook—!”

Sunday: 😀???????? (Cooking? But, there’s no kitchen here…?) <- does not know internet slang

How does Firefly wake up Reader from Ena’s dream over Penacony?

Blade: “Put me on the phone.”

Firefly puts him on the call.

Blade: “You have assignments due tonight.”

Reader: 😱 *Scrambling out of bed* “NONONONONONONONONONONO WHERE THE FUCK IS MY LAPTOP—!!!” Pause. “I’m not even working anymore…?”

Firefly: 😀 “Wow, that was fast…!”

Blade: “You’re welcome.” *hangs up*

Reader: 😑💢

Firefly: 😅 “Sorry, but this is really important—!”

Crash-landing on Amphoreus?

Reader: “Why not just ask for directions instead of automatically pulling out weapons?” *taps on a Titankin’s shoulder* “S’cuse me, can you tell us where the nearest city is? We’re kind of lost.”

Titankin: “Oh yeah, Okhema should be close by, so you want to go through that giant temple over there in front of us, it should have a back door and from there you need to take a right turn—”

Phainon, watching from a distance like a confused puppy: 😀 “That actually worked…?”

Tribbie: “I can’t tell if they’re crazy, or if they’re too lazy to pick up a sword.” 😅 <- she hit it on the nail with the second guess

And Aglaea? She can sense how tired and listless Reader is. They don’t want glory. They don’t want power. They don’t give a rat’s ass about making a name for themself. They just want to get this mission done and be on their merry way.

And if sheer lack of energy through the golden threads is anything to go by, there is practically nothing going on in Reader’s head other than the cute chimeras.

Aglaea, about to start her life-or-death interrogation of the crew: 🙂‍↕️ (I am so sorry for what I am about to do…)

[Several hours later]

Phainon: “…How long have they been sleeping?”

Trailblazer: “Uhhhhhh twelve hours, I think?”

Dan Heng: “It’s not healthy, but it’s pretty normal.”

Phainon: “Did they even have something to eat yet? I don’t think I ever saw them with a plate. Or a fruit.”

Dan Heng: “…Now that you mention it, I almost never saw them in the kitchen, and the most they had at group dinners was fried rice and water.”

Tribbie: “Well I agree that this isn’t healthy and it should not be normal!”

Cue Tribbie yanking off the blankets and putting Reader in different areas of work and group activities. “You need sunlight! And exercise! And food!” and all that fun stuff.

Then Hyacine makes an appearance and Aglaea and Tribbie shove Reader her way.

Hyacine, after listening to Dan Heng and the Trailblazer about Reader: “Hm… Sounds like they’re still caught in that mindset of being stagnant. They’ve hit a dead end with their life back home and never reached that sense of fulfillment, so they kind of decided to throw in the towel. I think what they really need is something they can actually enjoy engaging in.”

Trailblazer: “They did enjoy the e-sports Mr. Yang would set up every week, but we have no connection here.” 😞

Dan Heng: “How about cooking? They send me cooking videos every now and then.”

Trailblazer: “…They send YOU cooking videos, and never me or March!?” 😭

(Dan Heng just has that quiet friend energy where he and Reader can just yap in the chat about nerdy and/or domestic things, lol.)

And it works.

Kind of.

Reader makes a whole batch of dishes and desserts that everybody likes, but still seems pretty listless.

Up until Mydei give not only a critique but also some encouragement and solid advice for improvement.

Then they really get into it.

They also do really well working with the chimeras.

After that, Reader starts waking up on time and immediately gets to work (with something they actually enjoy doing).

Imagine the rest of the crew’s reactions.

Welt: 😭 “Miss Hyacine, you’re a miracle worker.”

Hyacine: 😊 “Just doing my part to get more people to smile~”

And then Hyacine will probably suffer a horrific fate thanks to the prophecy and Reader might go back to being listless — we won’t know until 3.X releases tho

Okay okay you’re giving me life with this character concept—Reader is peak millennial/gen z burnout with a dash of “grumpy cat stuck on a road trip with overly enthusiastic NPCs” energy and I love them so much. They’re literally the only sane person surrounded by chaos and myth and Aeons and world-ending prophecies and they’re like, “Yeah okay but I haven’t slept in three days and I don’t get paid for this.”

The Astral Express crew must feel like they picked up a gremlin they’re now emotionally attached to despite all common sense.

March: “You’ve got main character energy!” Reader, wrapped in a burrito blanket on the train couch: “Yeah, and main character depression.”

Also? That Jarilo-VI scene with Bronya and the phone audio absolutely killed me. Reader weaponizing the group chat receipts like a warlock casting Sending is so iconic. I can literally see Bronya's face glitching in real time. Reader’s like if you gave a Gen Z gremlin a tactical nuke and a smartphone.

And the Penacony bit? The way Firefly had to resort to Blade for waking Reader is both terrifying and hilarious. Blade having to pull the “you have homework” card is so on brand—he knows what works.

And the fact that Aglaea literally hesitates to attack because Reader is just That Burnt Out™?? This is such a good dynamic, because instead of challenging her with equal fire, Reader challenges her whole perspective just by being this inexplicably apathetic—but strangely kind—person who isn't trying to win anything. They’re just... here. And she's so thrown off by that. Like, “you’re not begging for your life?” and Reader’s like “bro I haven’t had eight uninterrupted hours of sleep in two years. I welcome the void.”

Tribbie being the chaotic friend who decides to forcibly nurse Reader back to health had me wheezing. Just her screaming “YOU NEED VITAMINS” while Reader gets dragged into a salad-making team-building exercise.

And then Hyacine stepping in with the insight and encouragement??? And the little spark finally coming back to Reader through something as simple and genuine as feedback on their food?? That’s... unironically beautiful. Like—Reader might still be tired, but now they’ve got this little light. Something to focus on. Something theirs. That’s some Studio Ghibli-tier healing arc.

Reader is relatable, funny, tragic, and kind of powerful in a weirdly grounded way.

[lancabbage]

When someone brings out the novel artwork as 'proof' WWXs og body didn't have scars all over his back from YZYs canonical abuse... You know you're dealing with an idiot.

Yes, the art is pretty and a nice addition. But it's not canon and it hardly depicts it either... We have artwork in the novel that shows WWX in red and black during his youth when he would have been wearing Jiang clan purple. He only starts wearing black post burial mounds escape. So that's incorrect...

We have novel art depicting WWX with glowing red eyes... Also not canonically true either. Nor are his tits ever particularly out, but most give his YLLZ era a plunge neckline so low you might be able to see the hint of his garden path if you look close enough!

If you're using mostly fan generated artwork - who have been clearly influenced by the CQL and donghua or their own personal headcanons and preferences - you're a moron and wasting my time.

“Uh, yeah,” Wei Wuxian said. He felt his back, which was LINED WITH OLD AND NEW WELTS. He couldn’t help but ask the question he’d been dwelling on. “Really, this must be the greatest injustice in all of history. Why am I always the only one getting hit whenever something happens?”

7S translation

Wei WuXian, “Uh-huh, that’s right.” He felt his back, COVERED IN SCARS BOTH OLD AND NEW, and still couldn’t hold back the question he’d be thinking about, “How awfully unfair. Why is it that I’m the only one who gets beaten up, whenever something happens?”

ExR translation

YZY whipped and abused WWX whenever she was in residence at Lotus Pier. Considering she was apparently barely there and the detailed description of new and old scars (wounds/welts*/injuries - whatever you want to fucking call it!! It's all the same!!!) we see in the extras, she must have harmed him any chance she got while she was back. We see her lashing him (and him alone!) for the most tenuous of "reasons"... The fact it states he was covered in scars both new and old shows historical abuse spanning some time - most likely since he arrived at LP at the age of nine!!!

So don't go pulling that bullshit on me when we're talking about canon FACTS. Especially when people cherry pick the text to conveniently show what they want and omit the stuff that shows they're talking from their ass.

*An English lesson for those struggling with 7S translation choice for the scars on WWXs back...

The term "welts" doesn't JUST mean a swollen bruise like mark on the skin or an itchy raised bump. It's a technical term used for injuries and scars left behind from being whipped or beaten hard and heavily with something. While I'm not a fan of their word choices, this is technically correct in the sense the marks are classified as welts as defined above.

[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

synopsis : photographs from a gangland crime scene just beyond mexico's border send ghost into a spiral. as his superior, you feel it is your duty to bring him down from delirium by any means necessary.

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (colonel)

warnings : 18+ mdni. heavy use of the canon comics, gory imagery, mentions of torture, brainwashing, corpses. ptsd, delusions, simon in a submissive headspace. d/s themes, softdomme!reader, praise kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, cumming in pants, i wanted to write simon as a sub so i fucking did. please note this is a fic about using sex to navigate trauma. it will not be for everyone.

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He's like a spectre in the back of the briefing room, his shadow looming over the gory photographs spattered over the table and smothering the map beneath them. Snapshots of gruesome, twisted corpses reflect in the honey liquid of his irises, his usually expressive eyes made mute by the ghastliness of the savaged bodies.

Ghost's vast frame appears to shrink the longer he gazes at the glossy, printed pictures. 

Price continues his mission briefing. His forgotten cigar smoulders in the cigarette dish placed haphazardly over the map, ashes building an eminence of embers on the glass platter. His tar-drenched lungs rasp as he talks, gritty voice booming as it ricochets from the walls in the tiny box room. 

"Intel confirms a congregation of armed cartel members just beyond the Mexican borde-…."

Leaning against the wall, Ghost's shadow retreats from the tabletop and slinks back into the corner. He crosses his arms over his vast chest, charcoal grey fleece sleeves pushed to his elbows to expose the ebony ink scrawled across his chalky skin. His scarred knuckles bleach when he tightens his grip on his bicep, silently stewing in his own conviction. 

He knows. 

It's as though you can see them play like a film reel in his gilded irises, flickers of his trauma in Mexico. Ghost's file had been heavily redacted during your time as his equal, reams and reams of black ink ribbons distorting the writing and camouflaging his colourful history. Serving alongside him, you learnt that the SAS Lieutenant approached conversation similarly, censoring himself by remaining relatively silent. 

Since your promotion to Colonel, you had gained access to transparent files and learnt precisely why Simon' Ghost' Riley kept mum about his time in Coahuila… You'd seen those gnarly scars, pink and magenta and silver welts that raised or gouged into the porcelain of his pale skin. Yet, the answer to your concerned queries was always a singular, gentle remark. "Classified." 

Ghost's attempted brainwashing and the ultimate death sentence were confidential. He'd never told you that the scent of the decaying body of his Judas commanding officer, Vernon, had clung to the walls of his nasal cavities for weeks after escaping the coffin. Never revealed the way his hand sunk into the putrefying corpse when he attempted to break his way out of the casket. Wouldn't admit to ripping the jawbone from the rotting carcass to pry open the lid. 

His reason for convalescent leave was also confidential. Extreme temper-management difficulties handing the vulnerable Ghost over to ex-teammates Sparks and Washington and the conclusive massacre of his entire family. Three generations, blown away with a bullet through the skull. 

And the man at the centre of it all, Manuel Roba, stared back at him in the pictures of horrid, mangled, ripped flesh littering the table and pinned to the map. Puncture wounds from being elevated on meat hooks, emaciated following daily meals of mind-altering drugs––

"Riley." 

Ghost's honeyed eyes dart from their fixated aim on the pictures towards Price. Concern furrows the Captain's brow as he observes Ghost's self-preserving body language. "You hearin' me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Ghost's gruff voice rattles like gravel in his chest. His eyes appear hollow through the gaps in his ski mask, black grease paint making him look particularly gaunt. 

It's a split second, momentary, but Price casts a precautionary glance your way. You know that expression, can translate the concerned crevices on John's face; he knows. 

"... Good Hunting," Captain Price issues his dismissal, pointed looks urging the members of 141 out of the room quickly. The rubber soles of your boots stay rooted to the floor, gaze set on Ghost as the task force leave the conference single file. The Mancunian doesn't budge, his eyes aimed at their target on the table. 

It takes a handful of moments, Gaz and Soap gawping over the brutal torture details and Price urging them both with an insistence to 'shut up' that was far too authoritative for them to ignore. Then, finally, the door swings shut, clicking in place. Ghost blinks at the sound, a minute, barely there flinch that wouldn't register with outsiders, but you notice it. 

Silence creeps through the room and settles between you like a blanket of gunpowder, charged and ready to blow. Ghost's body is tense, oddly postured in an attempt to retain his intense emotions. 

"Ghost." You say his codename, and immediately he moves his head in a slight shake—a silent urge for quiet. He pushes his back from the wall, slowly approaching the table he had glared at for hours. 

"It's him, isn't it? Roba," Ghost's voice is tight with fury, those gravel pieces sounding a lot more like glass shards, "He's come back."

You watch, lungs seizing behind your ribcage when you hear him speak Manuel Roba's name. The vile man had lived like a ghoul amongst Simon's memories, fictitious as long as he remained unmentioned. Talking of him was almost like speaking the behemoth into existence. 

"I know you read the file, Colonel," Ghost spits through gritted teeth, reaching forward to pinch a photograph from the table. You see it, the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers as he does. "He did this to us- Strung us up like pig carcasses-"

"I understand that you're scared-" You begin your attempt to ease the spiral that Ghost appears to be silently falling into, his almost normal outward appearance betrayed only by microscopic symptoms of panic. 

"I'm not," he insists, agitation edging his tone of voice as he holds up the image of a gutted corpse, "I'm not scared; you're all tip-toein' around this like I'm fuckin' stupid!"

"Riley."

The use of Ghost's surname makes the hulking mass of man stop in his tracks. He swallows the words he holds on his tongue, realising his disrespect to a commanding officer should not, and would not, be tolerated under any circumstance. 

Stepping forward, you gaze right back at the shell-shocked man before you. "Manuel Roba is dead. You killed him. You know this. Shot him right between the eyes."

You demonstrate the bullet trajectory by tapping between your eyebrows with your index finger, triggering a visual for the shaken Ghost to project the image of the slaughtered drug dealer. "The bodies you're seeing are probably a result of his control over the Zaragoza Cartel. Remnants of his fighters lashing out in a last-ditch effort to obtain some power." 

Ghost nods slightly, a singular tilt forward of his head as his hand lowers to his side, fingers loosening their hold on the gory picture so it falls to the ground. He clears his throat awkwardly, eyes following the path of the image as he casts his gilded irises to the floor. You note how vulnerable he looks, flayed raw by his memories and the stalking PTSD that had gripped him without detection.

"You're right. 'M sorry," he lets out a shaky sigh, chest trembling as he attempts to expel the tension in his chest, "Don't know what I was thinkin'."

You dismiss his embarrassment with a wave of your hand. "Don't mention it." 

"How much do you know?" Ghost asks, the question uttered in a whisper. 

You consider his query carefully. A good question. How much did you know? Had the files revealed the total of Ghost's catastrophic timeline from Mexico to Manchester? Or was there still unforeseen information hidden behind censorship walls that even you couldn't worm your way behind at this high a rank?

You're careful in your choice of words, attempting to curb any particular language that could trigger upsetting recollections. "I know Roba used to brainwash you. Drug you. Make you fight."

"And?" Simon urges you onwards, his aureate irises staring coldly at you through the blackness of the grease paint and mask–– awaiting the agonising stab of the truth.  

"He used to offer sex or death as a means of control." You carefully place your palm against his shoulder, a warm and weighty presence to help ground him as you speak. "Attempted to hardwire your brain to find arousal in fear."

Ghost swallows. You see the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the thick material of the ski mask. A minuscule quiver of his eyebrow indicates his inner turmoil, the usually composed and inscrutable Lieutenant Riley slipping away as you peel away each layer of his trauma.

"Do you still? Find arousal in fear?" 

Silence twists your stomach; Ghost's incessant, piercing stare causes the hairs on your forearms to stand up. 

"On your knees, Riley."

"Yes, ma'am."

Simon sinks to his knees, slow and deliberate, in a latent attempt to please you. It's as though Everest has crumbled, its foundations bending beneath its enormous weight. Simon is an unshakeable force, an indomitable summit, yet when his patellas hit the floor, his giant palms meet the edges of your thighs in reverence for you. 

His touch is precious and delicate with its weight–– not as though he's afraid he'll break you, but more like he's trying so hard to earn your favour as his superior. His blonde lashes dip low, heavy-lidded, unable to stand looking at your face when he's laid bare for you like this. 

"Please." When Simon speaks, it's as though the cocktail of gravel and glass shards has excoriated the walls of his throat. It's broken, choked and pitchy as he begs you. "Please."

"Please what, Simon?" You query, maintaining an even, commanding tone. His eyelashes flutter slightly, trembling so prettily for you as arousal floods his spine. 

"Please, ma'am. Can I be of service?" It's spoken through his gritted teeth as though he's mortified that he's voicing these torrid desires, even in the vaguest terms. You slip your naked palm beneath the woven canvas of his mask, clutching his jaw and forcing his face upwards. 

It's amusing, you think, that Simon believes himself unreadable as long as he wears the skull mask. It couldn't be further from the truth. His eyes are so expressive, constantly betraying his innermost thoughts without even exposing the expressions of his visage. 

The probing gaze you offer him has him twitching in his camo cargo pants. You see his thick length bob against the fabric, aroused by the ease with which you read him. 

"Is that what you need, Riley?" It's rhetorical; you both know it. He's never required anything so desperately in his life. Simon had been lost in the Congo jungle without food for weeks and escaped a kidnapping attempt that had him stumble through the Iraqi desert without water, yet he looked at you with those keening eyes as though he'd die without a taste of you. 

"Tell me."

"Yes," he gasps, inhaling sharply as though he'd forgotten to breathe, "Yes, ma'am. Please, I need to tast––"

Simon barely manages to finish his sentence before he pushes his trembling fingers beneath the hem of his mask on his throat, shoving it over the point of his chin and balancing the bunched-up material on the bridge of his nose. He groans out as he fumbles with your khaki belt, unwinding it with great difficulty. 

While Simon busies himself with your zipper, your fingers delicately trace the silvering scars on his throat, many of Manuel Roba's love letters to evil etched into his ivory skin. The files had labelled each laceration and its cause; S2 below his chin issued by a butcher's knife, S5 against his clavicle the product of a dagger during a spar with another brainwashed hostage. You can't help but smile when your fingerprints find S7. 

"S7 - a two-inch superficial scar from a tricycle accident."

A desperate groan rumbles in Simon's chest when he shucks the waistband of your cargo pants over the flesh of your hips. Your hand quickly grasps the edge of the table when he buries his nose against your clothed cunt, your heavy-handedness knocking more of the long-forgotten gory images to the floor. 

"Fuck," Simon exhales, his warm breath fanning across the soaked fabric of your panties. "Thank you, Thank y- fuck."

Your gasp of pleasure catches even you off guard as Simon drags the flat of his tongue against the wetness of your underwear, a groan sneaking from his open mouth as he relishes in the taste. 

"This good, ma'am?" he breathes, hot and heavy against your core. He's desperate to please, a slight flush to the lower half of his cheeks that you can see. It takes you a moment to compose yourself, overwhelmed by the exposed flesh of his face. 

"Yes," you praise him as he uses his fingers to push aside the cotton in his way. "So fucking good for me, Simo-nhgn-" 

The tip of Simon's tongue seems to find your clit almost instantaneously, curling around the sensitive bud and teasing it as though he knew exactly what you needed. His moan is muffled and pathetic against your soaked cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning himself in you. 

He keens when your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulder, digging reddening crescent moons into the skin. They blend amongst the charcoal of his tattoo sleeve, but they're there, little arches among the skulls, guns, and warfare. 

Simon paws at the backs of your thighs, spreading the wingspan of his fingers across the curve of your asscheeks and squeezes, using his hold to drag your body impossibly closer to his mouth. He nuzzles in, the tip of his nose teasing at your clit as he sinks the hot, wet flesh of his tongue into your entrance. 

"Hah-" you gasp out, Simon's moan vibrating against your needy clit forcing you to grind forward against his face in search of more friction. Your fingers find purchase in the fabric on the top of Simon's head, curling your knuckles around it but ensuring you don't lift the mask from his face. 

The Lieutenant feels your grazing fingers against his scalp, burying his face further into your pussy as he tastes your arousal from the source. He sighs heavily, shakily into your cunt as he savours the ambrosia on his tongue, greed forcing him in for more–– licking and tasting and sucking and swallowing more of you. 

"So good for me, Simon," you reward him, voice trembling as he assaults your cunt with his probing tongue. He retreats from the soaked flesh of your cunt to tease at your clit again. You can feel your pulse concentrating in it, thudding against his tastebuds. 

"Mhmm," he huffs, vast chest heaving with heavy breaths that add another layer of pleasure to your arousal as they waft over your wet pussy lips. You could cry when you look down at him, his eyelids drooping (one lower than the other thanks to the scar that ran across his left eyelid. "S4 - a superficial scar from a fist fight during detention in Mexico").

A single, calloused palm skirts around your waist, splaying wide across your lower abdomen as Simon feels the muscles beneath his hand tremble and tense at his ministrations. He groans again, his other hand teasing at your pussy lips from behind in a silent plea for entry. 

"Simon- Simon, do it," you urge him, desperate to be filled as he teased at your clit with his nimble tongue. You'd never had guessed a man so intent on disguising his countenance would have the perfect face to sit on. 

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, only momentarily before reestablishing the relentless rhythm of the swipe of his tongue. Then, without much warning, he sinks his index finger into your entrance. A delicate press of his fingertip at first, testing the waters, so to speak. Only when you let out a blissful sigh does Simon continue to ease the digit into you. 

His fingers are so thick. You stretch around him, your head dipping back between your shoulder blades and gasping a curse to the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The bliss that sweeps through you is overwhelming, toes curling in your combat boots as you attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure. 

Simon won't let you. 

"Please," he moans in bliss as he pulls you closer again, your feeble body unable to fight his firm control when your limbs are gelatinous and malleable to his whims. 

His cock is bobbing beneath his cargos, a dark patch of precum soaking into the camo print. A flood of arousal drips through you, your eyes rolling back at the realisation that he might fucking cum in his pants, untouched, just with the taste of you.

"S-Simon-" you wail, losing all control as your voice cracks. "Right there-"

God, he ratchets up the intensity of your bliss by sinking another finger into you. It faces no resistance, sliding down to the knuckle with an ease that had you seeing stars when it pushes up against something utterly devastating within your abdomen. 

"There!"

Simon groans around your cunt, lathing his tongue over your throbbing clit with an eagerness that seems so alien for the stoic, unreadable Special Airforce Soldier. His fingers ease in and out of you ever so slightly, rocking back and forth against that mind-numbing spot inside you that has your knees buckling beneath your weight. 

"Oh my g-aha-" you choke on your words, both hands now fumbling to hold onto the table with a white-knuckle grip. Tension curls in the pit of your stomach, twisting and shape-shifting.  

You feel it before you hear it. The vibrations of Simon's desperate groans of bliss rock through your cunt before the sounds reach your ears, his mouth sloppy on your cunt as his own arousal begins to take root. The fingers not buried inside your walls take a bruising grip on your waist, branding you with his prints.  

He notches that paradisical spot inside you one more, and your failing knees quake at the vicious burst of ecstasy it unleashes. You moan loudly, the lewd sound wracking through your body as though Simon had just set off a stun grenade, light bursting through you with a crack. Your hips buck against his chin and nose mindlessly as you ride through the peak of your bliss. 

Simon lets his jaw hang loose, tongue flat as you ride against it— pathetic, utterly disgusting groans of delight drip from his lips as you use him. He pants, and you only just manage to force your eyes open as a particularly pitchy wail of your name to witness his undoing. 

His hips rock forward against nothing, just barely finding friction on the seam of his pants as his orgasm rocks through him. You watch his eyelids flutter and his brows twitch as he cums in his standard-issue military cargos. He slumps back slightly, jaw loose as he sucks in deep breaths. It's utterly unbecoming of someone who appeared so unshakeable, a submissive, needy man taking his place. 

At first, you allow him some space. The forceful inhale and trembling exhale of his lungs tick like a clock, in and out, in and out. Simon's hand delicately smoothes over the flesh of your ankle, a feeble attempt to feel close to you in this moment without overstimulating his vulnerable mind. 

When he lifts those honeyed eyes to you, searching for your comfort, you allow your palms to smooth down the fabric of his ski mask and offer him some privacy, restoring some dignity to the usually stoic Ghost. 

He leans into the weight of your palm for just a second. A barely there moment, like the grip of his biceps from earlier, the twitch of his brow. It fades quickly like his S7 scar, the dripping molasses of his eyes hardening beneath the skull image. 

"Not a word," you order him, tone aggressively authoritarian when you issue your directive. 

Ghost is glad for it, a curt nod of his head indicating his return to lucidity as he begins to rise to his feet. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

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[iggyshippingcorner]

2: alpha stone/omega robotnik (canon-compliant, s2) (word count: 2550)

[ here is my second drabble for the poll prompts featuring: reunions, the mean bean cafe, dubiously consensual bond-bites, talking around your feelings, and "it's not miscommunication if there's no communication to begin with". ]

this is dedicated to the lovely (-) anon in my inbox who has been absolutely DELIVERING with abo asks for the last few weeks. thank you so much for this idea!

The loneliness is the worst part, even after eight months of the doctor’s absence. 

Stone brews coffee and serves customers and maintains the pop-up lab outside of business hours, while the loneliness aches like a bruise, nestled deep in his chest. There is a gaping abyss in his routine, in his life, a doctor-shaped hole in his every waking moment. Time doesn’t soothe it, just emphasises the raw edges of it. Sometimes, when the pain of it drives him to more traitorous thoughts, he supposes it would be easier if he knew the doctor was dead. If he knew there was no other recourse, at least he would know what to do. 

But eight months without any evidence of his demise-- or his survival, his alpha brain whines, gutted-- means Stone can only follow the Robotnik Manifesto and wait by the door of the Mean Bean cafe for his doctor to come back home. Making too many cups of coffee for someone who hates the taste (he much prefers tea) and polishing the badniks until they gleam. Pressing his fingers into the slowly fading welt of a mark on his neck where the doctor claimed him-- has claimed him, over and over, refreshing the indents of his teeth every time they begin to heal. 

Stone doesn’t know what he’ll do when the bite finally heals over. On the bad days, he considers going at the flesh of his neck with one of his trusty knives, to flay the marks of the doctor’s incisors open, begging them to scar more deeply. But he remembers how Robotnik feels about his tools, and knows the only thing he can do is wait patiently for the doctor’s return. Perhaps if he plays his cards right, the doctor will remedy the issue sooner rather than later. On the really bad days, he even fantasises about the doctor baring his throat, allowing Stone to claim him back-- though these thoughts feel even more traitorous than the others, to dream about the doctor being any kind of submissive. It doesn’t stop them from happening with higher frequency, the longer time goes on and the distance between him and his memories widens. 

In a frantic effort to remedy this, he’s been thinking about the first time Robotnik bit him, turning the memory over and over in his mind like he might find something new. Replaying a cherished moment until he can see it every time he closes his eyes, seeking comfort from ghosts.

[ He’s only been working under Dr. Robotnik for a week, and it’s been one hazing test after another. Stone had been warned about this, the domineering and the posturing and the physical threats. But not one person had warned him about the proximity. 

“Did I give you permission to think? In my lab?”

It’s a rhetorical question, so Stone keeps his mouth shut. Dr. Robotnik doesn’t seem to find this enough, as he clamps one gloved hand over Stone’s mouth and leans in even closer. “I asked you to do one simple thing, agent-- do not get your useless alpha stench on anything in my lab. None of this is yours. Hell, when you are working in my lab, you are mine. I decide where your scent goes.”

It violates at least three different HR mandates on physical engagement, five on hostile workplaces, and definitely qualifies for a designation harassment suit. Stone is honestly elated. The doctor has been searching for his scent. And the words themselves are halfway to an informal claim. Physical, non-sexual displays of domination are usually something a self-respecting alpha has to pay for, but all Stone has to do is breathe a little too loudly in the doctor’s direction and--

A sharp sting of teeth at his throat cuts through his introspection. It’s not an attempt to claim-- not anywhere close enough to be effective-- but it’s… it’s almost offensively brazen, to bite an unmarked alpha first. The doctor pulls back, self-satisfaction clear on his face. Stone isn’t sure what his own expression is, and isn’t that a treat? He tries not to breathe too heavily against the glove still covering his mouth. 

It’s just another attempt to get him to quit. Stone ignores the heat rushing to his face and the growl of his alpha brain to get his own incisors on display in favour of raising one eyebrow, the closest to a challenge he can get without opening his mouth. Dr. Robotnik’s smug expression morphs into shock, then determined fury. He shoves Stone back against the wall he’d pinned himself against, one hand still clamped over his mouth, his other arm braced against Stone’s chest, forcing him against the lab wall. He narrowly avoids slamming his head back against the wall, his palms braced flat against it in an effort to keep from reaching out, from touching the doctor. 

Another sharp bite, fangs sinking into the column of his throat, inches shy of the bonding gland. Canines savagely tear through flimsy skin, teeth just a tad sharper than any beta’s ought to be. Stone clenches his jaw, and makes no move to throw the other man off despite his capability to. The submission makes Dr. Robotnik growl, rumbling his displeasure right against Stone’s carotid. The position doesn’t let Stone move very much, but he still tilts his chin up and to the right as far as he can, bares his bonding site like a dare and the doctor--

Well, let it be said that Dr. Robotnik never backs down from a challenge. ]

The day the doctor comes back arrives without a whisper or inclination of difference. It’s a busy Tuesday morning that melts into a lazy Tuesday afternoon, pulling the last sheet of danishes from the oven in between an earl grey with lavender for Mrs. Mathers and a trio of frozen hot chocolates for some local teens. The text sends him into a flurry of activity, banishing his customers with a kind, disarming smile and a claim of “family emergency”. His scent must be doing something in his favour because several people pack up without him having to cajole them in the slightest, and wish him good luck. He has the entire cafe shuttered and cleaned in twenty minutes, and he retreats to make sure the pop-up lab is just as clean. 

By the time the doctor gives him an ETA 5 text (gracious, lovely, merciful), he’s gotten the badniks spotless and the lab perfect and his ingredients measured out. The latte comes together like second nature, easy as breathing, but without any complexity to distract his whirling thoughts.The doctor is back. The doctor is back! If he had a tail, it would be wagging furiously. He carefully etches his foam art, willing his hands to stop trembling in excitement. His heart thumps loudly in his ears.

He gazes down at the foam and wonders if it’s a little over the top. His face and ears feel warm. His alpha brain crows eagerly for his… well. For his doctor. It may be humiliating to any other alpha to crave the presence of someone who you aren’t mated to, the way he does, but Stone cares little for the opinions of fools. His neck itches, tender bond gland throbbing under the skin. He wipes the back of his wrist across his cheek, letting out a quiet laugh as he gets a whiff of his own elated pheromones. Pull it together, Stone.

The bell above the doors chimes and breaks his moment of distraction. Stone straightens up, folds his hands in front of himself, tail wagging, ears perked. The doctor sweeps into the humble cafe with a manic grin on his face and a slightly surprising lack of hair, but it’s him. Fondness and relief swells within Stone’s chest. Robotnik draws closer, moustache wild and eyes shadowed by the dim lights overhead. 

His hands reach out for the cup. Stone places it in his palms as delicately as he would a Badnik power core. Robotnik brings it up to his face, takes a long inhale of the dark roast, and then lifts the mug to his lips. Stone draws in a slow breath and--

The thick scent of honey and myrrh and something distinctly earthy fills his senses. And underneath it all, the immediately identifiable scent of an omega. The overload of information nearly causes him to miss the look of satisfaction that crosses the doctor’s face as he savours his first sip of the latte. The flashpoint surge of pride in his work is overshadowed quickly by a growing sense of envy. Eight months of absence and the doctor comes whirling back into his life smelling like some omega?

He forces himself back into the present as the strange red alien stalks closer, eyes wary and narrowed. He plays along as best he can, not having to fake his relief or his concern as the doctor gives a barebones explanation, but he seethes inside. He’s given a moment of reprieve when the doctor slips away to the bathroom and the alien exits the cafe to… Stone’s not actually sure what it’s doing. But the scent finally clears and allows him a moment of clarity, brain unclouded by the fog of jealousy. Stone assesses what he knows-- the doctor has been off-planet for eight months. The doctor smells strongly of an omega, an unbonded one at that. The doctor is extremely touch-averse, scent-sensitive, and difficult to get along with. The odds of him actually coming into contact with a foreign omega are, gratifyingly, next to nothing. 

But then…. Where is the scent coming from? Stone sweeps the main lab floor to give himself something to do with his hands. He can hear the shower running in the other room. Robotnik smells like an omega. A particularly fragrant one. Stone has never encountered his unfettered scent before, usually buried beneath the lab’s scent dampeners and the smell of coffee and motor oil that clung to both of their clothes. His neck itches. The pieces come together slowly, puzzle unfolding 

The door to the bathroom clanks open. Steam spills out, and Robotnik comes out, dressed in a loose, black tunic and some comfortable pants Stone had pulled from his own dresser upstairs. His moustache is still damp. That infuriatingly lovely scent fills the space between them rapidly, and something in it makes Stone’s mouth flood with saliva. The doctor sighs loudly, voice wonderfully familiar. “You would not believe how long I have been waiting for a hot shower, Stone. If I had the materials I would have-- why are you looking at me like that?” 

Stone blinks several times. In his mind, a single lightbulb blinks on after several false starts. His hands tighten imperceptibly around the handle of the broom. If he blurts it, confronts the doctor, he might flee into the night and never look back. If he doesn’t confirm it right now, he might die on the spot. The itch beneath his skin intensifies. 

It’s not his best idea, but it is… efficient. 

Stone digs his fingers into the knot of his tie, loosening it. He works open the top few buttons of his shirt. Robotnik’s eyes zero in on the movement, and he draws closer, moth to flame, predator to prey. Stone has to swallow a few times before the words come out properly, slightly raspy, “I think we’re a little overdue, doctor.” Hook.

He bares the nearly-healed bruise of his bonding site, and he watches Robotnik’s pupils dilate in the familiar blue-tinged glow of the lab lights. He takes the next few steps into Stone’s personal space, that sweet, earthy fragrance washing over him like a thick fog. Each breath draws it deeper into his lungs, Robotnik’s true scent settling heavy on his tongue. A gloved hand comes up to grip his jaw tightly. 

“A bit presumptuous, agent,” he hisses, though there’s a faint dusting of pink to his cheeks that makes Stone’s heart skip a beat. Its existence makes him bolder than he would otherwise be: “No more presumptuous than half-bonding your subordinate.” Line.

Robotnik draws back a half-centimeter, surprised. Stone watches the realisation strike him, and eagerly bares his throat before the anger (or worse, the horror) can take root. He’s sure the doctor can see his pulse thrumming beneath the skin like this, can smell the honest desire and devotion as he leans back in to sniff blatantly at his throat. The fingers gripping his jaw flex ever-so-slightly, and he swallows. 

“You didn’t know?” Robotnik asks, the softest secret pressed delicately into Stone’s waiting palms. His voice doesn’t tremble, but it comes far too close for comfort. Stone settles a gentle hand on his hip, heart stuttering at the physical reminder of him. 

“I never suspected anything,” Stone says earnestly. He feels more than sees a measure of tension bleed out of the doctor at his reassurance, and oh if that isn't the headiest rush of satisfaction. Robotnik lets out a laugh that is just a touch too loud for how close they are. “Of course you didn’t. I didn’t synthesise my own blockers for nothing.”

The response wrings a laugh out of Stone despite the hammering of his heart. He missed this-- their easy banter, the suffocating proximity. To have it all back now, after so long is nearly unbelievable. He could fall to his knees and weep, if not for the vice-like hand gripping his jaw and keeping him upright. 

The wicked sting of fangs in his neck snaps him out of his maudlin thoughts. He groans, a thoughtless little sound, and Robotnik laughs again. The noise is muffled by Stone’s flesh, but the vibration of it sends shivers from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. His teeth bite deeper, and Stone sighs as the itching under his skin finally abates and his bond gland settles in the wake of the doctor’s sharp canines, carving the evidence of devotion into Stone’s skin where it belongs. 

When Robotnik finally pulls away, his teeth and lips are faintly stained with Stone’s blood. He looks… Stone blinks long and slow at him, feeling more than a little dizzy. After a moment of bated breath silence, Robotnik finally says, “I suppose it’s time we found a more permanent solution, mm?”

Stone’s mouth drops open. A dark red flush colours Robotnik’s cheeks. They stare at each other for a moment longer. The doctor shakes his head slightly with the hand still gripping his jaw. “Stone? Don’t tell me I killed what few brain cells remain bouncing around in your skull.”

A slow, uncontrollable smile threatens to split Stone’s face in half as the words sink in. A more permanent solution. The longer he stays silent, the darker the doctor blushes. As lovely as it is to watch, Stone would be remiss to leave him hanging.

“I would be honoured, maestro,” Stone murmurs, chest feeling fit to burst with the rush of fondness coursing through him. “To wear your mark for the rest of my life.”

It’s odd. Stone hasn’t gone anywhere the past eight months, but looking at the victorious, maniacal grin that spreads across Robotnik’s face, he feels an awful lot like he’s finally come home. 

[tojisun]

hyde hurts me so bad 😭😭😭

idk if this sounds weird but aww thank u lol!! idk i just like the angst and i also like writing about them too because we know the start and the ending of hwwl, and filling up the in-between is so fun! everything is a canon event in the au if i worked hard enough. that said—

there was once a time when ghost came to you.

even remembering it now makes your heart throb like it is bruised; like it is welting the way your skin blotches and turns all tender, aching, and ever so vulnerable to more pain. the memory is old, almost like it never happened, and you wonder if maybe you truly had just dreamt of it all.

if you had been so desperate for a chance and for love that you've conjured him up in your dreams; but he was just as angry then, and immensely cold to you, and you know that it was not a jump in your memory. it had happened.

why it did, you do not know, but it had.

the reality was that ghost came to you, teeth chattering and bones aching underneath the stretch of his scarred skin, and asked for a companion. the reality was that the question didn't really spill from his lips, instead what filled you up was the smell of hard liquor and the vitriol in his murmurs.

it's an aphrodisiac, he'd said. some mishap at what should have been a low-level mission of assist and delivery occurred, leaving no one unscathed. ghost had been the commanding officer; the rest of his squad were occupied by other smaller missions; you understand what that meant—johnny was not there to help.

why me? you almost asked but you took him to your quarters instead because you know a mission when you see one. and this was not something new. it needn’t be more—it was nothing more. you knew that, so you wondered why you still trembled while you peeled your shirt off your body.

he hadn't watched you while you shucked your clothes off, and you'd tried your best to look away too when it was his turn but ghost was—is—beautiful. scars and anger and everything. he was a marvel to see, his tan skin flushed a pretty pink that made you hungry, saliva gathering under your tongue because you just wanted to take a bite. a taste of ghost as he was, all yours even if it was just for a moment.

and for a cruel second, you wished that johnny wouldn't return.

you pushed the thought away just as quickly, your eyes ducking down with a quiet hiccup. shame filled you up, coiling within the webbing of your veins because how dare you think of that? how dare you—

(he was the one good thing in this fucked up relationship; the only one who ever cared. johnny was a good friend before all of these—he had loved you honestly despite the ragged yawning of his darkness; his memories haunt him still, but even then, he had taken you in with the warmest of smiles so why would you—how could you?)

the spiral of your thoughts were halted when ghost pulled you to your bed with his face rubbed off any expression. you tried studying him; tried finding the reason behind this, but he met your questioning gaze with a darkened look. heavy and weighted. he was walling himself again; pushing you away.

your skin pressed against his own, but you had never felt farther from him.

oh, you thought as he wedged himself between your thighs. this isn’t—this has no meaning to him.

your moans tumbled out with your tears, clumping your lashes together until all you were was a shaking mess on the bed, breaths hitching with every ripple of his muscles. ghost had not asked; had not wiped them away. he wasn’t—

he wasn’t even looking at you; his eyes were screwed shut, and his teeth dug into his lips to muffle the quiet grunts rumbling from the base of his throat. it was humiliating to see him blatantly use you this way and you wondered if he was thinking of johnny as he drove his cock in you; if he was reminiscing their moments, hushed and shared and intimate and void of you.

the spray of his cum made you mewl, and ghost paused to catch his breath. he didn’t pull out, his cock still hard even with his orgasm, and you pressed the back of your palms to stop the tears because you knew then that it would be a long and loveless night.

[quinloki]

Hey there, may i ask for biting, daddy dom and feather play with Beckman & Crocodile for the kinky head canon event please 😊

By the way the generator spits out some very let's call them "interesting" things 😅 got amputation and something with cannibalism on the first try 🙈

Certainly, certainly!

I can't believe it's taken so many asks to get some Benn Beckman love, but I know how it goes sometimes.

And yeah XD That generator does NOT hold back. Makes it very useful no matter what kind of vibes you're looking for - but can make it a bit of a crap shoot if you're looking for a more focused list 😅

Onward and upward, let's shall-

Benn Beckman:

Biting - Sure - Beckman is pretty laid back about a lot of things. I think all the years spent with "up for anything and everything all day and night" Shanks really took the edge off a lot of stuff for him. Sure he gets excited about some stuff, but biting is a little par for the course.

He's got nothing against it, and I think he prefers to be bit than to bite, but you're not going to get him too riled up with it.

Now, if you make sweet sounds for him when he nips at you, he'll be far more inclined.

Daddy Dom - Yes - He'd be maybe more gung ho if he didn't feel like Shanks' caretaker from time to time. Sure the captain can actually take care of himself well enough most of the time, but Beckman's watched him grow from the beginnings of barely a man into a full adult.

What I mean to say, is that he has the skills to do the job well, and he'd make a very solid daddy dom, but I don't know that I think he'd be super excited for it. He's definitely a FIRM dom though, and with those Dilf vibes he's not ducking the daddy dom implications any time soon anyway XD

Feather Play - Oh god you don't even know - The light touch, the intimacy, the way you flinch and gasp softly. How it's just such a perfect way to enjoy the quiet hours of a dying day.

The way he can watch goose bumps roll over your skin, the sweet stretch when you roll over to get away from the light tough, only opening up more delicate skin for him to caress with the feather. The different ones he uses, the assortment he ends up collecting, the way he wants enough to just drop you in a giant pile of them.

Everything else is heavy and harsh and loud and those moments, and those feathers, a soft and gentle and just lightest of moments. In a deep down, kept to himself mostly, warmly quiet way, he enjoys those moments the most. Especially when you peek up from beneath your arms, smiling at him before you wiggle away from the feather's soft caress.

Sir Crocodile:

Biting - FUCK Yes - Crocodile loves to mark you. In anyway that he can, in all the ways he can. He's not going to tattoo you or brand you unless you're begging him to do so, but welts, scratches, bites - anything he can reapply, anything that comes from some shape of him.

He's definitely left a very obvious, red, hand-print on your ass before.

He does let you cover them up, the marks are for him after all. He doesn't need people to see them for others to know you belong to him, that much should be obvious to any idiot with a pair of eyes.

Daddy Dom - Sure - He's definitely a dom. He's strict and I could see him very much utilizing roles and protocols, having contracts. He's not going to expect you to read his mind to know what he expects of you. He'll teach you, or train you, depending on your relationship. He most certainly expects you to call him Sir for the most part.

He won't say no to Master, and I don't see him scowling at being called his name. Sure you can call him Daddy, and certainly he'll call you his good little girl/boy, and sure he'll even care for you in ways you need if you let him know what it is. But it's not something I see him initiating himself.

And not something he's doing for someone who's more object than affection.

Feather Play - Yes - He's more of an impact play kind of guy than a feather play, but all sensory play has space in his book, and the maddeningly light touch of a feather can be used to great effect. You'll be struggling in your binds and sobbing for mercy and completely losing it over the fact that he's driving you to the brink with a single feather.

He might only be a yes for the whole thing, but that doesn't mean he isn't skilled in it.

How May I Kink Your Head Canon?

[daz4i]

i've mentioned it before but lemme make a proper post. here's why i think we're gonna see sunday and ratio interact in-game again

1. ratio's voice line about him

as you can see, this one's hidden until after you finish 2.7. that makes sense, i mean, it does spoil that he's gonna have a character arc. the astral express's lines about sunday are also hidden at first. but. but.

look at aventurine's line about sunday

this one's not hidden. and that makes sense too! because it refers to their main interaction in canon.

so. why does ratio's refer to sunday's current self? as far as we know they haven't interacted since that scene, right? how does ratio even know that sunday changed? (...putting aside ratio meta theories for now)

unless they're gonna interact again soon. and then it'll make more sense

2. this bit from sunday's promotional material

for reference, the other characters commenting on these bits are jade (who released him from the family and essentially kickstarted his arc by doing so), welt (*gestures vaguely at the entirety of 2.7*), and robin (do i need to explain that one.)

meanwhile ratio was. in a room with him once. maybe twice. pulled a fast one on him, but that was aventurine's plan as far as we know. so. what the hell does he have to do with sunday? 🤨 like the other characters here are extremely important to his arc and then there's ratio poking fun at him basically. after. not doing much with or for him beforehand. unless-

3. sunday's interactions with ratio

actually this one's multilayered, as in. not just sunday's interactions, but also a lack of interactions from other characters

look at the list of things other characters have to say abt my man. this is so sad

all you need to focus on tho is that there's only 2 characters here. one of them is clearly connected to ratio in multiple ways, and the other is sunday. none of the genius society members have any lines about/to him even though he has lines about them, none of the other ipc members even tho they work for the same organization. idk i just think that's odd! ratio clearly doesn't have a lot of mutual bonds but it seems he has one with sunday? somehow?

so unless we're gonna find some fucking. idk. transcripts of text messages between them showing us there's more going on that we're not aware of nor need to be aware of, it only makes sense that there's gonna be more between them, imo

here's how suntio can still win-

nah sorry i'm joking. i don't mean this in a shipping way i just genuinely wanna see them interact more bc as sunday points out in his line abt ratio, they have a lot of similarities, but they aren't quite ever explored since they don't ever. like. talk with each other. bc how can they they've only met twice. unless i've been forgetting some event through this entire post idk. anyway it'd be cool to see them have a genuine conversation with no manipulation involved. also i wanna see ratio again :(

[bundoesnotcompete]

An incomplete work. Not to be finished. Reader is implied to be Robin's sibiling. See end for notes. No romantic pairs only found family. Not proof read. Canon inaccuracies, roughly 2300 words.

"Sleepy." You stood with Himeko and the others in the lobby of the hotel you were staying at. The Reverie Hotel was massive and smelt wonderful. You felt your ear wings and eyes droop. You were so sleepy. Even more then usual. Your chronic fatigue and Narcolepsy made it difficult to stay awake normally, and the hotel seemed to worsen it.

The place was familiar to you but along with the rest of your memories, you could not remember why. You snapped awake from your drowsy state from Caelus's hand landing on your shoulder. He gave you a knowing smile at your reaction.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to." You mumbled, rubbing your eyes and then stretching. The blond man and Himeko continued to talk. Where had he come from again? The man continued to yap. Just how much of this conversation did you miss?

You looked around the lobby, looming for anything interesting or familiar.

"See anything familiar?" March whispered to you. You shook your head.

"Nothing yet. I just feel like I'm supposed to know this place." You replied. March looked at you as if wanting you to explain what you meant. "My mind doesn't remember." You tapped the side of your head and then your heart. “My heart does though. It remembers this place. I just wish i knew why.“

A yawn escaped your lips, ear wings drooping along with your eyes as your mind tried to force sleep upon you. You drifted off again before March took your hand to guided you to another Halovian nearby.

"Please, rest your feet." The other Halovian's voice made your chest hurt. She was familiar and whatever memory you had of her was fuzzy and warm. The feelings connected to the memory were strong. You stared at the woman in front of you. Robin was her name, right?

"Are you alright?" Her voice broke you out of your thoughts. Concern was obvious in her voice. Were her eyes watery?

"Sorry. I tend to zone out. I didn't mean to stare, I apologize." Your wings tightened themselves against your head in embarrassment. The conversation was quickly moved away from you after March saw your embarrassment. Welt and Himeko retrieved your group shortly after that.

"Which way is my room?" You asked along the way. "I think I need to lay down and sleep."

"You always need sleep." March was quick to tease you. Caelus took a good look at you.

"You look like you've seen a ghost. Maybe you've been up for too long. I know five hours is alot." His teasing grin caused your wings to sag.

"Not you too! Mr. Yang they're bullying me." You whined. You could see his fond smile though. He wasn't going to save you from their teasing.

"You two stop." Himeko laughed softly. "I will take you to your room. The others will join you in the dream shortly after we discuss something." You sighed in relief. The others stayed behind in the lounge area as Himeko handed you your room keys and guided you to your room.

"Do you remember what we discussed?" She asked once you were outside your room. You nodded. Something was off about this place so you needed to be safe and aware. She smiled at you. "Get some sleep. We will be with you shortly." She walked off back down to the lounge.

You room looked like your average hotel room only with the added shell pool. The smell was sweet in the room. You locked the door behind you and went through your routine of checking everything. Once you were set and happy with how things looked and felt, you headed for the pool. You tried your best to ignore the pooling dread in your stomach.

The pool was a comfortable tempeture as you stepped into it. Laying down in it was soothing and the smell was making you sleepy again. You got comfortable and allowed yourself to drift into a deep sleep.

—————

There was something here with you. The thick memoria that sorrounded you made you feel so weak yet, so energized. The blue hues of the room you were in blended in with the shallow pool you laid in. Paintings and other knick knacks floated endlessly in the room. You could feel eyes on you yet couldn't get up or look to see what was here.

You willed your body to get up, to do something. Sharp pins and needles filled your body as you forced yourself on your elbows. Turning your head proved harder and borderline painful. It was there just out of your vision. The edges of the creature were dark. Your body gave out and you flopped back onto the ground.

You could hear it come closer. You couldn't move anything to get out. It towered over you now. Heavy breathing came closer to your ear as the beast eyed you. You could see it a bit better the more it leaned down. Yellow caught your eye until sharp pain came from your stomach. You could feel the memoria gurgle up in your throat quickly. The pain intensified and then a peaceful black as thick liquid filled your vision again.

—————

“They aren't waking! What do we-”

“It is a state of-”

“As a guest of Penacony, we will do-”

“I'm sorry for not saving you-”

You floated aimlessly in memoria. You could only listen to the voices of the outside world. If you thought hard enough you could conjure animals to play with, but you hadn't quite figured out anything more complicated than that.

“Sunday, the tests are back.“ There was a voice you did not recognize. Their voice drifted away with the waves before renentering, “They are who you think they are. The DNA-” Ah, washed away by the waves again. Irratation filled the area around you. Just as it was getting to the good part it decided to float away.

A frog gently floated by you. It made no noise but blinked absentmindedly. Maybe you should be like the frog, but it seemed impossible when you felt so awake. A small croak came from the frog. You held out your hand and the it came to you.

“Truly want it.“ Your voice came from the frog. Your eyes widened. “Want it and it will come to you in the dream.“ What was this? The frog only croaked in response. No voice, just frog noises. Cute frog noises. No thoughts behind those big ol' eyes.

I want to wake up, you thought. You had been here so long, died so many times. The dream had turned into a nightmare. Just like your trip had. If only you could've allowed everyone a dream to live.

Wait, trip? Confusion appeared on your face. What trip? Why was this trip so important?

“It is us. Memories of us. Of our true self. Locked away when we ascended. That self wanted things to return to how things were before.“ A small fish swam up to you, speaking as it did so. “But, a return to the original self caused your memories to fade and become trapped in the dream. You have the power of dreams, find that will you once had.“ The small beta fish swam around your head. “Only then will you remember the whys and hows of things.“

I want to wake up. You thought again. I want to see my found family. I want to see the crew again.

The voices returned. Stronger and louder and waves a memoria grew harsher around you. You wanted to wake up and get away from here.

“Hold them-”

“Calm down. I'm here-”

You struggled against the waves the attempted to drag you farther into the memoria. The current did not want to release you. You wanted it to let you go.

“March, go get-”

“They're going to hurt-”

The current grew more violent as you attempted to swim upward. The frog and fish long since taken away by the stream.

You wanted out. You felt something in you crack. You turned your attention to the current and waves you had been floating along with. You gave them a simple and harsh order. Let go. Now.

The memoria around you seemed stunned at your harshness and it stopped moving against you. Instead, it gently floated you up. The frog returned, floating up with you.

“That was mean, you hurt the memoria's feelings. Like many people, it doesn't like to be yelled at.“ The frog turned to stare at you. The frog spoke to you in your own voice again. “I just want you to know, I am merely a fragment of you. One that wants you to know that you do not need your memories to be loved. To love yourself. But, do not be afraid to take the leap that will come to you soon. Memories are a good thing, but so is moving foward into the future. Towards a better dream.“ The frog leapt away from you.

You sat there in quiet bewilderment. Just what were you on? You looked up and could see the top of the memoria. You ignored the tight feelings in your chest as you swam upward. You pretended that it did not speak words you needed to hear.

“Go. You willed it. Be free of us. For now, dreamer.“ The fish was below you and you took its advice. It was time to wake.

———

You woke in an alleyway with you cheek pressed against the cold concrete. You groggily cracked open your eyes. The headache you had did not appreciate being exposed by the light. You sat up and took in your sorroundings. Yes, it seemed you were in Penacony, the true one. Not the nightmare you were in before. Though you still hurt like you were in it.

You sat against a wall of a building and took out your phone. There were missed calls and messages from the crew members. They were all worried and alarmed.

You opened the group chat and scrolled back to nearly the beginning of the new messages.

Train Mother: Has anyone heard from them yet?

Icey: No

Cae: No

Old Man: I will go check on them once I leave.

You scrolled down more. You skimmed over the messages

Old Man: Everyone needs to return to the waking world immediately. Something has happened to-

You scrolled down more.

Cae: March wants to know if we can get souvenirs for them

Train Mother: Yes

You scrolled closer to the bottom.

Old Man: There is still no word as to what caused the sudden coma.

Icey: Do you think they'll ever wake up? They were so excited for this trip.

You scrolled to the bottom. You shifted around slightly and inhaled a deep breath in pain. Aeons, you hurt so bad.

You: Can someone come get me? I don't think I can get up.

You hit send and set your phone on your lap. Even your ear wings hurt in ways you didn't know was possible. You phone buzzed quickly with sent messages before you could feel it buzzing with a call. It was Himeko.

“Hello?“ You rasped out dryly. Weren't dreams supposed to be nicer then this? You heard Himeko sigh in relief on the other side.

“Thank the Aeons your alright. We were so worried. Where are you?“ Her voice gently came over the line. You looked around. That was a good question.

“I dunno. Can you track me? I don't- it hurts too much to get up.“ You responded shakily.

“Of course. Just give me a little bit of time. Will you call one of the others? I don't want you to be alone and we need to keep track of you.“

“'Kay.“

“Good. Call March, we will be there shortly. Stay safe.“ You heard the line drop as she hung up. You scrolled through your contacts and found March and called her.

“Hey, who is Himeko gonna send to scrape me off the ground?“

“Why would you start a conversation like that?!" You heard March say on the otherside of the line. You could hear Caelus too. You chatted aimlessly. Neither side willing to bring up what was going on and just focusing on good things. At some point you just listened to them talk. Your mind drifting off elsewhere. You seemed to blink and Welt was in front of you speaking.

“-I need to pick you up. Can you nod that you understand?“ You gave a nod to him. You saw relief on his face. He came to your side and Himeko was on your other. You could only brace yourself for what was about to come. “Ready?“ Their arms were under yours. You gave a nod. “One, two, three.“ They lifted you from the ground with ease. Oddly, the pain seemed to ease by standing up. Though, the intense wobbling of your legs did not help you.

“Careful. We need to take you to The Family. Can you make it or do we need to carry you?“ Himeko asked.

“Don't wanna be carried.“ You croaked. You attempted to wet your lips. What you would for some water. You nattempted to take a step before your wobbly legs gave out. You felt a pair of arms under your legs as you were lifted. You felt blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment. You didn't want to be carried around like this. You looked to Welt who was carrying you.

“It will be easier this way since you are in no shape to walk.“ He was quickly following Himeko out of the alleyway. The harsh lights caused you to flinch and shut your eyes. The headache that was receding coming back in full force. You kept your eyes closed and set you head against Welt's shoulder. You were safe now. Away from all the nightmares and strange talking fish and frogs. You let your mind drift. It was safe to do so, you had protection.

----

Notes: Originally, this was supposed to be reader reuniting with family. It didn't turn out that way and i may have had a sorta crisis halfway through. Like a dream this story isn't super coherent and doesn't go anywhere. I couldn't let it rot away in my drafts with so many words so here. I love the Express crew as found family so i tried in incorporate that into my work.

I had so many plans and ideas for this concept. Oh well, it do be like that sometimes.

Robin was meant to reunite with the reader and share things about their past but that never made it in along with some Sunday scenes.

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Ficfinder finds: Built to Kill, Sworn to Protect

Chapter 1

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55112992/chapters/139741759

(Will fix the link once embeds work again)

Rottmnt Fanfic Summary: Leo always felt a different from his brothers. He was stronger, faster, and more violent than his brothers. Unlike his brothers, he was a natural-born fighter. Thankfully he was good at hiding it. Everything was fine until he did something he'd forever regret and lose the trust of his brothers.

Chapter 1: Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is written by @arhintess so go show them some love and support!!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Plot is three out of five!! As this is the first chapter, there isn't much plot. There is however, foreshadowing, and a cliffhanger!!"

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Suspense/Mystery is three out of five!! Once again, not much plot is going on, but this chapter ends right on a cliffhanger, which really helps build that suspense!!"

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Angst/Hurt is two out of five!! The bulk of this chapter has minimal angst, as its a fairly short chapter. The main amount of angst is in the end, during the cliffhanger."

Fluff/Comfort: 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is zero out of five!! This chapter really focuses more on starting the plot and starting out the angsty story line, so no comfort."

Emotions Conveyed: 💛🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is one out of five!! This chapter is a fairly neutral read when it comes to influencing emotions. Its more of a starting point to a plot, rather than a heart wrenching chapter."

Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Drama/Tension Level is three out of five!! In this fic, as it has canon divergence, Leo has a lot of tension between him and his brothers, as he doesn't have the 'best' relationship with them. Along with that, the cliffhanger at the end adds a lot of drama as well."

Triggers: 💛🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Triggers are one out of five!! This chapter, as its a beginnings chapter, it doesn't have a lot of triggers. The main ones to keep an eye out for, are blacking out, and unintentional sibling abuse. Remember to read the tags and stay safe!!"

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Legibility (Reading) is four out of five!! Over all this chapter is a fairly good and vanilla read. Some of the formatting makes it a little tricky to follow along with, though it certainly doesn't take away from the plot!!"

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Legibility (Audio) is four out of five! Same exact as stated above! Great chapter, just a little hard to follow along to due to formatting ^^"

Length: 💛🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Length is one out of five!! This chapter runs on the shorter side, taking about 7-8 minutes to listen to."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter ->

Built to Kill, Sworn to Protect: Ratings and Chapter List

Personal thoughts on chapter below cut (Contains Spoilers)

"Yes, I'd also like to know." Came the voice of his younger twin brother. While Donnie didn't have a lot of trouble doing these exercises, his performance tends to drop when away from his electronics for a prolonged period of time. A problem Donnie has because their dad forbids the use of technology during training. "I can feel myself start to develop hives from all this physical activity."

You can actually develop hives from exercise! I had to look it up, and apparently its a real thing. "Exercise-induced urticaria is an allergic skin reaction brought on by exercise. It generally produces hives and other allergic symptoms. The hives, or welts, are large, raised bumps on the skin. They can occur on any part of the body. They often are redder around the edge than in the middle. Hives also can look like red spots, blotches, or blisters."

Whenever he and his brothers would fight or spar, Leo would always know exactly where to strike and when. He hated how much he had to hold back against his brothers. Not because he wanted a tough fight, but because he knew he'd hurt them if he didn't. On some days, like today, he had to really put effort into holding back.

This is actually something you can develop for yourself if you practice enough. Knowing exactly where to hit I mean. As humans are natural predators, we have a natural instinct to strike where its weak. So If you learn to finetune that instinct, you'll actually get really good at it. Most professional fighters and/or martial artists are quite good at it.

"I also must take a rain check, Lee. I'm nearly done with the prototype of my tech-bo." There was a manic glint in his eyes that made Leo shudder.

Ooh, this is before Donnie had his titanium tech-bo!

What? Blinking his eyes a few times, he suddenly saw Raph, towering over him with his fists raised. His eyes were fierce and full of anger. "W-what do you…mean…" Looking past Raph, he saw Mikey. Or rather, Mikey's unconscious and bloody body. "W-what happened…?" "W-what happened? You happened! You were on top of Mikey, hurting him! I had to rip you off of him to get you to stop!" "W-what?"

Oh gosh, the sudden switch up is so jarring!! From Leo just having fun, to losing himself entirely!! Such a cliffhanger!!

[minart-was-taken]

Mr Reca is a Welt Theory🎭

I'm bout to cook. It may not be food but it'll be COOKED.

It's canon in the Hoyoverse that sometimes people have counterparts in different dimensions. These counterparts usually have many similarities to the original such as in name and design, but are also different enough to be considered a different character. In this post I'm going to argue for the case that Mr. Reca and Welt are an example of this.

(Disclaimer: This is for goofs and fun. I do NOT think this is anywhere near canon or even totally sensical.)

Let's go from the least convincing evidence to the most convincing evidence:

Look the same 🫵

Although most of their similarities can be tossed aside as it being an anime game and people in this genre of just tending to look very similar-- I'm still including it. They both have brown hair with a parting a bit to the side, hair that covers one of their eyes partially, and some handsome greying.

We also know when Welt is using his powers his eyes can start glowing red

But uh yea I get it. This is a strech. Moving on.

2. Similar career choices

Welt claims* to have been an animator before boarding the Astral Express. Mr. Reca is a VERY passionate filmmaker. Yes I will point out that these are very different careers, but I will ALSO point out the similarities. Visual storytelling in the form of video!! Both include character development, shot planning, colour theory... The list goes on.

Also for some goddamn reason Welt has the power to summon animations from his homeworld...? That's weird. But it works with my theory so. Uh. Yeah.

Now again, these ARE different things for many reasons. You may even say this bit of evidence is a bit of a stretch-- But, hold on!

Acheron in Honkai Star Rail is an emanator of Nihility. Raiden Shogun, her counterpart in Genshin Impact, is the Archon of Eternity. Extremely similar at face value, but come with very different duties.

*Whether he was or wasn't doesn't really matter for the theory as the fact he chose that still says a lot about the man.

3. Mr. Reca is a Memokeeper Memokeepers canonically give up their mortal bodies to exist as memories so that they may travel the world as efficient as possible with the goal of collecting memories. I can't find confirmation on whether they also give up their memories of their once mortal existence, but whether that's canon or not it's very easy to imagine a Memokeeper could do that to themself.

This leads me to the major point of this theory: If we were to take away Welt's bonds, what would be left? A goddamn nerd. Have you seen how this guy talks about his favourite shows?

So here's the tea. We know our Welt Yang is from an entirely different dimension, meaning there's very much space for a Welt of this dimension to exist as well. I propose that the man may be who Mr. Reca used to be before becoming a Memokeeper.

Here's what I'm imagining: Welt is a very old man, so perhaps long before the events of the game there existed a man who worked passionately in filmmaking. One day for one reason or another he chose to let go off his mortal life and any possible bonds he had, and became an immortal Memokeeper-- Now without bonds, he was stripped to have only one passion: films.

Its certainly an interesting fanfic 👍👍 There's a lot of holes in the theory and in the end it doesn't really matter-- Welt and Mr. Reca would probably never figure out this connections between them and even if the did I doubt they'd care too much.

But it came to my brain and I'm making it everyone else's problem.

TLDR; What if Welt had a counterpart in this universe and that counterpart was Mr. Reca before he basically de-welted himself.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Fight: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3k

Summary: After a weird encounter with your parents and friends, you try to get to the bottom of it even if you don't like the answer.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

You join Emily and Mick Rawson who is on the Red Cell team. They're standing over the recent victim while SFPD is closing off the park from everyone else.

"Hey, I came as fast as I could," you say. "Do you have any gloves?"

Emily hands you a pair and you slip them on over your own hands. You kneel next to the body and touch the wounds on his face. His spiritual energy flies out of his body and swirls around you, putting out a video that plays out in front of you of his last moments. There is an empty pool with two people inside, one of them being the victim. Both of them run at each other before fighting. There are tons of blood stains all around the pool, telling you that many people have fought there. A man sits on the edge of the pool looking down at the two men fighting but the only thing you're getting from him is that he's white. That narrows it down... Not. You stand up and remove the gloves.

"So, the only thing I'm getting is that he and another man were inside this big empty pool and they were fighting each other. The unsub was sitting on the edge watching them but the only thing I saw was that he's white." Mick stares at you like you have two heads and you stick your hand out which he shakes. "Hi, I'm Y/N, the on-call psychic."

"Not the weirdest thing I've come across," he shrugs.

"British, huh? I know a girl who has a thing for accents," you grin and look at Emily who blushes.

Mick smirks but he doesn't say anything about it.

"So, the Tenderloin is full of junkies who would be easy to control, but the first victim had no drugs in his system and this geezer looks pretty healthy except for the whole dead thing. There's skin under his nails. Didn't the first victim have scratch marks on his chest?"

"The victims are fighting each other," you say, "not the unsub."

"Exactly," Mick agrees.

"I take it you're about to wow us with a theory?"

"The first victim is dumped before the fathers and daughters are taken. Why?"

Because he wants to send a message to the wife that he means business, to make sure she doesn't call the police."

"It also sends a message to the prisoners he already has. If you lose a fight, you die." Mick leans down and points to the welts that are on the victim's back. "What do those welts look like to you?"

"Wounds from rubber bullets?"

"This is the same as how they used to control rioters or prison inmates. I think the unsub's been locked up. It's where he's learned to control his own prisoners."

"Well, if he's learned how to dominate them, why are they fighting each other?" Emily asks.

"It has to be part of his plan to watch them beat the hell out of each other. The loser is executed."

You take out your phone and call Hotch.

"Hey, we might have the profile on this guy." You tell him everything Mick told you. "How do you want us to do this?"

"If what Rawson said is true, the profile will need to be given to San Quinten Prison."

"Hotch, I can't go there," you whisper.

"I'm not asking you to. I'll have Rossi and Sam go there. Get back to the station so we can give it to SFPD."

"Thank you."

Rossi and Sam go to the prison, Derek stays with Jane's mother, and the rest of the team is at the SF police station to deliver the profile.

"We have a serial killer on our hands. We think he might have done time in San Quinten Prison. It's very likely that this unsub has a prison record. He's white, and judging by the age of the people he abducts, most likely in his thirties. Considering the terrain in which he's dumping the bodies, we think that he's imposing or at least very physically fit," Hotch begins.

"He also has access to a space that's large enough to house and control a number of prisoners, all without disturbing the neighbors. Look for places that have big pools, most likely abandoned," you say without telling them about your gift.

"This guy keeps to the same hunting ground and same dumpsite. He's a control freak and really organized. Also, in prison, he would have been obsessed with the guards and their methods of controlling the prisoners, especially in the yard."

"This dude kills folks the same few days every year. There's no way he's that obsessed and he's not talking about it," an officer scoffs.

"We think the man has a daughter of his own, most likely a brunette like Jane. The dates he chooses probably correspond to an event involving his own daughter. Our guess is that he lost his daughter in some way and it's symbolic of him not fighting for her in the first place."

"A lot of times, killers choose victims that are surrogates for someone, like a wife or a mother. In this case, we think his own guilt is making him choose surrogates that represent himself."

With the profile in mind, it's time to do some scouting on the streets. You know his energy. You'll be able to spot him out in a crowd if he's around. Emily and Mick joined you on the mission with Mick up above in the clouds. He's a very good sniper and can see more than you and Emily might. The place you hit is Chinatown while everyone else scouts other cities the unsub might hit.

"So, what are you wearing?"

You smirk when you hear Mick's voice in your ear. You look at Emily to see her smile, and you know she heard him, too.

"A gun." She chuckles. "Hey, Mick, explain something to me. How come we're out on the street and you're sitting on your butt on some roof?"

"Do you really want me to expound on my own prowess? It's undignified. Stay on your headset. All his victims are coming from this four-block radius."

Emily looks at you and sees the look on your face.

"Don't start."

"I didn't say anything." You remember Friday's mishap and look at Emily with a slight frown. "So, how's that dating profile of yours coming along?"

She tenses next to you. "Good."

"Come on, Emily, you know I know you two were lying. Why did you lie? I'm not mad, just confused as to why you felt the need to. Do you not like my parents?"

"It's not that," she sighs. She hopes she can leave it at that but then she sees you staring at her, waiting for an answer. "I don't know. I felt something when he looked at me."

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N, please drop it."

"No, Emily, what do you mean? Did you feel unsafe?"

"No, nothing like that. There was something about him that made me uncomfortable."

"Was it something he said?"

"No. I'm sorry. It was the way he looked at me."

"Oh," you say softly.

"I'm probably reading too much into it." You nod and continue to walk in silence. "Are we okay? I don't like fighting with you."

Whatever happened on Friday wasn't Emily's fault. Your dad must be under a lot of stress and his look might have come across as creepy when it had nothing to do with Emily. You look at her and give her a reassuring smile.

"We're not fighting. We're okay. I just wanted to know, is all. In the future, you don't have to lie."

"Okay," she chuckles.

"If you two are done, I think I've got something," Mick says from above. "I don't know if it's anything but check out the guy in the southeast corner. See the guy clocking the junkie?"

"Care to expand on that? All I see are guys clocking junkies."

"Gray shirt."

You two look where Mick is directing you and see a man following closely behind another man who looks like he's cracked out. Emily is about to follow them when you stop her.

"That's not him."

"What? How do you know?" Mick asks.

"Look, I'm a psychic. I see energies and I've already seen the unsub's energy through the victims. His energy doesn't match the unsub's. Everyone has their own unique aura and that guy isn't ours."

"I trust her with my life," Emily backs you up. "If she says it's not him, it's not him."

"Put a little trust in me, Mick."

"Alright, I do," he says after a pause.

"He was never here. Tonight was a bust."

The next morning after a restless night, your team meets the Red Cell in their domain. It looks like a storage garage that one would go to if they wanted to get their car fixed. Only there are no cars but computers and other tech equipment everywhere.

"Did your analyst get us the data?" Sam asks JJ.

"Yeah, I can lay it out for you."

"Good. Let's cross-reference it against our potential suspect pool."

One of the agents, Johnathan Simms, takes out his phone once he hears it ringing.

"Hello? ... Yeah, we can be there." He hangs up and looks at Rossi. "You up for a ride to San Quentin?"

"Lead the way."

"Okay, what do we have?" Mick asks once the two men are gone.

"The profile says he's spent time in prison and probably lost a teenage daughter in a way that corresponds to the dates he abducts and kills his victims. We have the dates in question divided into four specific subsets." Spencer points to the different groups as he explains. "This group is teenage girls ages thirteen to sixteen who were removed from their fathers' care. This group are deaths of teenagers the same age. The remainder are men arrested for violent crimes and anyone serving a prison sentence during the same window."

"The stressor's in here somewhere. Let's find something that looks promising so we can start running background checks. I want to get inside the girl's head. She's the key. Any insight could help break this thing. We need to understand why he took this girl at this time," Sam says.

One of the prisoners who asked Rossi and John to come overheard a story about this big white man who was in this prison at one time. Supposedly he's all kinds of crazy. When he found out his daughter died, he went all commando--boxing, working out, and challenging everyone in the yard saying that he'd fight them to the death. Sounds like it could be the unsub. It got so bad that he started to beef with the officers when they finally put him in solitary confinement to serve out the rest of his term.

Derek, while with Jane, finds something about Jane that sticks out to him. There is a collage in her room that doesn't have her parents in it like she's trying to hide them or keep them from her life. He finds her diary which is filled with typical teenage stuff like rants about her parents being unfair and talking about some boy named David. He thinks it's odd that she'd have a diary when she comes across as a very private person. The diary only goes back nine months, and Sarah reveals that the family counselor suggested she start one. His office? In the Tenderloin District.

"Okay. Got it. Good work, Morgan," Hotch says when he called. He hangs up and looks at the team. "The Mcbride family went to a therapy center in the Tenderloin. The place also did evaluations for social services."

"We profiled that the unsub may have had his daughter taken away from him," Emily says.

"If he was processed in the same place, then he would know how to target the fathers and daughters. Can I talk to your analyst?" Sam asks.

"Sure."

Hotch calls Penelope and places her on speakerphone for all to hear.

"Penelope Garcia."

"Sam Cooper here."

"Sam Cooper?" she gasps. "As I live and breathe, and here I thought you were a story someone invented. What you got?"

"Here's what I need from you. Has anyone been processed by social services who ended up losing a daughter? I don't care how big the list is. I can cross-reference it against my others."

"Roger that. Gonna hack like the wind. Prepare to be wowed, sir." She is silent for five minutes. "Alright, my tribe, I have a list of parents evaluated by social services who ended up losing custody, but as Cooper predicted, it is a lengthy tale of woe."

"We'll use it to cross against the teenage girls who died on some of the dates in question. I'm gonna start reading names. You tell me if they're on your list. Maria Salter, Carla Denny, Joyce Collard, Dawn Sparrow--"

"We have a name," Sam says while checking a text. "John Vincent Bell."

"One of the first who died was named Mandy Bell."

"Garcia, run the name John Vincent Bell against the family therapy list."

"Shazam. Bell and his wife divorced then the wife died. Bell was declared incompetent to have custody of the daughter due to a host of mental health issues."

"They got that right," Sam scoffs.

"Oh, Lord, when social service agents showed up to remove the girl, Bell beat one of them to death and was given seven years for manslaughter. During this time, his daughter was in a car accident. It looks like she survived three days on life support but eventually died of brain injuries."

"Bell is making these men fight to the death just like he did. He's trying to prove he did what any father would do."

"Do we have an address?" Sam asks.

"The only listing I have is a gym on Hall Street in the Tenderloin. It belongs to Bell's family. It hasn't been operational for years."

"Gyms have pools," you say, remembering what you saw.

"We got him."

You take two cars to the place and get out once you arrive. You sneak inside the darkened gym quietly. You come across the main room where there is a big pool with tons of blood stains in and around it. There is a body inside the pool... dead. Half the team searches the gym while you stay in the main room.

"See? Told you I saw a pool," you mutter to Mick.

"I will never doubt you again," he chuckles. Someone moans in pain from the left side of the room, and you see Ben McBride chained to the pole with cuts and bruises all over his face. "I need paramedics immediately to 631 Hall Street."

Pictures of Jane and Bell are scattered around the floor on Polaroids and she looks terrified.

"Sir, where's your daughter?" Sam asks.

"He took her."

"How long ago?"

"A few minutes ago. Find her," he begs. "Please find her."

"The place is clear," JJ says when she comes back.

"He's on the street. He's got the girl."

"I'll stay with the father."

Hotch takes out his phone and calls Penelope.

"Garcia, I need vehicle information For Bell. Tell police we need an APB."

"I can hit the rooftops," Mick offers.

"Good. Go," Sam says and Mick runs off. "I need a helicopter."

"Garcia, tell San Francisco PD we need a chopper." Hotch looks at you. "Can you track Jane?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do it."

This is the way you prove yourself. You need to feel like your old self again. You're done letting others control your life. Both Jane and Bell's energy is everywhere inside the gym but her panic causes her energy to wisp through the gym and out the back door. You immediately follow the wisp until you reach the street. The wisp flies down the street. You don't think twice about running after it. Hotch, Rossi, and another Red Cell agent take the car while Derek and Emily run after you. You don't stop running until you reach the end of the street and watch as the wisp flies down the sidewalk toward a public parking garage. You keep running and enter the garage with nothing on your mind but Jane. You run all the way to the roof of the garage where you see Bell practically dragging Jane with him to the ledge.

"John Bell, FBI!" Derek yells with his gun out. "Put the weapon down!"

"Don't shoot me!" Jane pleads.

"Drop the gun!"

"It's over! Look around you! You know what it feels like to lose your daughter. Do you really want to hurt somebody else's?"

Bell shoves Jane away and jumps onto the ledge. He's going to jump.

"Get off the wall!" Derek yells.

Bell smirks and jumps off the wall without a second glance. You and Emily rush over to the wall and look down only to see Bell with a gun pointed right at you. He jumped onto a ledge and waited for someone to come so he could take out one of you. Your eyes widen but you don't have to think about your life ending. A shot rings out but it doesn't come from Bell. Mick zeroes in on him through the scope of his sniper rifle. You two look at him and he waves to show you that he's got you.

This calls for a win. Strauss can be pissed all she wants but if it wasn't for Sam and his team, you'd have never thought fathers and their daughters were going missing. For your last night in San Francisco, Sam opened his shop to your entire team for a small party to celebrate.

"Thank you for what you did," Emily says to Mick.

"Same here but I'm sure she'll do enough thanking for the both of us," you wink at Emily whose cheeks redden.

"You guys wanna watch out for this one. She's gonna have a hard time getting over me," Mick smirks.

"Like kicking a virus," she grins.

"You know, I could have just missed."

"With your ego? Not a chance," she chuckles.

Spencer walks over to you with a cracker that has a dip on top of it. He holds his hand underneath it so nothing falls on the ground.

"Open." You open your mouth and he puts the cracker inside. You chew it happily and nod to him to let him know you think it's delicious. "Good, huh?"

"Yeah," you smile and swallow.

"I see you're doing better," Rossi smiles and nudges you.

"Doing better, Rossi, and feeling better. I think... I think I'm going to be okay."

In fact, when you got home, you didn't have a single nightmare.

x

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