#bi reports author

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 7

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.3k

cw: angst, cussing, cheesy nickname (sunshine), allusions to self harm, implied stalking, yandere tendencies, forced imprisonment, existentialism, depressive thoughts (REMINDER: YOU MATTER AND I LOVE YOU ALL, OKAY?), panic attack, manipulation?; not proofread

Synopsis: The plan was for you and Em to finish up the mission tomorrow. Sure, it was hard getting Em to agree since she was so worried about you, but you eventually got her to. And she wouldn’t break her word, right?

author’s note: The plot’s picking up now that Reader has met all five Love Interests! I’m gonna be honest, I took a lot of inspiration from parts 2 and 3 of Self Aware Caleb AU by @jinwoosbabyboo which is funny because they’re not all that similar. Also thank you to @junni-berry for helping me brainstorm nicknames! Sunshine works perfectly and I’m going to have so much angst with it heheh. Anyway, I hope y’all like this part, I’m trying to keep it mysterious but we are going to get into yandere territory sooooooo buckle up! :)

taglist: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @plzdonutpercieveme @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa @nm4565natty @feikyuu @lunia-likes-pomegranet @xfangirl-trashx @glitterykingdomangel @eialovescats @mimiu3usoft @alyssac9 @000rpheus @novaisbebita @coffeedragonhobbyist @udejoenrlddo @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @xyzbeloved @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @myheartfollower @nightmarewasteland @feralwolfkat @chiikasevennn @lethalasylum @loudpiratepirate @sweetnightowl @rafaissance @white-wolves-and-golden-sunrises @iunse @asilaydead @sandramalikstyles-blog @rmjace

Series Masterlist

Caleb’s apartment was… empty.

Modern. Sleek. Beautiful.

But empty.

Like a museum.

You felt on edge the entire time, like you couldn’t touch anything for fear of messing it up. Caleb assured you it was fine, noticing your tense figure, saying you could throw eggs around the entire apartment and it would be okay.

Obviously, you looked at him like he was crazy.

There was something so unnerving about certain parts of this world, you thought, certain parts that you just couldn’t get used to no matter how much time you spent with them. They always seemed to serve as a reminder that this was just a game. It wasn’t real. Not really. It was all manufactured, something made to look pretty without having any real depth.

Skyhaven. The Hunter’s Association. Em’s eyes.

You’d come to hate her eyes, constantly unreadable, two-dimensional. It seemed like no emotion ever passed through them, and yet you couldn’t help but think of all the secrets hidden in their depths.

The clink of dishes in the sink brought you back to reality.

You sat with Em at the kitchen table, watching Caleb clean up the kitchen. You’d offered help earlier, but he dismissed it immediately.

“I’ll take care of it, sunshine. Don’t you worry.” He winked.

So instead you sat perched on the table, subconsciously pulling your shorts further down your thighs to hide any scars you’d made. Em sat beside you, a pile of files between you.

You sifted through the various data reports, getting closer and closer to finding out your target’s location. “If this information is right,” you began. “We should be able to take him into custody tomorrow. It’ll be dangerous, but we’ve gotten a good bit of data on any guards he keeps around, so we’ll know what to expect.”

“That reminds me…” Em said, rubbing her hands against her thighs as she glanced over at Caleb. “We think you should sit out for this part of the mission. It has the highest risks, and with your wound…”

“We?” you interrupted. “Last I checked, I was on this mission, not Caleb. I’m not just going to do nothing because you think it’s not safe. I know it’s not safe, but that’s not going to scare me away!”

“I just don’t want your wound to get worse, or for you to get hurt again! You’re not trained for this like me or Caleb,” she sighed. “I won’t tell anyone you sat this part out, so will you please just stay here and rest?”

“I’m not worried about what people will think if they know I sat out on part of the mission!” you exclaimed. “I want to come with you on this mission because I want to help.” You took a deep breath, softly continuing, “I know it’s risky, and I know you’re worried about me, but that’s my risk to take. I’m going to help whether you like it or not,” you finished firmly.

Em was quiet for a few moments. “Why are you so fixated on helping on this mission?” she muttered.

“Because for so long, all I felt like I could do was survive. I didn’t have the motivation to do anything else, it all felt so meaningless.” Your hands itched at your thighs, feeling the cuts beneath your shorts. “Now that I have this, I feel like I have purpose. I’m helping something, and I know the work I’m doing matters. I don’t want to lose that.”

Em briefly looked to Caleb before looking away from both of you. “Fine. If you really want this, I guess I can’t stop you,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

Silence filled the apartment, broken by the squeak of the faucet as Caleb turned the water off. He clapped his hands together, walking over to you and Em.

“That was tense, pips. Why don’t we all watch a movie to wind down? You up for it, sunshine?” He grinned.

Em shook her head, her fingers twitching slightly on her lap. “It’s getting late, we should probably get to bed soon.” She looked at you, brows furrowed. “I know you say you’re fine, but you really should get some rest.”

You smiled. “Alright, alright. If you insist.” You ruffled her hair as you hopped off the table.

“Well, maybe a movie’s a little much. How about we just sit around and talk? Forget about the mission,” Caleb offered. “I’d like to get to know you better, anyway, sunny.”

A small smile made its way onto your face. “Get to know me how? Want to know my zodiac sign?” You laughed.

He shrugged. “I just think you’re interestin’ and I want to know more.”

You felt your face heat up and looked away.

Keeping his eyes trained on you, Caleb suddenly asked, “Pips, when did you say you two became friends?”

“Not long after I joined the Hunter’s Association,” Em answered. “Why?”

Caleb waved off the question. “Just wonderin’ if we’ve met before. Sunshine here seems familiar, somehow.”

“A lot of people seem to think that,” she muttered under her breath.

You cocked your head. Had Em heard what Zayne said that day? The words had never left your mind:

Like I’ve loved you before.

What did that mean, anyway?

Breaking the short-lived silence, you blurted out, “I’m pretty tired. Where…?” You trailed off.

“You can sleep in the bedroom I usually use,” Em volunteered.

Caleb chuckled. “Offering up my room so easily, pip-squeak?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you use it while I’m here, anyway.”

“Still could’ve asked.” He shrugged.

“It’s fine, I’ll just take another room,” you said, waving your hand.

You were led down the narrow hallway, Em in front of you with Caleb following close behind you. After passing a few doors that made you wonder what hid behind them, Em stopped near the end of the hallway.

“You can use this room,” she announced.

“I’ll be right next door, so just holler if you need anythin’, sunshine.” Caleb grinned again.

“And I’m on the other side, so you can come to me, too,” Em cut in.

“Thanks, you guys. I’ll see you in the morning, goodnight,” you said as you opened your door.

“Goodnight.” Em waved you inside the bedroom.

“See you in the morning, pips. ‘Night, sunshine!” Caleb said as he shut his own door.

After going through your nightly routine, you finally settled into bed, watching the curtains drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows sway from the air conditioning. Your eyes quickly grew heavy, the strain from the mission finally getting to you. As you became drowsier and drowsier, you didn’t notice the quiet opening of your door.

And once you were completely asleep, you didn’t hear the soft click of the lock.

The old-timey alarm next to your bed rang bright and early the next day.

7:30.

You groaned, rolling over again. Sunlight streamed in, hitting your face. Damn Skyhaven. Being above the clouds meant there was nothing to block the bright sun.

Sun?

You sat up.

Didn’t you draw the curtains shut?

You shrugged it off, thinking maybe you just imagined it. It was pretty likely you’d forget to shut the curtains, anyway. You dug through the covers of your bed, looking for your phone.

“Where did it go?” you muttered. “I thought it was right here…” Another thing to write off, you figured. You probably just left it on the kitchen table when you were chatting with Em and Caleb.

These inconsistencies were probably nothing to worry about, you told yourself. You’re just paranoid, and what for? It’s just the unusually empty apartment putting you on edge, nothing more.

You tossed the covers aside, pushing yourself out of bed. You slipped on some comfortable pants and a shirt, something you figured would be good for this mission, before heading to the door.

Your hand closed around the knob, but it wouldn’t twist.

You tried it again, getting more and more panicked and aggressive as the door wouldn’t open. You checked for a lock on the knob, but there wasn’t one on this side. You pounded on the door, yelling out, “Caleb! Em! The door won’t open, can you let me out?” You continued to jiggle the doorknob as you waited for one of them to come to your rescue.

Minutes passed, and you finally came to the realization with horror.

“Holy shit, he pulled a Main Story on me!” You backed away from the door, feeling your chest tighten as your eyes scanned the rest of the room. You spotted a small bin with a note on your dresser, but whose handwriting it was, you couldn’t place.

This is for your own good, I promise.

Be back soon! :)

You dropped the note, feeling yourself lose balance. You drop to the floor, your breathing becoming unsteady. “I’m fine, it’s fine, I’m fine…” you whispered. Your hands shook as you hugged your knees to your chest.

In all your panic, you didn’t see the swirl of red and black outside your window, much less the falling crow’s feather.

“You were never going to let me go, were you?” you cried.

It was 8:00 a.m. and Caleb and Em sat in their uniforms, listening to your banging on the door with somewhat worried expressions.

“Is this really the best thing to do?” Em asked with her seemingly default neutral expression.

Caleb’s brows furrowed. “It’s hard but… it’s the only way to completely ensure safety.” Em nodded, and Caleb’s expression only deepened. “Do you really think it was the best idea to take the phone, though? What if something happens?”

“We needed to limit communication. Everything will be fine, anyway. There’s nothing dangerous in there,” Em said, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “We should leave soon. This mission might be a bit harder than necessary since I don’t have all the information.” Catching sight of the flash of metal outside, Em opened and leaned out of the nearby window. “Go away, Mephisto! What are you even doing in Skyhaven?” She stood back in the apartment, making sure the window was locked shut.

“Mephisto?” Caleb asked, stepping towards her.

“One of my friends has this mechanical crow, that’s basically his second set of eyes, that just watches me sometimes. It’s so annoying, like he doesn’t realize I can handle myself.”

Caleb took a deep breath. He could address this friend later, but first, “Pip-squeak…” he began. “Isn’t that what we’re doing with your little friend in there?”

Em shook her head. “It’s different,” she insisted.

“If you say so,” Caleb sighed. “Let’s get going, pips. The faster we’re home, the better.”

The first hour was painful.

You were sad, angry, upset.

Vengeful.

All you could think of was how hard you would beat their asses when they let you out.

Who were they to think they knew what was best for you?

This was your life, not theirs. They might think they know what’s best for you, but aren’t you the only one to decide that?

And on top of that, no matter if it’s a stupid move, it’s your decision to make!

The anger, though, quickly gave way to tears. Were you really so helpless that you couldn’t get out of this situation? Were you so weak that they thought you couldn’t handle the mission, that you would just be a liability?

By the second hour you were laying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling. Your thoughts swirled around you, your doubts holding you like a vice.

Maybe you were interfering too much. Messing up the story. You were never meant to be more than a secondary character, so who are you to try and insert yourself next to the Main Character?

You’re not important. Not in this life and not in the last.

So why are the Love Interests showing interest in you and not Em?

The question tortured you to no end. It just made no sense; all five men were so secretive, so defensive. They didn’t open up for anyone, most of the time not even Em. They’re not easily comfortable around someone, so why are they so comfortable around you?

And what exactly was the deal with the Relax Times?

You thought of how you’d giggled, blushing and nearly kicking your feet whenever they would do them in the game. It was so sweet, making it seem like you weren’t alone.

But now they were actually happening to you, and you’d gotten three out of five so far.

It made you think of all the self-aware fics you’d read, how Destiny Cafe was their place to truly bond with their person beyond the game. After all, all the affinity earned there was done completely by the player. It was the player’s choices that made them closer to the Love Interests, not the Main Character’s.

If you’d been more focused, more conscious, you might have finally connected the dots right then and there.

But the third hour came and went and your thoughts only grew heavier. The gray skies were growing darker and darker and you had no one there to help you calm the storm.

You were starting to think that you were stuck here. That you would be trapped here, all alone. That no one would come to get you. Who would care enough anyway?

Who would notice you missing?

At your apartment complex, Xavier waited nervously outside your door for an unheard knock to be answered.

At Akso Hospital, Zayne waited eagerly for his afternoon appointment with the Hunter’s Researcher who wouldn’t show.

At Mo Art Studio, Rafayel waited eagerly for his dozen or so texts to his new friend to be answered.

Deep in the N109 Zone, Sylus watched from the eyes of a mechanical crow, wondering just what he should do with this recent development.

And outside your locked bedroom door, Caleb debated telling you the truth as he watched Em fill out her mission reports, completely unbothered.

On the other side of the door, you were still limbless on the floor, holding back the sobs and screams trapped in your throat.

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[rcmclachlan]

I'd love to hear Dana and Nico discussing Tommy's latest bout of insanity with a probie if you're up for it

"... appears the LAFD helicopter is now leading the Army on a chase..."

The very moment KTLA reporter Chris Wolf says 'chase', the entire hangar erupts into pained groans and shouts of disbelief mixed with fury, plus one enthusiastic whoop that is collectively ignored in favor of the massive white board that DeJong and Goodell rolled out of Captain Ribeiro's office about ten seconds after Kinard escaped with the AW139.

The board is a veritable rainbow of imagination, mostly because it's covered in sticky notes of various colors, and standing in front of it is the most unforgiving authority figure most of the crew have seen since grade school.

"All right, assholes, shut up!" Donato shouts, then consults the board. The hangar falls silent, waiting. "Right now Myers is in the lead with 118 shenanigans, government fuckery, and a high-octane chase, but since Nguyen also bet on 118 shenanigans and a chase that would specifically involve MH-6Ms, Myers, you may have to split the pot."

Myers grudgingly nods. Nguyen discreetly pumps her fist.

Meanwhile, their two-week old probie Mona—who was given the nickname "Idol" after Kelley accidentally pronounced her name as 'Mony' and got the song stuck in everyone's head for days, despite not being old enough to know who Billy Idol even is—takes in the tableau with wide eyes. "Is this, uh, legal?"

"In the state of California? Nah." Nico shrugs, then bites into an unpeeled grapefruit like an apple. "But here? It's fine. You stick around long enough and you'll make some serious cash. Goodell made almost five grand with the cruise ship thing."

Mona stares. "And Cap allows this?"

"Allows it? Who do you think made the first bet?" Nico points to where their illustrious captain is perusing the board with annoyance clinging to his shoulders like a cloak, muttering under his breath.

"Anytime Kinard pulls something like this, we wheel out the board," Dana says, coming to stand on Mona's other side, surveying the pandemonium.

"D-Did you place a bet?"

Nico snorts. "Dane's not allowed to bet anymore. She's dead on the money every time."

"Not every time," Dana demures.

"Okay, but no one could've seen the elephant tusk thing coming." At Mona's wild-eyed look, Nico clarifies, "poacher plane over Channel Island. Kinard brought it down."

With the way everyone's clustered around Donato and the board, holding various sticky pads in the air and waving them around, it looks like the stock market is crashing and everyone's about to dump their shares.

"Oh, speaking of." Dana scrapes at something under her thumbnail. "Did you change the sign?"

Nico says through a mouthful of rind, "I think Donato did."

"The sign?" Mona echoes faintly.

With a nail sharper than any of the steak knives in the communal kitchen, Dana points to the professionally made sign hanging next to the weight room door.

__ DAYS SINCE KINARD LAST TAUNTED GOD.

The '32' that had been sitting pretty at the front of it for the last month has been flipped back to '0'.

"T-This happens often enough for a sign?" Mona looks a little dizzy, and Dana wants to tell her that if she can't cope with a co-worker stealing municipal property and pissing off the government from time to time, she's probably not cut out for Los Angeles. But Captain Ribeiro suggested on Dana's last evaluation to keep her often-correct opinions to herself, if only to keep morale high, so she says nothing.

Nico does for her. "Ever since Kinard started seeing Buckley? Yeah."

"Buckley?"

"Human dalmatian and resident heroic dumbass at the 118," Dana explains. "He and Kinard have an on-again-off-again thing going on that threatens the populace on a bi-monthly basis. If they ever do manage to figure out their shit, it'll take out half the city."

Mona squints at the TV, where the AW139 goes into a perfect hammerhead before slipping past the Figueroa at Wilshire with the grace of a shadow, leaving the MH-6M floundering in mid-air, and everyone clustered around the board starts shouting and waving their sticky notes again.

"And this is.... on again?"

"At this point, no one knows or cares. Kinard has always been certifiable; he'd been looking for an excuse to get worse." Dana glances at the TV. The AW139 banks up, executes a textbook barrel roll, and then disappears out of the range of the KTLA's camera.

"Holy BLEEP, did you see that?!" Chris Wolf cries.

"It's a shame I never really got to talk to him much," Mona says, a little forlorn. "I would've loved to learn from him."

Nico turns a confused look on her. "You still can? He's not dead."

"I mean, he's gonna be arrested and fired, right?"

At that, Dana presses the backs of her fingers to her mouth to hide a chuckle. "Oh, Idol, you're sweet. Kinard'll gently bully that out of you when he's back on Tuesday."

[salemrph]

"Let the World Burn"

Chapter 5: Gravity - Part 1

A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money.

Navigator: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | AO3

Chapter Summary: Classified research, human experimentation, and a serum designed for Evolvers like you.

"Pipsqueak."

You may not see him the same way anymore. But that doesn’t change a damn thing. You are his to protect.

Characters: Sylus x MC/reader/you, Luke and Kieran, Zayne, Caleb

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst, graphic description of corpses, childhood trauma

Words: 8.1k | Reading Time: 32 min

Tag list: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @syluskisser @fortunekookie07 @crimsonlittlecrow @mochibunnies3 @gazelover666 @fancyhawk45 @sorryimakira @paninisstuff @deathrye @tinyweebsstuff @sxderia @yunhogrippers @sylusqt @darkesky @an-ever-angry-bi @atinymekanie @bruisedchickensoup @thatonegenderfluidwhore @certainduckanchor @the-girl-who-used-to @reika-desu @f41k47 @beezabuzz @mentaltrouble2201 @bl00dsuccker @blorbohunter @gianchan-de @fortunekookie07 @sylusloml @pandoras-rabbit @the-spine-of-the-world @noradest @owodi @greatmistakes @theshadowsdragon @pillarofsnow @lawssocuteee @gibborger

Skyhaven – Three Weeks Before

The Farspace Fleet Base was never truly silent. Even in the late hours, the halls resonated with disciplined activity—soldiers moving with practiced efficiency, their boots striking the metallic floors in a steady, rhythmic cadence.

Throughout the sprawling command sector, figures in crisp military uniforms navigated their stations, issuing hushed orders, scrutinizing data streams, and coordinating missions that spanned the entire Deep Space Tunnel. The immense holo-screens lining the walls pulsed with constantly updated reports—strategic deployments, classified directives, shifting alliances.

Deep within the complex, beyond secured checkpoints and locked corridors, lay the nerve center—the high-command offices, accessible only to those of rank and authority. And one office remained illuminated.

Inside, behind a polished, reinforced desk, sat a man whose attention should have been fixed on the classified reports illuminating the space before him. But his thoughts were a storm, a tempest raging beneath a veneer of calm. He sat rigidly in his chair, fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the armrest, a subtle telltale of the frustration boiling within.

A holographic display shimmered before him, a torrent of intelligence cascading in real time—fleet deployments, border skirmishes, the names of officers assigned to Linkon. But the data was a blur, a meaningless stream of light. His gaze skimmed the screen, seeing without comprehending, registering without processing, his focus consumed by a singular, urgent concern. He let out a sharp sigh, his fingers instinctively finding the cool weight of the silver apple pendant nestled against his skin. A cherished keepsake, a tangible link to you. 

Pip-squeak. 

Caleb had called you that since you can remember. A stupid, teasing nickname that had stuck long. It was supposed to be endearing, meant to ruffle your feathers, to keep that sharp fire in your eyes burning whenever you glared at him. 

And yet, despite your frustration, he loved it—loved the way you’d always respond, the way your face would bloom with that vibrant, defiant smile. He had always taken care of you, in every way he knew. Gently scolding you when you begged for just one more snack, only to give in minutes later. Preparing your comfort food, anticipating your unspoken desires. Hovering over your shoulder, sighing dramatically as you tried to wiggle out of your homework.

But lately, things felt different. You had been retreating, little by little, leaving him to navigate the quiet ache of your absence. His brows furrowed, the weight in his chest settling deeper, heavier, a leaden ache that mirrored the growing distance between you two. Things had escalated quickly that night, a whirlwind of unspoken emotions that nearly forced a confession from his lips.  He didn't want you to see him as an older brother anymore. He had never seen you in that way.

"I don’t need you— Caleb… You just can’t… You are very important to me, and no one can ever replace you…"

The way you had looked at him—like he was a stranger, an unknown entity, like you weren’t sure if you could trust the very ground he stood on. It was a wound, deeper than he wanted to acknowledge, a silent, festering ache. He had spent this whole time surviving, clinging to the fragile hope of seeing you again, a beacon in the darkness that kept him from succumbing to the madness of his ordeal. Chasing after the impossible, enduring the aftermath of the explosion, only to finally meet you again and then lose you in a completely more painful way.

Possessive? Absolutely. Obsessive? He wouldn’t deny it. But you were his. His to protect. And whether you liked it or not, he wasn’t letting go. The sacrifices he had made, the sins that clung to him like a shroud, the weight of being the Colonel of the Fleet. These were burdens he didn't know if he could ever confess. His jaw clenched, his grip on the pendant tightening until the silver bit into his skin. Some things were better left buried, locked away in the deepest recesses of his soul. He touches his bionic arm. Another secret. Another truth you hadn't discovered yet. If you did? Would you look at him the way you used to? Would you feel bad about it? 

His fingers hovered over the holo-screen, scrolling past personnel reports—until a sharp, insistent knock on his office door shattered the silence, snapping him back to the present. Caleb shook his head and he forced his emotions back beneath the surface, burying them under the steel resolve that had made him both respected and feared. He tucked the pendant back under his uniform.

He straightened, his expression unreadable. The Colonel, once more.

"Enter." 

The door slid open, revealing a uniformed officer standing at rigid attention, his face pale and his posture strained. Caleb knew immediately, from the officer's forced composure and the clipped cadence of his approach, that something was gravely wrong.

"Colonel. We have a situation." 

Caleb paused, his mind already racing, but his voice remained calm.

"Speak." The officer swallowed, taking a measured step forward, the rigidity of his stance betraying the urgency of his report.

"One of our men is missing, sir," the officer stated, his voice flat. "Calloway. He failed to return from leave."

Caleb’s brow furrowed slightly. Another one.

"Three now," he murmured, his fingers tapping a sharp, insistent pattern against the desk.

This wasn’t the first time it had happened. Low-ranking members of the Farspace Fleet had been disappearing—quietly, without a trace. No distress signals. No records of their whereabouts. It was as if they had simply been wiped off the grid. 

At first, it had been dismissed as desertion. Soldiers vanishing on their own terms. It happened. Some succumbed to the crushing pressure, some sought a life beyond the Fleet's rigid structure. But three in rapid succession? That was no mere coincidence.

Caleb leaned forward, his sharp eyes locking onto the officer, his gaze piercing. "What was his last known location?"

"Off-base, sir. He was granted a two-week leave and never returned. His family reported that he never reached his destination." The officer's tone was grave, confirming Caleb's suspicions. This wasn’t just a soldier going AWOL. Caleb's gaze flicked back to his monitor, the earlier reports now utterly irrelevant.

"Get me everything we have on Calloway. His communication logs, his last movements, every shred of information. Do the same with the others." His voice was cold, measured, but a low, simmering intensity underscored each word.

The officer nodded. "Understood, sir."

As the door hissed shut behind him, Caleb leaned back, his fingers unconsciously tracing the cool outline of the pendant. Another goddamn problem.

He was tired. Not just of this. Not just of missing soldiers, buried reports, or the endless cycle of war and bureaucracy. No—he was tired in a way that settled into his bones, in a way that no amount of sleep could fix.

Knowing the information gathering would take time, Caleb decided to return to go home. The thought was almost laughable. It wasn’t home, not really. Just a space, cold, silent, filled with things that no longer held meaning. No warmth. No presence. No you. 

–

The apartment was deathly quiet when he entered, the air still, undisturbed, a chilling testament to his solitude. The emptiness of the space enveloped him a suffocating shroud. His steps echoed softly against the polished floor as he moved deeper into the apartment, his gaze drifting over the familiar surroundings. 

His fingers brushed over the edge of the counter as he passed, as if expecting to feel your presence there. But the surface was glacial. Caleb made his way to the shelf where the only photo he has of you stands out. Her violet eyes reflected the deep regret and sorrow she carried with him, day after day. His fingers hovered over it for a moment before he turned away. Shrugging off his uniform, he tossed it onto the sofa without a second thought.

Without even the thought of food, he simply fell onto the bed. As the mattress sinks beneath him, the exhaustion of the day presses into his bones. He stares at the ceiling for a moment. Lost in the silence. With a slow, drawn-out breath, he rolled onto his side, his eyes drawn to the pillow lying beside him. His fingers traced the soft fabric, a hesitant touch, before he pulled it to his chest, clutching it as if it could somehow fill the gaping hole you had left behind. Your scent is still there. He hasn't changed the pillowcase since you left—it’s pathetic, really—but he doesn’t care. It’s the last trace of you he has. And it’s been too long.

His grip tightens, eyes slipping shut, jaw clenched against the ache in his chest.

Pip-squeak… 

The name barely forms in his mind before the memories surface—your face, the way you used to look at him, the warmth in your eyes before everything became so damn complicated. He can picture it too clearly. Your lips parted, the soft hitch of your breath, the way you whispered his name, unaware of the effect you had on him.

Caleb hates this feeling. The love he has for you it’s too much. It tears him apart from the inside, as much pain as it brings relief. His body betrays him before his mind can stop it. Heat coils low in his stomach, tension tightening, pressing down. Fuck. Caleb swallows hard, but it doesn’t help. He wants you. Has always wanted you. And worst of all—he knows that no matter how much time passes, no matter how much distance you put between you, that won’t change. He will still love you. 

He buried his nose into the pillow, while his fingers trail down, slipping beneath the waistband of his pants, exhaling sharply as relief and frustration war inside him. It’s not enough. It never is. The memories keep flooding in. He regretted it. Every damn day.

He should have told you at the graduation. Just said it. But he stood there, pretending it didn’t matter, pretending being your "friend" was enough. It never was. It never would be.

Caleb strokes himself with slow, rough precision, chasing something that won’t come—not fully. His breath is ragged, his body tense, aching for something real, something that isn’t just the fading memory of you. 

He should have asked you out during school. Pulled you aside, away from the others, away from those clueless boys who thought they had a shot. Who looked at you like you were something they could own. They weren’t good enough. Not for you. He hated the way Zayne looked at you. Hated the way any of them did.

You had no idea how many times he’d chased them off. No idea how often he’d threatened guys who got too close, who thought they could touch you, kiss you. It was miserable, really. How far he’d fallen. How he had once cornered that quiet little thing you liked, the one who dared to think he could stand beside you. Who dared to think he had a chance. Caleb had stood in front of him, voice calm, deadly, his stance relaxed but full of warning. Every guy wanted you. Every guy was a predator circling prey. Pathetic. That’s what he was. Because despite it all, despite the jealousy, the anger, the obsessive fucking need—he had still failed.

A growl of frustration escapes him, his free hand fisting the sheets. The scent of you clings to them, but it’s fading. Just like everything else. His strokes falter, frustration curling in his gut. It hurts. Wanting you like this—needing you like this. It’s not just the physical ache; it’s the raw, consuming hunger, the part of him that’s starved for you. For your warmth. For your touch. For the fucking impossible dream that, maybe, you could have been his.

That stormy, suffocating night, years ago, when the two of you were trapped in the attic of your home, waiting out the torrential downpour. The rain had battered the roof like a relentless siege, the wind howling through the gaps in the aged wood. It had been so dark, so still, broken only by the soft rhythm of your breathing beside him, the flickering lamplight casting dancing shadows across your features. You had been so close. But again, you were arguing about whether he should stop protecting you.

"Right, I forgot. You’re not a little kid who needs to be protected anymore."

He had stared at your lips, at the way they parted when you sighed, at the way you frowned in anger, and even though it tore him apart that you rejected his protection, his touch… he should have done it. Should have leaned in. Should have kissed you. Should have finally shattered the pretense. All he had to do was reach out. Tilt your chin up just slightly. Close the agonizing space between you. But he hadn’t. Because Caleb—brilliant, calculating, fearless Caleb—had faltered. He clenched his jaw, dug his nails into his palms, and let the moment bleed away. Maybe with that kiss, you would have seen the tempest of emotions he kept locked inside.

Caleb’s breath shudders, frustration curling in his gut. His grip tightens around his cock, stroking harder, faster, his teeth gritted as his mind spirals deeper into the past. His wrist aches from the pace, but he doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t stop.

How long had he been holding back? How many years? How many goddamn nights had he laid awake, aching for you? How many chances had he squandered, playing the part of the protective “big brother” when every inch of him wanted to be something else?

And then, just when he was finally fucking ready—

He died. Or at least, that’s what you thought. Faking his death wasn’t something he planned or expected. The only thing he could do at that moment was save you from the explosion. 

Months after that, you were right there, in front of him, alive, breathing, more beautiful than he remembered. But instead of the relief he expected…You looked at him like he was a stranger. Like he was someone you had to keep at arm’s length. Like the years you’d shared were nothing but dust. And that? That cut deeper than any blade. He knew you resented the Colonel, the mask he wore, but beneath it all, he was still the same. If only you'd see him, truly see him, and give him a chance.

His stomach tenses as his release finally hits, his breath punching out in a sharp, guttural sound as he spills over his hand. He lets himself ride it out, panting, his body trembling with something far more than just pleasure. But even as his muscles go slack, even as he wipes himself off with a sharp exhale, there’s no real satisfaction—just emptiness, frustration, and the cold, cruel truth: You’re not here.

After cleaning up and finally getting a bit more comfortable. He reached out for his phone. He goes over the last messages you exchanged, just a week ago. He never replayed. Your voice crackles to life, softer than he remembers, but unmistakably you.

"Hey… I know you’re busy, but—" A short pause, a short exhale. "Just wanted to check in. Make sure you're not brooding too hard over classified reports or whatever it is you do up there."  He closes his eyes. "Anyway. Just… message me back, alright?" 

Caleb stares at the screen. He should have answered. He should have said something. Instead, he had let it sit. Left it unread for hours, then days. Let the silence stretch too long. His grip tightens around the phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. What would he even say? Would he lie? Pretend he wasn’t tangled in his own damn head every time it came to you? Would he apologize? Admit he didn’t know how to bridge the space between you anymore? Or would he say what he really felt? That he was angry. That he hated the way you pushed him away and he hated himself for letting you.

His thumb taps against the screen, hesitating before he types.

Pip-squeak, you worry too much.

He stares at it. Deletes it.

Don’t tell me you miss me. You’ll ruin your whole "I don’t need Caleb" act.

No. That would be mean.

I should have answered sooner.

Still wrong. The words hang on the screen, staring back at him. He knows it won’t send. He deleted it. Then, with a frustrated breath, he locks the screen, tossing the phone onto the bed, rubbing his hands over his face as if he could scrub away the frustration twisting in his chest.

What the hell was wrong with him?

The abyss of loneliness isn’t just consuming him, it’s devouring him. Swallowing him whole in a darkness that only you can keep at bay. You weren’t just his light. You were his gravity. The unwavering force that kept him anchored, the only constant in the relentless chaos. His entire universe revolves around you. It always had.

But what if that center faltered? What if you drifted beyond his reach? Would he be left adrift—a derelict planet, lost and forsaken in the vast, indifferent cosmos? Or worse… would he implode, a supernova of self-destruction, unable to exist without your gravitational pull?

His dreams are plagued by memories twisted into nightmares, fragments of a life he barely remembers or chooses not to. The accident during his last test as a DDA pilot was repeated in his dreams. The way reality had warped and fractured around him inside the Deepspace Tunnel, time stretching, collapsing, and twisting into impossible, nightmarish geometries.

He remembers the desperation. The creeping horror of knowing something was wrong. He had been alone. Drifting in the endless void, praying to return home. He doesn't remember how he survived. Or maybe he refuses to. Because when they found him a week later, barely alive. The official reports called it a miracle.

Caleb never told you. He smiled and kept it for himself. He didn’t want to worry you. Didn’t want you to see him as broken. But he wasn’t the same after that.

Some nights, when sleep is kind, he drifts into a different kind of memory—one untouched by war, loss, and the weight of the present. Laughter echoes through the golden haze of afternoon sunlight. The warm, earthy scent of sun-baked grass fills the air, and the world shrinks to a comforting simplicity. You’re both just children again. No ranks, no titles, no battlefield of unspoken words and buried desires separating you.

Caleb watches as you dart ahead, your feet barely touching the earth, your arms outstretched as if you could take flight at any moment. Your laughter rings in his ears, bright and carefree. You’re running behind him, panting, pouting.

"That's not fair!" you shout, your small feet pounding the sun-warmed dirt path. "You're older, and your legs are longer!"

Caleb doesn’t slow down, tossing a playful, smug grin over his shoulder. "You’d run faster if you weren’t so short, Pip-squeak!"

The nickname makes your face scrunch in mock frustration, your eyes sparkling with playful defiance, and with a burst of stubborn energy, you push yourself harder, determined to close the distance. Caleb laughs, effortlessly maintaining the gap between you. But you never give up. He knows that about you. And, perhaps just to indulge you, or to feel the weight of you against him, he lets you catch him. You tackle him with a joyful cry, both of you tumbling into the soft, sun-kissed grass in a tangle of limbs and breathless giggles.

"Ha!" you exclaim triumphantly, sprawled on top of him, your chest heaving with laughter. "Got you!"

Caleb groans dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes, feigning defeat. "You cheated, you little sneak."

You punch his arm. "Did not."

His eyes glinted with amusement. "Yes, you did."

You huff, rolling off him onto your back, staring up at the drifting clouds, your cheeks flushed from exertion and the lingering summer sun. For a while, the two of you just lie there, side by side, soaking in the moment, the golden warmth, the comfortable silence.

His protective instinct, a fierce, primal urge, had awakened much earlier than he’d ever admitted, almost a few years before. The day he first laid eyes on you.

A small girl in a white uniform, just like the other kids, standing apart from the others, clutching a worn-out stuffed animal with a grip that spoke of silent desperation. Your eyes were hollow, devoid of the spark of childhood. Too empty for someone so young. You had death written all over you. The medical facility—no, the research center—was a place that devoured children whole, leaving behind only husks. Some called it a sanctuary for the orphaned, a haven for the lost, but Caleb knew the truth. It was a gilded cage, a holding cell where survival was a daily, brutal test. He had been one of those children, a survivor of its silent horrors. And now, so were you.

The experiments weren’t unbearable—not for him. He had endured worse before. At least here, he had a roof over his head and food in his stomach. And really, what did it matter if he succumbed here, within these sterile walls, or out there, in the unforgiving wasteland? Inside here, for now, he wasn’t starving.

But you… you were different. Different from the others. You never spoke a word. Never played with the other kids. You just sat alone, staring up at the sky whenever they let you out into the garden. Like you were waiting for something. Or someone to pull you from the abyss.

Caleb hadn’t planned on making friends. Didn’t see the point. But something about the way you kept slipping out of your room just to stand under the open sky annoyed him. The third time he saw you outside at night, standing barefoot on the frost-kissed concrete, your gaze fixed on the distant constellations, he finally broke the silence.

"What are you looking for up there?"

And just like that, his life became tangled with yours. You didn’t answer him right away. Did you even hear him? The night air was cold, biting against his skin, but you stood there as if you didn’t feel it. Your small frame, swallowed by the shapeless, oversized shirt they forced you to wear, seemed impossibly fragile. You didn’t shiver. You didn’t flinch. You simply… stared, your eyes lost in the vast expanse above.

Caleb had witnessed countless children succumb to the crushing weight of this place. Some cracked under the weight of what was happening to them. Others got angry. Fought back. Broke apart. But you? You were a still, silent enigma. 

"Hey." He nudged your shoulder, his touch less gentle than he intended. "I asked you a question."

You blinked slowly, finally turning your gaze away from the sky to look at him. For a moment, Caleb swore you weren’t actually seeing him. Then, finally, you spoke, your voice a soft, ethereal, just a whisper in the rustling night wind.

"The stars… are different here."

He frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

You tilted your head, your grip tightening on the worn, comforting stuffed animal in your arms. "They’re in the wrong place."

Caleb stared at you, confused. What the hell did that mean? Of all the things you could’ve said, that wasn’t what he expected. You looked back up at the sky, eyes searching. Waiting. And for the first time in a while, Caleb felt something new. Curiosity. So, he sat down beside you, drawn into your orbit, into your strange, silent world. 

"Then tell me where they’re supposed to be." He said, voice quieter now. Less demanding.  And that night you truly spoke. At first, you spoke only in quiet, uncertain murmurs, short answers, observations about the sky, questions that never quite made sense. But with each passing night, with each shared glance at the stars, something shifted, something bloomed. You offered a shy smile, and with time a genuine laugh. Caleb, never cared for people, never let himself get attached but that night he felt something crack inside him. 

You were stubborn, always trying to sneak past curfew, always looking for a way to see the stars. He started to call you pip-squeak, half-teasing. Whenever you lost a race because you couldn’t keep up with him. You’d pout, demanding a rematch, but you never won. And he liked that. Liked seeing you frustrated. Liked the way your nose scrunched up when you got mad. Liked the way your laughter made this miserable place feel less suffocating. 

"Caleb, Caleb!" You ran to him, breathless with excitement, your small hands carefully cupped around something. "Look what I found!" 

You opened your little palm, revealing a delicate pink petal resting in your hand. Your wide, gleaming eyes met his, and for some reason, something strange stirred in his chest. A warmth that made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't explain.

"It's the first time I've seen one of these," you said in awe, your fingers carefully clutching the tiny fragment of color in a world that rarely had any.

Caleb eyed it for a fleeting second, shoving his hands into his pockets, his posture stiffening. "Don't come so close."

You tilted your head, a flicker of confusion clouding your radiant eyes. "Why?"

"Just- don't."

Your lips wobbled, and before he could do anything about it, your eyes filled with unshed tears. "Do you hate me?"

"Tsk- what? No, idiot." He sighed, glancing away, a wave of guilt washing over him, instantly regretting his clumsy words. "It's… from an apple tree. I saw it in a book once. Asiatic apple."

"Do you like apples?" you lean even closer. 

"I- I do…" he said, avoiding your gaze. 

"Caleb…" You narrowed your eyes at him, studying him with that same intense look that always made him feel like you could see right through him. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. His face flushed, a wave of heat creeping up his neck.

"W- what?" he stammered.

"You’re smart. Thanks."  You said, your grin widening, a flash of pure, unadulterated joy, before suddenly leaning in and pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek. Caleb froze. His mind went blank. His body stiffened like he'd just been struck by lightning. The warmth from where your lips had touched his skin burned in a way that he definitely didn’t understand.

You giggled, a bright, melodic sound, and skipped away, twirling with your delicate pink petal. Meanwhile, Caleb stood there, blinking rapidly, blushing like an idiot. He was just… glad. Overwhelmingly, achingly glad. Glad that you were alive, that you were here. And that fleeting moment of joy made him forget, for a precious and beautiful few seconds, the grim reality of the place where they were both trapped. 

But with the abruptness of a slammed door, reality crashed back into him, a brutal, unforgiving wave. All the hope he'd had of escaping that place together vanished overnight.  One morning, it was all gone. Your vibrant smile, the melodic chime of your laughter, the spark in your eyes: extinguished. 

You sat in the garden, staring into the empty distance, your stuffed animal limp in your arms. When he spoke, you didn’t answer. When he nudged your shoulder, you barely blinked. And when he said your name, you just looked at him—through him. Like you didn’t even recognize him. Like those shared days, those precious moments, those fragments of a life you had built together, had never existed at all. Erased from the fabric of your memory.

"Talk to me. Did I do something wrong? I'll let you win next time…." Just the chilling silence, a void that swallowed his words whole. "Fine! Then don’t talk to me!" 

The first time it happened, Caleb was angry. And not the kind of anger that burned fast and faded away—this was worse. This was a slow, simmering rage that curled deep in his gut, coiling tighter with every second you ignored him. You sat there, a blank canvas of indifference, barely reacting to the world around you. For days, he deliberately avoided you. Didn’t try to get you to talk, didn’t try to make you laugh again. Maybe it was stupid act of pride, but he reasoned that if you didn’t care enough to acknowledge him, then why should he expend any effort on you?

One night, he found himself wandering the halls. Drawn by the need to flee this madness. And there you were. Right where he found you the first time. Sitting on the edge of a bench in the garden, your legs swinging slightly, your eyes locked onto the sky. The stars were out, distant and cold, blinking against the vast darkness.

He just stood there in the shadows for a long time. Watching. Wondering if he should or should not continue his way back to the rooms. Caleb was many things back then: a fractured, discarded, forgotten child. But with you, he’d found an anchor, a constant in the swirling chaos. Something that drew him with an irresistible force, his personal center of gravity. So, he sighed, a sound heavy with resignation. Before he could second-guess himself. 

"The stars are different here, right?" The words hung between you, fragile and uncertain. A beat of silence. Then, you blinked. Slowly, like pulling yourself from a dream. 

Days full of laughing with him returned, but just as they appeared, they vanished just as quickly. The second time it happened, he started to worry. Not fully understanding what was happening to you. The third time? He knew something was wrong. It was always the same. One day, you were yourself, you'd smile, challenge him to a race you'd never win, stealing food off his plate when you thought he wasn’t looking. You’d laugh, roll your eyes at his teasing, shove him when he got too smug. Alive. Present. And then, gone.

Like someone had flipped a switch. Like the warmth had been drained from your body, leaving only a hollow shell behind. Your eyes would go dull again, your posture stiff, your mind somewhere else, somewhere he couldn’t reach. You wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t react. And each time, he was forced to start anew, to rebuild the fragile bridge of connection. 

At first, Caleb thought it was just one of those things. Kids in this place had their ways of coping, of withdrawing. Maybe you were just shutting down. Maybe you'd been punished for sneaking out at night, and this was how you dealt with it. But by the fifth time, he realized the pattern. It always happened after your medical routines.

Three to five days. That was how long you disappeared each time. They took you to another wing of the facility, away from the rest of the kids, locked behind doors he had never seen beyond. Then, just like clockwork, they’d return you, placing you back in the main pavilion as if nothing had happened.

The day they brought you back, dazed, empty, hollow. Caleb didn’t try to talk to you. Didn’t try to pull you out of whatever haze they had left you in. Instead, he unleashed his fury, his evol flaring with unrestrained power, attacking the caretakers with a ferocity that startled even himself. He shoved back when they tried to move him away, snarling demands that went unanswered.

"Where did you take her? What the fuck are you doing to her?" 

The faceless figures in white coats. The ones who came in the night, who took you without explanation and returned you less and less yourself every time. He swore a silent vow, a solemn oath etched in the depths of his soul. Never again. He was going to shield you, to safeguard you from their insidious manipulations. Even if you didn’t retain a single memory of him. Even if he was condemned to rebuild their fractured bond, to start anew, every single time.

That fierce determination to protect you, has endured, unyielding, until the present day.

—

Days crawled by. Caleb immersed himself in a flurry of work, burying himself in endless reports, tedious routines, anything to drown out the gnawing unease that clawed at the edges of his sanity. And finally, the full, damning report finally landed on his desk.

The missing soldier wasn’t an isolated incident. The disappearances weren’t confined to the Farspace Fleet or Skyhaven. They bled into the civilian sector, citizens of Linkon City vanishing without a trace, all within the same chilling timeframe. And a single, terrifying common denominator bound them all together: Evolvers.

Caleb’s fingers tightened around the datapad as he read through the details, his eyes narrowing. This doesn’t look good. Evolvers being targeted. But for what? Research? Trafficking? Cold-blooded eliminations? He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as he skimmed through the intelligence briefs. No direct ties to the Hunter Association, yet. A sliver of relief, a fragile hope. That meant you weren’t involved.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

"Colonel," Liam said, his voice grave, his presence radiating an unspoken urgency. If he was delivering this news personally, it meant something truly dire. Caleb exhaled slowly, a sigh of weary resignation, shoving the damning report aside. He was in no state of mind for more grim tidings.

"What is it?" Caleb asked, voice edged with irritation.

Liam stepped inside, datapad in hand. "We found Calloway’s body."

Caleb stilled. A heavy silence settled between them.

"Where?" A heavy, suffocating silence settled between them, a prelude to the inevitable.

"Near the municipal depot," Liam said, his voice smooth but his eyes holding an unsettling glint. "The body is… fragmented."

That single word, "fragmented," snapped Caleb’s attention into sharp focus.

Liam continued, his voice as clinical as ever. "Signs of black glass were found on the remains. We believe he started converting into a Wanderer before death." He paused. "Which is highly anomalous, considering Calloway was not diagnosed with the Protocore Syndrome."

Caleb’s fingers curled against the desk. That shouldn’t be possible. Wanderer transformation wasn’t random—it happened to Evolvers and people who had suffered severe long exposure to Protocore. But Calloway was stable, documented. He should have never been at risk.

"The autopsy is in progress now," Liam added, his gaze assessing. "We should have a clearer picture soon."

Caleb sighed, rubbing his temple. The puzzle pieces weren’t fitting together. First, the vanishing Evolvers. Now, an impossible Wanderer transformation. Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.

"Any progress on the other missing individuals?" Caleb asked.

Liam shook his head, his expression grim. "Still unaccounted for, sir."

Caleb pushed back his chair, the metallic screech echoing in the sudden silence, and stood, a palpable tension radiating from his rigid frame. He grabbed his hat, adjusting it on his head. Caleb wasn’t the type to passively await reports. He needed to see the grim evidence with his own eyes.

The corridors of the Farspace Fleet’s medical facility were eerily silent, a sterile, tomb-like quiet broken only by the soft thrum of life support systems. White walls, bathed in the blueish harsh, clinical glow of overhead lighting, stretched into the distance. The faint, persistent hum of machinery, a constant, unsettling drone, filled the air.

Liam walked beside him, his expression unreadable as always. He didn’t question the Colonel’s decision to personally inspect the gruesome remains, nor did he offer any unnecessary, platitudinous commentary. He simply followed.

When they stepped inside, the smell of disinfectant and something rotten greeted them. The morgue was always too damn cold. Calloway’s fragmented body lay exposed beneath the harsh glare of the surgical lights, his chest cavity gaping open, organs meticulously dissected and examined. His right arm was severed entirely, the stump jagged and darkened with the first signs of necrosis, while the left arm remained, but only partially, half-flayed, muscles and tendons peeled back as if someone had been mapping them.

Caleb’s eyes trailed to the shattered remains of Calloway’s face nor what was left of it. His jaw was unhinged, the flesh around his mouth torn as if he had screamed himself raw. One eye was gone entirely, an empty, hollow socket staring back at them. The other? Glossed over in an eerie black film, a telltale sign of corruption.

The coroner, a seasoned professional with graying temples and a piercing, analytical gaze, stepped away from the grisly tableau.

"You’re early," the coroner remarked, peeling off his blood-stained gloves and surgical mask with practiced efficiency.

"I don’t have time to wait," Caleb replied curtly. He glanced at the mutilated remains on the steel slab, then back at the coroner, his eyes demanding answers. "What have you found?"

The coroner exhaled, gesturing toward the shrouded body on the metal slab. He activated a holo-display, projecting detailed scans and preliminary analytical data. "Calloway’s Evol classification was B-Class. Standard military issue—enhanced perception, minor strength augmentation, a common profile among the ranks. The initial autopsy revealed traces of an unknown substance within his system. His cellular structure exhibited signs of forced mutation, a rapid, catastrophic degradation of his heart and lungs. It was an unnatural, violent process."

Caleb leaned in, his gaze fixed on the intricate data streams, his brow furrowed in grim concentration. "You're suggesting this was deliberated?"

The coroner nodded. "It's a bit early to say, but it's plausible. I discovered traces of black glass embedded in his internal tissue, a clear indication of Wanderer conversion. But the crystallization pattern is… peculiar. It deviates significantly from natural Wanderer transformations. The formation is irregular, almost chaotic, as if it was—"

"Induced." Liam crossed his arms. "Sounds like a black market serum."

The coroner scoffed, a dismissive snort escaping his lips. "If it were a black market hack job, it’d be sloppy, haphazard. This? This was meticulously crafted, surgically precise." He gestured towards Calloway's mangled remains, a silent testament to the horrific procedure. "But I must confess, Colonel, this level of… intervention… is far from commonplace."

Caleb’s stomach turned. A familiar unease settled into his bones. He had seen engineered horrors before. He knew exactly what kind of people had the resources to pull off something like this. A hunch clawed at the edges of his mind. He didn’t have concrete evidence, tangible proof, but his instincts screamed that this wasn’t an isolated incident. 

His fingers tightened into a fist. "Classify this case as top secret. No one—and I mean no one—breathes a word about this until I give the order." His voice was a low, chilling rasp, absolute and unwavering. "I don’t want a single leak to the press. If anyone inquires, Calloway’s death was a tragic accident."

The coroner nodded slowly, his expression grave, but Liam’s gaze remained unconvinced, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He stepped closer, his voice a low, urgent whisper. "You think this is part of something bigger, don’t you?"

Caleb rolling his tense shoulders. "I don’t believe in coincidences." Liam stepped back, his expression grim, nodding in silent agreement.

If someone was experimenting on Evolvers…

Caleb turned to the coroner, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I expect a full report on what happened to him. Every detail. Every anomaly. I want it on my desk before the day is over."

The coroner gave a slow nod, unfazed by the sharpness in Caleb’s tone. "Understood, Colonel. But I’ll need time to run a full biochemical analysis. Whatever they used on him, it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before."

Caleb exhaled, his patience running thin. "Then don’t waste time."

The coroner nodded, his expression grave. "Understood, Colonel."

A sense of foreboding settled over Caleb as he left the morgue. The weight of the missing Evolvers, the strange circumstances surrounding Calloway’s death, it all felt like pieces of a larger, more sinister puzzle. He needed to find the missing link, the piece that would unlock the mystery.

Hours bled into one another, marked only by the rhythmic hum of the computer and the restless shuffle of datapads. Caleb’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, scanned line after line of missing Evolver data, and the list of missing people from Linkon. Some had reappeared, their disappearances chalked up to miscommunication or temporary lapses in contact. Those cases were dismissed, deemed irrelevant to the investigation. But Caleb would make sure not a single clue went unchecked, no detail overlooked. He cross-referenced names, locations, and Evolver classifications, searching for a pattern, a connection, anything to illuminate the encroaching darkness.

A report flickered across his datapad, a notification from the Linkon City Police Department. An illegal shipment had been intercepted near the N109 Zone. The cargo was unknown, and the perpetrators had scattered, leaving behind only a few low-level operatives. The interrogations hadn't yielded much, just fragmented accounts and a single name: "Rudy." 

Could this be related to the missing Evolvers? To Calloway's bizarre transformation? Caleb couldn't dismiss it. He added the name and the N109 Zone as location to his growing list of potential leads. He had to consider every possibility, no matter how remote. Every thread, no matter how thin, could lead him to the truth.

Then, the comm unit crackled to life, the sterile voice of the coroner cutting through the oppressive silence. "Colonel, the full report on Calloway’s autopsy is ready." He wastes no time, striding through the halls of the medical wing. Liam follows behind, silent as always, but Caleb can feel the tension radiating off him too.

As Caleb and Liam entered, the coroner tapped the display, bringing up a complex web of biochemical readings. The intricate chains of data, a language of cellular decay and forced mutation, were indecipherable to the untrained eye. But the stark conclusion, highlighted at the bottom of the report, was brutally clear: Calloway hadn't simply died. 

"At first glance," the coroner began, his voice low and measured, "I suspected an atypical case of protocore exposure. But then, I detected an anomaly—his system was exhibiting a rejection of its own biological functions, a phenomenon reminiscent of Protocore Syndrome."

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. "Similar?"

The coroner nodded, his expression tightening. "Yes. Almost as if someone was trying to mimic Protocore Syndrome—but it doesn’t match exactly. The genetic deterioration doesn’t follow the usual pattern." The coroner continued, his voice laced with a clinical detachment that couldn't quite mask the underlying unease. "It shares similarities with Protocore Syndrome, yes, but it's not the root cause. From the limited blood samples we recovered, I was able to isolate residual compounds."

With a few deft taps on the console, an incomplete chemical formula materialized on the large display screen, a complex arrangement of symbols and bonds that pulsed with an unsettling, digital light. "This," the coroner stated, gesturing to the formula, "is what's left." He paused, his gaze shifting to Caleb. "An experimental serum. Code-name Chimera 1X9."

The name sent a slow, ice-cold dread creeping up Caleb’s spine. Chimera 1X9.

"Where did you find this information?" His voice was dangerously low, a barely restrained growl, but the coroner didn't flinch.

"The system flagged the compound, when I tried to pull more data, my clearance level wasn’t high enough." 

This wasn’t just some underground black market experiment, some nameless operation buried in secrecy. And there was only one individual who possessed the access and the knowledge to wield such a weapon: The Professor.

Caleb turned on his heel, his decision made. He needed answers, and he needed them now. And if the Professor dared to believe he could dismiss him with vague half-truths and obfuscation, he was sorely mistaken.

"Thank you," he said, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. "Your work here is complete. Prepare the body for transport. Ensure the family is given the respect he deserves."

"Colonel?" Liam asked, his voice laced with confusion, his gaze questioning. "Caleb?" 

Caleb didn't bother with further discussion. "We're done here," he said, his voice clipped, devoid of patience. He strode towards the exit, his mind a whirlwind of cold fury and grim determination. Caleb doesn’t waste time. 

That same rain-soaked night, he found the quickest way to Professor’s secluded residence. He carried with him every classified file, every damning report he could access regarding the serum, a tangible weight of rage and impending confrontation. He bypassed the security measures with practiced ease, not even thinking about knocking on the door, letting himself into the house with the cold efficiency of a man driven by a singular purpose. He marched into the Professor’s study, sooked by the rain. Leaving a trail of rain drops on the floor. Caleb slammed the stack of files onto the polished mahogany desk, the sharp thud echoing through the room.

"What is all this?" The Professor barely spared the scattered papers a glance, his fingers meticulously adjusting his spectacles as he exhaled, a sigh laced with thinly veiled annoyance. "At least let me know when you do this shit."

"Honestly, Caleb, have the decency to inform me before you stage these… dramatic entrances." The professor meets his gaze, calm, detache. Too comfortable in his secrecy.

Caleb’s expression remained an unreadable mask, his features carved from ice, but his voice was sharp, as he pressed his attack. "What exactly are you up to?"

"We’re simply conducting… tests," he said, his tone casual, as if discussing the mundane details of a scientific experiment. "You really don’t have to concern yourself with any of this."

Caleb didn’t buy the Professor’s nonchalant facade for a second. His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides, the knuckles white against his skin.

"What, precisely, are you trying to accomplish?" he demanded.

The Professor let out a small chuckle, slow and knowing, a sound that grated on Caleb’s nerves. It was as if he had anticipated Caleb’s arrival, expecting this confrontation. As if it were merely another calculated move in a game he was already playing several steps ahead. And then, with a casualness that bordered on arrogance, he revealed a sliver of his true intentions.

"Patience, son," he said, his tone far too paternal, far too condescending. "We're simply attempting to enhance Evolver abilities."

Caleb’s expression remained unchanged, a mask of cold control. He didn’t flinch but inside, something sharp and brittle snapped, the last vestiges of trust shattering into fragments. The trust he had placed in his plan, in his ability to stand between you and the people who sought to exploit your power. He'd believed he could manage the situation, keep you safe while navigating their dangerous game. Now, he saw the cracks in his carefully constructed plan. He'd thought he understood the Professor's intentions, that he could anticipate their moves. But he'd been wrong.

"People have died." Caleb stated, his voice a low, icy pronouncement.

The Professor merely shrugged, a dismissive gesture that spoke volumes. "That's science," he said, the words devoid of empathy, a chillingly pragmatic justification that made Caleb’s blood boil. He stared at him. This wasn’t mere experimentation; it was weaponization. This is not very different from the hell you went through as a child. Caleb’s fingers dig into the desk, his jaw tight, his patience wearing razor-thin.

"Why?" he asked, his voice a low, menacing whisper, a dangerous edge lacing every syllable. "Is this because of her?"

The Professor finally looked up, his eyes gleaming with an unreadable light, a cold, calculated intelligence. Caleb didn’t miss the subtle twitch of his lips, a fleeting expression that suggested he was holding back a cruel amusement.

"You told me the time hadn’t come yet," Caleb pressed, his fists clenching tighter. "So why rush it now?"

The Professor exhaled, tapping a finger lazily against the stack of files Caleb had slammed onto the desk. His gaze flickered over the documents, unimpressed, dismissive.

"Because," he said simply, his voice laced with an unsettling finality, "sometimes fate doesn’t wait."

Caleb’s stomach knotted, a cold, hard fist of dread clenching around his insides.

"That’s bullshit," he retorted, his voice thick with suppressed rage.

The Professor smiled, a knowing, infuriating smile that sent a shiver down Caleb’s spine. "Maybe," he mused, his tone ambiguous, deliberately provocative, designed to ignite Caleb's anger.

The Professor never spoke without a hidden agenda, without a calculated purpose. And if he was implying that you were somehow entangled in this deadly game, that you were the catalyst for this accelerated experiment, then everything had just spiraled into a far more dangerous territory. He had played their game for far too long, adhering to their rules, their timelines. But if they dared to lay a hand on her, if they decided to inflict their twisted experiments upon you… Caleb wouldn’t hesitate to tear their entire world apart, piece by agonizing piece.

Navigator: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | AO3

A/N: I know, I know! A lot of Caleb happens here. Don’t bail on me yet! I wanted to keep it short, but I got a bit carried away. There’s still a second part with him, full of mysteries, but we’ll be back to the action soon. I wanted this to be one chapter, but it would've been way too long—like 13-16k words. Sadly I don't have the time to write and review a so long chapter. By now, you should have a pretty good idea of where this is heading. If not—don’t worry. The real peak of the story is just around the corner. I promise the wait will be worth it—once we’re back with MC/You and Sylus.

Released date: ~2 weeks. Chapter 6: Gravity (Parte 2) - Caleb will find a way to the N109 Zone.

[kingdoms-and-empires]

Hello there! I want to say, I LOVE your story! Fantastic world, fantastic characters, and plot. I can't wait for more (please, give us plebs some food! I mean more chapters and updates.) And by the way, I am happy to hear you are back on your feet. I noticed something in the RO options: Why does the M!MC have 1 Gay romance and the F!MC 1 Lesbian and 1 Bi? Don't you think that is a bit limiting? Is there a narrative reason? Thank you, and I wish you the best. :D Good Day!

It's supposed to be a surprise, but since im close to releasing the public update... in the Great Rewrite, all the ROs are playersexual now. They're open to be romanced no matter what!

Im telling you since your words made me smile <3 and cause i cant hold it in anymore!

I'm aiming for a more grounded romantasy feeling for KaE since romance will be very important to the story. Especially the whole potential-

-problems that'll happen once a certain point is reached.

(I recently rewatched the Revenge of the Sith in the recent rerun lmao)

I've always thought of my work as being inspired by

Homeric Epics (i was always a fan of Greek and Roman myths and stuff since i was young.)

Nordic Sagas but mostly Beowulf (only got into them cause of Vikings the show lololol, but I found myself increasingly engrossed by the Sagas)

Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Dynasty Warriors 4: Empires on the Xbox 360 introduced me to the series and ive been in love since lol)

And because of the above, the game series Nobunaga's Ambition.

Plus isekai and reincarnation manga/anime in general!

I feel like what makes worlds and stories interesting isn't the worldbuilding (though that helps alot, and is without a doubt my crutch atm) but the human emotions that can cause characters to act out, crash out, and do the things they do that can throw a wrench in any well-laid plan.

The new version is far more character driven than before as a result, and I love it. And what's more emotional than love?

The geopolitics, intrigue, war, kingdom building, and the rest of what makes KaE KaE is remaining, of course! Hell, I'd say there's even MORE now, as some of my Patreons would most likely agree with.

It's just that romance is being elevated to be more important to me.

I made this decision a while back because I felt the narrative and restrictive reasons of before no longer hold up with the rewrite changes I made to the world and story.

Cause I changed ALOT.

And we never really even met a majority of the ROs in previous versions so... it's not like im doing something like changing characters yall know and romanced lol, which btw, is ironically a bonus with all the rewrites and time ive taken to find my bearings with this story ;-;

Who helped me reach this decision a while back?

Why...

@when-life-gives-you-lemons-if thank you for putting up with me!!!!!

@leiatalon also helped me reach this decision (also thanks for putting up with me)!!!!!

Both are published authors with multiple titles below their belt that focus on romance, so they definitely had my rapt attention. They were especially kind enough to share their experiences and some advice when it comes to that area with me, and its thanks to their encouragement that I felt this was the right decision.

Please, check out their Tumblr blogs and look at the games they've released! They might interest you!!

What may also interest you?

You can actually see all the progress reports ive given on Patreon! They're free, and you can start from oldest to newest. Plus other articles that detail what im adding to the new version that's soon to release to the public. After all, this upcoming update is the last one that ends our childhood! And it'll be the one that finally makes it so everyone of you can read what I've worked on.

Once my Patreons test out the epilogue for the arc and give me the all clear, the public will get it!

That's all from me for now. Im still busy at work with the epilogue!

[oc-challenges]

WELCOME TO PRIDE CHALLENGE 2025!

Hello guys, gals, nonbinary pals, and every other lovely person in this community! The time has come once again for pride challenge, now in a time where we need pride in our LGBTQIA+ communities more than ever. Check out the last day of the challenge to fill out the form to enter the exchange! BIG THANKS to @come-along-pond for being such a big helper and supporting me throughout the absolute nightmare of a few months it has been, as well as coming up with the brilliant culture idea.

Rules

This challenge is for LGBTQ+ ocs only… hence why it’s called the pride challenge.

Tag your posts with #opc2025 in order to have them reblogged. (please do not tag any non-challenge related edits with this)

DON’T steal edits. If you feel your edit or someone else’s has been stolen, report it to our submission box by following these guidelines.

If you want to make a crossover edit with somebody else’s oc, make sure the other person is okay with crossovers.

Feel free to send us any questions and keep in mind that all challenges are up for interpretation.

Be kind!!

WEEK ONE: IDENTITIES

Day One (June 1st): Gay

Make something for an oc that identifies as gay!

Day Two (June 2nd): Lesbian

Make something for an oc that identifies as a lesbian!

Day Three (June 3rd): Bi

Make something for an oc that identifies as bisexual and/or biromantic!

Day Four (June 4th): Pan

Make something for an oc that identifies as pansexual and/or panromantic!

Day Five (June 5th): Aro/Ace

Make something for an oc who identifies with the aro-ace spectrum!

Day Six (June 6th): Poly

Make something for an oc who is in a polyamorous relationship and/or identifies as poly in anyway!

Day Seven (June 7th): Gender

Make something for an oc who is not cisgender!

Day Eight (June 8th): Anyone Else (Or Again)

Make something for an OC who is LGBTQIA+ in a way we missed in previous days, or take the chance to do another oc who identifies with some of the previous prompts!

WEEK TWO: PROMPTS

Day Nine (June 9th): Terms of Endearment

Make an edit or write about the term(s) of endearment your OC calls their love interest, or the other way around!

Day Ten (June 10th): Live/Life

Show a moment where your oc embraces life, even if it’s messy, bold, or scary. Or show some of the most important moments in their life.

Day Eleven (June 11th): Revelation

Your OC discovers something important about themselves or their identity. What do they realize, and how does it change them or the way they see the world? Maybe a certain someone helped them come to this revelation?

Day Twelve (June 12th): Joy

Show a moment where your OC feels truly happy. What brings them joy, and what does it look like when they let themselves feel it fully?

Day Thirteen (June 13th): Reclaim

Your OC takes back something that was taken from them—like their name, identity, life, confidence, or a word. What are they reclaiming, and why does it matter to them?

Day Fourteen (June 14th): Pride

Your OC feels proud of who they are. What makes them feel confident, strong, or seen? Show a moment where they stand tall and own their identity, their journey of finding pride, or what pride means to them.

WEEK THREE: QUEER CULTURE

Day Fifteen (June 15th): LGBTQIA+ Visage

Choose a queer visual artist (painter, photographer, fashion designer, sculptor, etc.) and make something for your oc using their art, whether that's through writing or edits!

Day Sixteen (June 16th): LGBTQIA+ Writers

Choose an LGBTQIA+ author, poet, or playwright. What would your OC think of their writing? Create a scene, moodboard, or quote-based art that reflects their connection.

Day Seventeen (June 17th): Pride On Screen

Celebrate LGBTQIA+ film or television. Base your OC’s look, vibe, or a short drabble on a queer movie/show or character that resonates with them.

Day Eighteen (June 18th): LGBTQIA+ Music Icons

Pick a queer musician or band (past or present) and create something inspired by their work. How would your OC connect with this artist’s music or vibe?

Day Nineteen (June 19th): Queer History

Pick a moment, movement, or figure from LGBTQIA+ history and imagine how your OC would react to it—or how they’d fit into that time. Would they be marching at Stonewall, creating zines in the '80s, or finding kinship in underground spaces?

Day Twenty (June 20th): Role Models

Maybe you want another chance to highlight someone from the previous challenges, or maybe your OCs connection to queer culture and their queer role models are a fellow oc or character in their canon universe. Either way, celebrate the queer icons who helped your oc connect to the culture, accept themselves, or someone they aspire to be too.

Day Twenty-One (June 20th): Freedom for Joy

Celebrate any other aspect of queer culture-- perhaps your ocs pride outfit/celebration, your ocs drag persona, their coming out, or anything else you can think of!

WEEK FOUR: RANDOM

Day Twenty-Two & Twenty Three (June 22nd & 23rd): Alternate Universes

Put your OC in a different world, fandom, or setting—fantasy, sci-fi, historical, anything fun! Show how their identity stays true, no matter where they are.

Day Twenty Four & Twenty Five (June 24th & 25th): LGBTQIA+ Tropes

Tropes are a ton of fun, and there’s a trope for basically everything! Take a look at this list (or come up with your own) and apply them to your ocs!

Day Twenty-Six (June 26th): Survival & Strength

Share how one of your ocs navigated homophobia or adversity.

Day Twenty-Seven (June 27th): Before & After

Show their transformation in self-acceptance.

Day Twenty Eight & Twenty Nine (June 28th & 29th): Wave Your Flag(s) High

Celebrate your OC’s identity by drawing inspiration from their pride flag(s)!

Day Thirty (June 30th): Pride & Presents

Fill out this form by May 30th, get your match on May 31st, and send in your gift by June 26th! We're closing sign-ups a bit early to make sure everyone has plenty of time to create something truly special. This exchange will follow the same format as past @ocpotluck events! ONCE AGAIN, HERE'S THE FORM! Guidelines Gifsets: → 8+ gifs if using two smaller columns → 5+ gifs if using one larger column → Please only use gifs you’ve made yourself Graphics/Manips: → Minimum of 2 images Aesthetic Boards: → Must include 9 images or more Writing: → At least 500 words Playlists: → Minimum of 10 songs Drawings: → Must include some color → Sketches should be complete and decently detailed Mix & Match Gifts: → Totally allowed! Just be sure to include at least 4 total pieces (e.g. 2 gifs + 2 manips)

[tevantarlos]

Unpopular Opinion 911 - et all

I'm a bisexual woman and I've known that I'm bisexual since I was 11 years old. I legitimately am attracted to both men and women.

I've been watching 911 since 2 months after season 1 ended in 2018. I got into the show for Bathena and have loved them ever since.

I keep seeing people complaining on the official show pages about how Athena abuses her authority as a cop, and while they're not wrong, they're also blowing things way out of proportion. I'm pretty sure the people saying that have never watched the NBC show Chicago PD, because if you compare what Athena's done, to what Voight on Chicago PD has done, you'd know that the stuff she's done has been pretty tame.

On Chicago PD:

1. Voight has locked people up in a cage and literally tortured them for information.

2. He has killed people for revenge. He killed the guy who killed his son, Justin. He killed the guy or people who killed Al. There are probably even more occurrences than that, but these are the one's that mainly come to mind for me.

3. He literally threatened Matt Casey, Hallie Thomas, and Gabby Dawson, when his dumbass son, Justin, was on drugs and caused an accident which paralyzed someone, because they could report Justin to other police who would've actually locked Justin's stupid ass up. I get that Voight was trying to protect his kid, but that doesn't make this shit okay. Also, it's weird as hell that Antonio worked with Voight for 6 years. How the hell did Antonio not kill Voight for threatening his sister's life? That's garbage.

4. He literally stole money and drugs from criminals.

5. He has threatened his detective's lives on more than one occasion, and not in some way to make sure they are more careful and protect themselves, but as a legit threat.

Returning to my 911 thoughts.

Oliver Stark has claimed that he's been playing Buck as bisexual the entire time. No, he has not. He just wants the clicks and attention from pretending that this has been happening all along. Buck has had no interest in men until season 7 and the BuckTommy storyline happened.

The episode of Lone Star that's the crossover, doesn't prove Buck is bi. He wasn't flirting with TK, it was a misunderstanding on TK's part. Buck is literally confused when TK says that he's with someone, as he wasn't flirting with TK, he was only inviting TK to come to LA as a friend to hang out.

Buck says on the show that he's checked out hot guy's asses before. He hasn't done that in canon. It's one of many things that they claim is canon, but isn't because it happened off screen. He has literally been obsessed with women from the first time we see him, until Tommy returns in season 7.

Buck can't even say that he's bisexual on the show. He hasn't done any research, when he used to research everything. He hasn't spoken to people like Hen, Karen, or even Josh in depth about his feelings for men. There was one scene, right before the relationship ended, where he talked to Josh, which didn't even amount to anything and was just a waste of time since they made Tommy OOC and broke up with Buck. Hell, he (Buck) didn't even know after 6 months that Tommy was gay and not any other identity.

All this to say, 911, TM, OS, they don't genuinely give a shit about Buck, his supposed bisexuality, Tommy, or even the other main characters on the show. From one episode to the next, they have them say one thing and then retcon it right after.

The whole Buck is bi thing was a hoax. They just wanted to attract the gay and bisexual crowd back to the show since Henren and Josh haven't been getting that much screentime, and Buck and OS are like the golden child of the show. People think he's an idiot, but that he's a sweet idiot, who can do no wrong.

As I stated above, I started watching 911 before season 2 even aired. I don't like the way the show is handling their characters and storylines and I'm finally getting tired of the shitty writing. I love Bathena, I love Henren, I love Madney, I loved BuckTommy. However, if Tommy is thrown aside like yesterday's trash and Buck moves on, only to fuck a bunch of women and/or men with the excuse of exploring his sexuality, I will be checking out and dropping the show.

I like Buck's character, but he's not the reason I watch the show. He's also not enough to keep me watching. Henren are constantly being threatened to have their kids taken away. Bathena is constantly put in crazy life or death situations that end in some super unrealistic way: Kid landing a plane, remember? Madney don't have anything interesting going on. Literally, all they have going on, is that they're having another kid. Eddie has spent years obsessed with his dead wife, Josh hasn't had much of a plot in years, since the only boyfriend he's had on the show was some homophobic jackass who lied and said he was gay, so that he could beat Josh up.

May is gone, Harry is gone, Sue is gone, Carla is gone, Chris is gone. All the side characters that helped make the show a little interesting, is gone. The found family dynamic is lacking or entirely absent this season. Also, making the point to show Tommy sad and longing for a family, only for him to end up sad and alone, doesn't make me want to keep watching this show.

I think I'm finished bitching for now. I know that my thoughts are all over the place, but I've kept my mouth shut on how I feel about OS and Buck's bisexuality, this whole time, but now I'm finally going to fully speak up.

As always, I know many or even most people aren't going to agree with me and that's fine. This is just my feelings and opinion on the show.

[restinslices]

Lin Kuei Bros X Kid MK1 Intro

Don’t know why I thought of this. Concept is pretty much in the name. You’re their kid but because I wrote it, you’re a goober that can’t take anything serious. No gender specified

You: What happened at Johnny’s house that got you so upset?

Bi-Han: That is none of your concern

You: I found out what happened at Johnny’s house and that is so embarrassing

Bi-Han: I was holding back!

Bi-Han: This will be the most intense training you’ve ever had

You: You are so lucky I haven’t called CPS on you

You: Are we doing the right thing? Splitting from my uncles?

Bi-Han: Those traitors are no longer your uncles

You: You’d probably be able to remarry if you weren’t so angry all the time

Bi-Han: Romance is no concern of mine

You: I want a catchphrase too!

Kuai Liang: That should be the least of your concerns

You: Oh I am so telling mom you lost a fight to Johnny Cage of all people

Kuai Liang: Beginners luck is all that was

You: We have to do this today?

Kuai Liang: You expect to get better through sheer luck?

Kuai Liang: I have not been harassing your partners

You: I have video evidence dad

Kuai Liang: I have heard you’re interested in one of the Kombatants

You: You mean you’ve been stalking me?

You: Out of curiosity, why doesn’t uncle Bi-Han like you?

Tomas: That is something I wish I knew

You: Where there is smoke, there is fire!

Tomas: Very funny. I was young when I made it up

Tomas: We are not bringing electronics and the internet to the Shirai Ryu

You: You people are incredibly boring

You: Can you fight Johnny? For research purposes of course

Tomas: You have to let this go

Tomas: You’re 0 for 5. Think you’ll beat me this time?

You: I think I’ll report you to the authorities

I couldn’t think of angst or smut and I’m working on a request so here we are. Don’t know if I like it but oh well

[mariacallous]

A well-known Georgian transgender model has been murdered, local officials said, a day after the government passed legislation that will impose sweeping curbs on LGBTQ+ rights in the country.

Georgia’s interior ministry said Kesaria Abramidze, 37, was believed to have been stabbed to death in her apartment in suburban Tbilisi on Wednesday.

Georgian media later reported that a man had been arrested in connection with the crime.

Abramidze was one of the country’s first openly trans public figures. Her death follows controversial legislation on “family values and the protection of minors” that will allow officials to outlaw Pride events and censor films and books.

The law, which was approved by the Georgian parliament on Tuesday in its third and final reading, includes bans on same-sex marriages and gender-affirming treatments. It is expected to be another point of contention between Georgia and the EU as the country seeks to join the bloc.

Critics argue that the bill, initially introduced by the ruling Georgian Dream party in the summer, mirrors laws enacted in neighbouring Russia, where authorities have implemented a series of repressive anti-LGBTQ+ measures over the past decade.

Although the motive behind Abramidze’s murder remains unclear, her death was swiftly cast by Georgian civil society as part of a state campaign against minorities in the country.

Under the Georgian Dream party, which has taken an increasingly anti-liberal stance, the country has seen a rise in violence against LGBTQ+ people.

Last year, hundreds of opponents of gay rights stormed an LGBTQ+ festival in Tbilisi, forcing the event to be cancelled. This year, tens of thousands of people marched in the capital to promote “traditional family values” at an event attended by the ruling party amd the deeply conservative and influential Orthodox church.

“There is a direct correlation between the use of hate speech in politics and hate crimes,” the Social Justice Center, a Tbilisi-based human rights group, said in its statement reacting to the murder.

“It has been almost a year that the Georgian Dream government has been aggressively using homo/bi/transphobic language and cultivating it with mass propaganda means,” it added.

On Wednesday, Josep Borrell, the EU’s top diplomat, called on the Georgian government to withdraw the “family values” law, warning it would harm Georgia’s chances of joining the bloc. The legislation would “increase discrimination & stigmatisation”, he said on X.

After Abramidze’s death, Michael Roth, the Social Democratic party chair of the Bundestag foreign affairs committee in Germany, echoed that call. “Those who sow hatred will reap violence. Kesaria Abramidze was killed just one day after the Georgian parliament passed the anti-LGBTI law,” Roth wrote on X.

The introduction of the law comes just five weeks before parliamentary elections that many see as a litmus test of whether Georgia, once one of the most pro-western former Soviet states, will now drift towards Russia.

The country’s pro-western president, Salome Zourabichvili, whose functions are mostly ceremonial, is expected to veto the law before it comes into effect. However, Georgian Dream and its allies have enough seats in parliament to override her veto.

Earlier this year, the Georgian Dream also pushed through the divisive “foreign influence” law, which western critics argue is authoritarian and Russian-inspired, and has derailed the country’s EU aspirations.

Meanwhile, tributes have started to pour in for Abramidze, who represented Georgia at Miss Trans Star International in 2018 and had more than 500,000 followers on Instagram.

“Kesaria was iconic! Provocative, wise, incredibly brave! A trailblazer for Georgia’s trans rights,” Maia Otarashvili, a Georgian political scientist, wrote on X.

Zourabichvili said the murder should be a “wake-up call” for Georgian society.

“A terrible murder! The death of this beautiful young woman … should not be in vain!” the president wrote on Facebook.

[traumxrei-archive]

【 iv. the taste of flowers 】

summary: yuu was sick. okay, so maybe they overworked themself a little while preparing for the debutante, but that didn’t mean they needed to be on bed arrest ! what’s the worst that could happen if they snuck into the kitchen for a snack anyway ?

word count: 1.4k

author’s note: every time i write ruggie i’m like “wow i love this guy sm” and it was the same this time. i hope you like my rendition of him, ruggie likers ^^

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

Being sick was most definitely not on Yuu's list of things to do for the Debutante. But they were. Sick. It seemed that they had over-exhausted themself after shopping all day with Floyd.

They vaguely remembered Floyd's guilty expression as he brought tea to their bedside. They had told him not to worry, but he seemed to be in low spirits for the rest of the day, according to Azul's report.

And now, well...

Yuu was sneaking into the kitchen.

After being cooped up in the room for so long, they needed some alone time. Alone time that didn't entail Riddle watching their every move like a hawk, or Silver insisting on doing everything for them. Their maids were diligent to a fault really, and Yuu was starting to feel a bit suffocated.

What they weren't expecting was that there would be someone in the kitchen. They stood behind the door. There was a soft humming and the smell of something that had their mouth-watering. Yuu cracked the door open a little. Through the gap, they spotted a pair of fluffy ears.

Ah. So it was Ruggie in the kitchen. Yuu calmed down a bit. The chance that they would be severely scolded for escaping the room had decreased. Still, they knew that someone would check their room soon, and they would get caught, so...

"Master?"

Holy crap. Their soul felt like it almost left their body.

They looked up to see Ruggie tilting his head, "I thought I heard someone, but I didn't expect it to be you, Master."

They got up from their crouched position, "Hi, uh... What are you cooking?"

"A little something for myself," Ruggie suddenly smirked, folding his arms. "What are you doing out of your room, Master? Riddle and Azul are going to freak out if they figure out you're gone."

Yuu stared at Ruggie with what they hoped was a pitiful look, "Please, I need 30 minutes of peace before they coddle me to death again."

"It's because they're worried about you. We all are," Ruggie said, going back to stirring the pot. "But I'm no snitch, shishishi~ Have a seat." There was a stool a little away from the stove, and from this close, they could finally see what Ruggie was cooking. It was...soup. A hearty-looking, vegetable soup, that was currently appealing to them with its scent.

"Are you here for some tea? Or are you hungry?" Ruggie sprinkled some more spices into his soup. "I could make you some soup?"

"What about that soup?" They blurted out. Dammit, they were trying to resist, and yet...

"This soup? It isn't worthy of Master's palette," Ruggie said before putting a lid on the small pot. "Plus, are you sure you wanna eat that?"

"What is it then?" The soup had looked normal enough to them, though they couldn't be sure. Ruggie was famed for using unconventional ingredients in his cooking before. They had heard many stories from Jamil, who found his experimentation interesting enough to talk about. (The other maid rarely talked too extensively, so Yuu had noted it in their mind when he did.)

"Erm," Ruggie's ears twitched, and he looked...almost bashful. "I used dandelions. I saw a few in the gardens and they needed to be weeded out anyway."

"Dandelions?" They cracked a smile. "So you can even cook with flowers?"

"You're not...?" Ruggie shook his head, before leaning his head back into his hands. "It's something my Bi— my grandmother taught me. There are many uses for dandelions, and she used to cook it for us in a soup."

Yuu understood it now. It had been a while since Ruggie had taken a break to go home. He tended to bulldoze through leave days that they set up by taking up other jobs. They ended up having him be their designated maid when the others went on leave. Ruggie was pleased with the setup, especially after they doubled his pay.

Money wasn't a worry to them, given that they were the heir of the Dukedom. But it had once been, back before Duke Crowley had adopted them. So they understood Ruggie's determination, especially with how fiercely he loved his family.

"Why don't you eat some?" Yuu leaned their face into their palm. "You spent all that time cooking it after all."

Ruggie's expression turned complicated for a moment. He hesitantly grabbed a bowl, ladling in a spoonful. His ears drooped for a moment before straightening. Yuu couldn't help but find the subconscious action adorable. 

He finally sighed, sliding the bowl in front of them, "Here. Your puppy eyes really are unfair, Master."

"Puppy eyes?" They mumbled, but they couldn't focus on anything other than the soup that was in front of them. Ruggie pushed a spoon into their hands, and they couldn't help but immediately try it.

"Well?" Ruggie asked, ladling his own bowl. It was...amazing. The soup was salty, but rich, and all the vegetables were perfectly cooked— not too soft with a nice crunch.

And that was when Yuu abandoned two things: their etiquette training and their pride. It didn't matter that it was hot, they kept shoveling spoonfuls of soup into their mouth.

Ruggie laughed as he ate his own bowl, "Slow down there, Master. If the chefs see you they'll throw a tantrum because you're guzzling that down so fast."

"But," They sputtered, gesturing at their half finished bowl. "It's so good! I can't even tell which part the dandelion is!"

"The green leafy bits," Ruggie looked proud, if the way his grin kept growing was any indication. "I save the flowers to make tea with." The maid spun around, turning to a cupboard and grabbing what looked like a jar. In it were many dried dandelion buds. "Ah, I also have dandelion syrup," Ruggie gestured to another jar on the shelf. "Jamil taught me how to make them. They don't taste bad if I do say so myself, shishishi~"

Yuu couldn't help but laugh slightly. Ruggie's excitement about dandelion cuisine was very...adorable, if they wanted to put a word to it. "You seem very passionate about this," They said as they took the dandelion tea jar in their own hands. "Would it be okay if you put a few servings of this in my tea cabinet?"

"Huh?” Ruggie's ear flicked in surprise.

"Ah, I don't mean to take it away from you!" Yuu said, suddenly very aware that Ruggie was doing this because he was homesick. How stupid of them to ask for something so selfish. Did they forget everything after spending a few years in luxury? "I know that you're—"

"Forgive me for interrupting you, but it's not that," Grey eyes looked between the tea and their face. "It's... Thank you." There was something more behind the simple word of thanks. Yuu couldn't even begin to digest why Ruggie would say thank you at their selfish request, but seeing the smile on Ruggie's face reassured them that it wasn't anything negative.

That was when the door to the kitchen slid open, "Ruggie, would you happen to know where—"

Yuu looked up just in time to make eye contact with a surprised-looking Jade.

Oh. They were caught. Shit.

Jade smiled, ever the picture of politeness even as his aura turned more menacing, "How serendipitous. I was just looking for you, Master."  

"They were just about to leave, right Master?" Ruggie said with a devilish grin. Gone was the sweet expression that just graced his face seconds before, instead replaced by this mischievous look— because he was clearly ratting them out! Yuu just hung their head. They would be scolded less if they left with Jade right away.

Jade kept an iron grip on them with just his gaze as they gave Ruggie a long hard look, "You're going on vacation after the debutante is over. With everyone else. That is a promise."

"But Master—"

"No buts! I'll give you paid leave!" Yuu said as Jade opened the door. "Just make sure to tell your family how much you miss them!" They relished the surprised look on Ruggie's face for a moment before following Jade out into the hallway. Yuu wasn't about to give Ruggie time to retaliate this time.

"Now that you've had your fun, you should return to the room before Azul and Riddle return," Jade chuckled. "They aren't back yet, but I am not above telling them of your...mm, adventures, if it came to it. Even if it's you, Master."

Their previous excitement waned at the thought of being bound to the bed again, "Let's just go now." And that was how Yuu's adventures to the kitchen ended, with surprises, some new cuisine, and a promise.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for reporting my aunt for elder abuse?

My aunt (68f) lives with and “takes care of” my grandmother (90f). I say “takes care of” in quotes because the actual work that she does amounts to maybe two hours a week maximum (helping my grandma in and out of the bath, driving her five minutes away to church) but she acts like a martyr that does everything so people will praise her, even though my mother (60f) does all of the administrative work for my grandma and takes her to doctors’ appointments and fixes things around the house, etc.

Anyway, it’s come to my mother’s and my attention that my aunt has not only stolen pain medication from my grandma, but also used her credit card for huge purchases my grandma did not approve, and even opened a new credit card in my grandma’s name, and only made the minimum payments for it. In case it has to be said, that’s identity theft, and all of what she’s done is considered to be elder abuse under the law in my state.

However, my grandma protects and enables my aunt and makes all kinds of excuses for her, even though she talks about my aunt how an abused person speaks about her abuser (we suspect emotional abuse but can’t prove anything). She doesn’t want anything to happen to my aunt. I love my grandmother so much and I want to protect her from being taken advantage of so thoroughly by her daughter, but she’s right that my aunt would have nowhere to go if she were kicked out of the house, she lives on social security and can’t keep a job.

So that’s why I think I might be TA if I reported her, but I think I wouldn’t be TA because I’m just trying to protect someone I love and at this point I don’t really care what happens to my aunt. She’s been horrible to me and one of my cousins about us being gay & bi respectively, she’s tried to start fights in our already divided family by totally making things up to manipulate people, she’s said really nasty things about my mother behind her back (left a message on the wrong person’s answering machine shittalking her and it got back to us). She’s not a good person, and it upsets me that my grandmother just accepts her abuse at all costs.

So WIBTA if I reported her to the authorities for stealing from, financially taking advantage of, and potentially emotionally abusing/manipulating my grandma?

What are these acronyms?

[savedbythedrafts]

I have many thoughts about Bridgerton.

Was it the perfect season? Absolutely no.

But it quite honestly is my favorite season so far because it made me realise how the enemies-to-lovers trope has rotten my brain when this is what I want to see. Gentle love, best friends becoming partners.

Things that I absolutely loved this season:

-Pen's arc: In the book she gives up whistledown to become a romance author which is nice, but now we have a legitimate journalist in the house who has proved her accuracy at such a young age. People who are worried about how she's gonna get her info now that people are guarded? Um her main sources were always the maids and footmen and she is observant enough to run a column. Plus now that everyone knows who she is, people might anonymously send her reports (as happens in journalism) which gives her SO MUCH POWER. I am a journalist and I can't stress enough how incredible that is. I know book fans expected the last speech by Colin but imo her taking full control of her decisions and willingness to face the consequences makes it so much better.

-Eloise and Pen patch up: Both of them going to each other for comfort and support when the shit hit the fan made my heart warm. When Eloise comes back, I hope she knows herself a bit better and actually brings her grand ideas to reality.

-Benedict going about his viscount duties in absence of Anthony without the rage of responsibility whilst discovering his sexuality 10/10. Man was also fully involved in all of his siblings feuds, mainly whatever the fuck Gregory and Hyacinth were upto. CUTE. Actually shoutout to all the Bridgertons, they were so perfectly chaotic.

-THe FEATHERINGTONS OMG: I am the youngest daughter of my family as well as the black sheep- so unpredictable, unconventional that no one in my family gets me. That's why I relate to Pen so much and I'll defend her to death. To see the sisters and Portia realise Pen's worth made me sob. Phillipa saying I hope my daughter becomes a writer? Cherry on cake. But Portia opening up to Pen and being vulnerable and proud at the same time was so bloody well done.

-Polin: Fans being livid about the lack of spice in part 2 (minus the incredible sex scene in ep 5) is understandable but I blame the marketing for it, not the showrunners. Over the course of part 1, we saw Colin's relationship with intimacy change drastically. His want for connection becomes a necessity and if they just jumped into angry sex without actually resolving anything, it would have ruined his character development. I think it's the incredible chemistry between Nic and Luke in general and the heavy emphasis on the horniness during the press tour left the fans understandably wanting for more. But in general, their romance felt quite authentic. The Pride and Prejudice 'dancing in the room alone' callback, goofing around in the church, Colin coming to terms with what Whistledown meant to the ton and himself, Penelope's newfound confidence thanks to Colin's frequent words of affirmation, it was all good.

Things I would change to make this season better (this is turning into a full article now but read ahead if you have been here so far):

-The bloody editing: Pardon my french but why the fuck Benedict's prolonged threesome scenes not edited out? He has a whole season coming up so I don't understand so much focus on that weirdly edited scene amidst the drama. Just one shot of establishing his pansexuality (or bi but I am hoping it's pan) would have been enough? I love Ben, he is my favorite brother but this gave me the ick. To think these 3-4 minutes could have been used to extend the last Polin intimate scene. We could have had a good 5 minutes of Pen topping Colin after the BIG REVEAL but noooo. Even the subplots should have been kept short and sweet. Unlike some fans, I am not completely against the inclusion of the Mondrich family, Cressida's back story, the build up to Benedict's and Fran's actual stories, and more. But I believe too much footage was given to these even though the show clearly focuses on one couple per season. Get your shit together Shonda, this is not 20 episode Grey's anatomy, we can't focus on EVERYONE.

-Colin's anger after the wedding: Now I understand why he didn't want to have the wedding night given the stressful circumstances but him being angry till Francesca's wedding made no sense. How I would have written the resolution would have been something like this- In the hours before Rae leaves the house at night, Colin would have been reading the letters, figuring out how Pen is so whistledown at core (like he actually does the very next day but in absence of Pen). And instead of coming into the room to get a blanket, he could have brought in his own manuscript, asking her to read it as promised and taking up her offer to let her edit. This scene was literally in the book and was so easy to adapt. I would give my left kidney to see Colin sitting near Penelope, watching her powerful writing in action. Again, no spice required, just this. This would have made Pen's 'just love me' speech to Colin so good, but alas!

-Cressida: This is the arc I am most pissed off about. Eloise's reconciliation with Pen was great but completely abandoning Cressida to misery was so outta pocket. I realise Eloise is still not a fully realised character and is barely 20 (she's just a girl) but she was always kind. If I was writing Cressida's arc, I would have had Eloise come to her rescue at the end by borrowing some money from Pen and helping Cressida escape to Vienna or better Scotland. I highly doubt Pen would have minded if she knew how similar both of their circumstances were. I detested Cressida in the books because I'll be honest the books were pretty two dimensional with no real character development and just grand gestures (I'll understand if you come for me but this is how I feel, sorry). But the show made me care for her and I wished she could have found some happiness in life.

Overall, I'll rewatch it because the tiny details were so good this season I believe I can relish those till the next season. And I'll miss Polin immensely. But Shonda please, you can do better.

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 5

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 3.2k

cw: reader is finding her place in this part so yay! its kinda crazy though, references to illegal dealings and experimentations, blood, injury, reader is in and out of consciousness at one point, symptoms of a panic attack like twice, gunshots/bullets, throwing knives, shattered glass, its the N109 zone so crazy stuff guys, angst (its a given at this point tbh), sylus is internally freaking out but really tender, em is confused, so is reader honestly, reader accidentally drops some info she ‘shouldn’t know’, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, there are probably typos

Synopsis: Put on a mission with Em against your will, you both enter the N109 Zone. When the mission goes haywire, Em goes to the only place she knows you’ll be safe, even if she isn’t too fond of the idea: Onychinus’s Base. You shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but why is Sylus acting like this?

author’s note: this mission plot is probably going to be revisited honestly so just a heads up. writing sylus for this was actually pretty hard cause i usually write him in very fluffy situations so this was like ??? but i think it’s alright. now i just have to introduce caleb and then the plot will actually progress and be a little chaotic honestly :) i like how i wrote sylus in this part but i don’t know if i like the whole part but i hope y’all do <3

tag list: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @auraficial @plzdonutpercieveme @dolledbunnytail @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa @nm4565natty @feikyuu @lunia-likes-pomegranet @xfangirl-trashx @glitterykingdomangel @eialovescats @mimiu3usoft @alyssac9 @000rpheus @novaisbebita @coffeedragonhobbyist @udejoenrlddo @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel (i hope that’s everyone! <3)

Series Masterlist

The clock struck ten and you nearly collapsed out of exhaustion.Though the windows were open, the only light came from your computer screen. Not even the moonlight could illuminate the room. Rows upon rows of data were in front of your face that you could barely read anymore. Everything was blurring together, and now you couldn’t even remember what you were looking for.

The Hunter’s Association was nearly empty, the work day ending at 6:00 for everyone else.

But for you, Nero, and Em, it seemed the work would never end.

“Oh! Listen to this,” Nero exclaimed. “ ‘Informants report the ring-leader is frequently found at high-traffic clubs and bars,’ ” he read off. He looked up at you. “That’s probably to cover up any money laundering going on. Not that that’s why we’re after him.” Nero grinned, though it faded as he seemed to remember who they were looking into.

Em had been assigned to a mission in the N109 Zone, looking into a businessman that was experimenting with and releasing Wanderers. He’d been under watch by the Association for some time as a suspect, but evidence just recently came to light giving them the ability to pursue. Given the danger levels and the extent of possible effects, Jenna had assigned you and Nero to find as much information as you could to help Em.

And a close deadline.

Very close.

How did she honestly expect you and Nero to figure everything out be 5:00 a.m. tomorrow?

“Alright,” you sighed. “I’ll look into which clubs or bars that could include. I think we can finish up soon, we just need more on his motive and sponsors.” You groaned, “That could take forever, though.”

Nero muttered something in an agreement of annoyance before you both began to work in a comfortable silence, moving in tandem as you shared data reports.

The door creaked as a silver of light made its way into the room. Em entered, notably lacking the eye bags that adorned you and Nero.

“How’s it going?” she asked softly.

“Horribly,” you muttered.

“There’s not nearly enough to find on this guy,” Nero explained. “Too many security measures, too little time.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” she offered, sitting down on the small sofa near your desks. You handed her a large file with papers spilling out at the edges.

“You should go ahead and start going through this. You’ll need to know most of this, and we can’t take the time to explain everything to you over the Hunter’s radio while you’re on the field,” you sighed, still holding out the file.

Em eyed it warily. “I have to know all of that?”

“If I can learn all of it in a night, so can you.” You dropped the papers onto her lap before collapsing back into your chair.

“Wait.” Em leaned forward, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “Why don’t you just come with me on the mission?”

You immediately shook your head. “No way. I am not trained for this like you. I’ll get myself killed!” you exclaimed.

“But you know everything we’ll need! And I’ll protect you!”

You raised an eyebrow. “How can you protect me when you came home with bruised ribs not too long ago?”

“That’s nothing.” She waved a hand. “I promise, there won’t be a scratch on you.”

“I don’t know…” you said, not noticing Em quickly pull out her phone and type something out.

It would be a good idea just to make sure Em knew what was happening, you thought, but you were in no way, shape, or form athletic. And in the N109 Zone?

It was a death sentence.

“I’ve already asked Jenna, so the only way you can get out is if she says no!” Em grinned.

You, on the other hand, groaned.

Jenna did not say no.

In fact, according to Em, it was an enthusiastic yes.

Something about a test to see how incorporating more employees into the field would go. So, much to your chagrin, you were really just a guinea pig.

“What do you even wear on a mission?” you asked the next morning. After Jenna’s approval (which came a little too quick for your taste), Nero had shooed the two of you out, saying you needed to rest for the mission and he could finish up at the Association.

“Something comfortable and easy to move around in,” Em answered. “We might have to put on some disguises anyway, so it won’t matter.” She shrugged.

You nodded as you checked your phone again, scanning the attachment from Nero. A quick run-down on the rest of the data he’d gathered last night and a general summary of the rest of it. You sent back a quick message of thanks, and only received a thumbs-up emoji.

Worn jeans and a simple shirt, you eventually decided on. Where could you go wrong with that?

Em, of course, wore her usual Hunter’s outfit that you recognized from in-game. Though you could never understand how that corset-top thing she had could be comfortable enough for killing Wanderers, you didn’t say anything.

You grabbed a small waterproof backpack from your closet. Tossing in the files, first aid kit, a water bottle, some light snacks just in case, and (for a reason you didn’t quite understand yourself) Frankenstein, you quickly zipped it up before moving into the living room.

Em came out of her bedroom a few minutes later, smoothing out her hair as you both left the apartment.

“Do you always wear your hair down on missions?” You asked as she locked the door behind the two of you.

“Yeah.” She nodded like it was obvious. “Why?”

You shrugged. “It would just get on my nerves. And in my way.”

She laughed. “Yeah, sometimes it can be a bit of trouble, but it usually stays in place.”

You thought back to the battle mode in the game. Her hair would move, sure, but it never did get in her face, always staying pristinely straight against her back. Do the weird game physics persist even as this becomes your reality?

You froze as you exited the apartment building, watching Em walk over to her bike without a word.

Did she always have a motorcycle?

She swung her leg over, looking at you expectantly. “What are you waiting for? Hop on,” she said, smiling slightly.

You sighed, cursing Jenna for agreeing to put you on this mission and cursing yourself for actually going through with everything.

You wrapped your arms around Em’s middle, holding tightly as you desperately hoped that she wasn’t a reckless driver. She made sure you were settled before revving her bike, pushing off quickly.

You didn’t die as you made your way into the N109 Zone, but you were fearing for your life the entire time.

Em pulled to a halt in front of an abandoned building, looking back to you as you both got off the bike.

“Do you take traffic laws as a suggestion?” You groaned, running a hand through your hair.

“I didn’t break any!”

“Are you sure about that?”

The bickering between you two eased as you entered the abandoned building. Shattered glass and stains you didn’t want to think about decorated the floor. The walls seemed like they were about to collapse, slightly caving inwards, twisting the graffiti designs into something entirely different.

You inched forward slowly, cautiously watching each window and broken doorframe. If this really was a hub for illegal dealings, you’d need to be careful. One wrong step could get you killed.

This didn’t seem to bother Em, however, as she noisily stomped through the building. She looked around the building, glass crunching under her boots. “What are we here for again?” she asked, unimpressed.

“Possible meeting spot for our target,” you explained. You hesitated, watching her go through another door, disappearing from sight. “Don’t you think you should be more careful?” you called out, taking slow steps to follow her.

You heard her let out a playful scoff. “Please, don’t be so worried! I’ll be fine,” she said.

You only sighed, walking over to a round table at the corner of the room. Decorated with fading poker chips and a few stray coins, there shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary about it. Poker games were common, especially in a place like the N109 Zone, but something set you on edge. You ran your hand over the smooth wood, searching for something you weren’t quite sure of.

When you hit a divot in the grain, your breath caught. You pushed a little more, and the top of the table opened to reveal a hidden compartment.

“Just like a movie,” you murmured.

You carefully lifted the papers, skimming through experiment reports and various receipts. This is what you needed, the final piece to properly accuse before you got the guy. You carefully set them into your backpack, looking around for Em.

No sign of her.

“Em?” You called out, taking a few more steps. A loud crash echoed through the building, and…

Was that a gunshot?

You froze. What do you do? Em has the gun, so what are you supposed to do?

Maybe it was her gunshot, you thought. Maybe she was just trying to get into a locked room and shot it open.

Why couldn’t you believe it?

Back in the main room of the building, more shattered glass was dotted around the floor and part of the wall was crumbling, bullet holes bringing down the already weak structure.

There was still no sign of Em, though.

You felt your throat tighten, a loud ringing growing in your ears. You gasped for breath, suddenly feeling unable to fill your lungs.

Like you were drowning.

More glass shattered from the window next to you, part of it grazing your skin. You heard a yell behind you and caught sight of throwing knives heading straight towards you.

You felt blood drip from your cheek and became acutely aware of the gashes on your shoulder and waist. Between the glass and the knives, you’d gotten beaten and bloodied.You needed to move, needed to get out of the way, but your legs were as heavy as lead.

Multiple sets of heavy footsteps filled you with dread.

Em, coming up from behind you, firmly grabbed your forearm and pulled you along, rushing out of the door. She pushed you onto her bike, moving to sit in front of you and holding your arm against her middle as she set off.

Bullets whizzed past your head as you two fled down the street, Em weaving and dodging each of them with careful precision. The N109 Zone passed in a blur, building lights and neon signs mixing and melting into the skyline.

You weren’t aware of the time passing or the wind blowing in your face. All you could feel was the panic, the fear, the blood.

The bike screeched to a halt and Em pulled you to your feet, wrapping an arm around you to support you weight. You pressed your hand into the wound on your waist. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do in the event of an injury? Apply pressure?

Nothing felt real anymore, the world becoming hazy.

Was it real anyway?

You weren’t sure when you became passed out or for how long, but considering you were still being held in someone’s arms, you figured it wasn’t that long ago.

It didn’t seem like Em, though. Too big.

You heard her voice, muffled as if it were coming from far away. “…I don’t know what happened, but they found her while I was trying to get out. She got hit with some glass and a couple throwing knives, I think. I didn’t know where else to go,” she explained frantically.

A deep timber rumbled from the chest your head was leaning against. “So you decided to bring a researcher at the Hunter’s Association to Onychinus’s base?”

“We don’t have to tell her,” Em offered. “Just patch her up, and then we’ll leave. She’s unconscious now, anyway.” She shrugged.

“Not anymore,” he muttered, and you felt his eyes bore into you.

You turned to him, opening your eyes as much as you could manage. “Sylus…” you whispered, though your voice was weak.

You watched crimson eyes widen before your eyelids became too heavy.

Em didn’t seem to hear what you said, and Sylus kept quiet.

“How about you go clean up while I patch your friend up?” He looked down at her.

She furrowed her brow. “I can do it… She’s my friend, after all.”

Sylus shifted you in his arms slightly, careful not to jostle you. “No offense, sweetie, but I am much better at dressing wounds than you. And, of course, I know how much kittens need to groom themselves.” He smirked.

You heard a groan from Em before it was cut short by the click of the door. You were carefully laid on a lightly padded table, soft fluorescent lighting illuminating the room. You heard shuffling around the room, the shutting of cabinets filling the empty silence. You couldn’t lift your head, much less form a coherent sentence, so what were you supposed to do?

A warm hand grasped your arm, and you could make out the voice asking if you were okay with your shirt being lifted so he could examine your wound. You garbled out your consent, and felt your shirt being pushed up just below your chest, exposing your stomach.

The cool air against the gash startled you, though not nearly enough as the burn of the water as he cleaned it. You jolted back, now awake, nearly falling over as he gripped you by your good shoulder, pushing you back down onto the table.

“Careful,” he murmured.

Your eyes were wide now, and you couldn’t catch your breathing. He watched you with a furrow in his brow for a moment before taking your hand, pressing it against his chest.

“Follow my breathing, little dove,” he whispered. “You won’t be hurt again under my watch.”

As your breathing evened out, he watched with quiet amusement as your expression shifted into one of confusion.

“To understand one’s heart,” he kept your hand against his chest, “Be honest. It seems you use heartbeats, and I use eye contact.”

Your hand flinched back slightly, which did not go unnoticed by Sylus. You didn’t care to acknowledge his raised brow, instead wondering why the hell you were experiencing a Relax Time with Sylus.

First Xavier, now Sylus. Just what exactly was going on?

Sylus’s crimson eyes burned into yours, and you suddenly felt as if you were completely laid bare before him.

You knew he was suspicious of you. It would be odd if he wasn’t. There was no reason why you should know his name, and you could tell he was trying very hard to focus on dressing the gashes on your waist and shoulder before addressing it.

He worked with silent precision, his hands moving deftly. You watched him carefully, wondering why exactly his hands became gentler whenever you winced.

Once you were cleaned and bandaged, Sylus helped you to your feet, prepared to catch you in case you were still unsteady. He lead you out the door, keeping his hand at the small of your back.

Why did it feel so intimate?

As soon as you made eye contact with Em, she rushed towards you. Gripping your arms, she examined you, making sure you were okay.

“I’m fine, Em. I promise.” You tried to sound genuine, putting your hand on her shoulder to calm her nerves.

“You were bleeding so much, though. I’m sorry!” she cried. “I said I would protect you…”

“But that was unexpected,” you assured her. “You had no way of knowing that that was going to happen, and I was the one that wandered away from you, anyway.”

“Still,” she mumbled.

“Why don’t we just look through the papers I found?” you offered.

Em sniffled slightly before nodding. She moved to grab your backpack, though you don’t know when she took it from you.

“As touching as this is,” Sylus interrupted, “Next time you have a mission in the N109 Zone, just call me. Then we can avoid any further injuries.”

“I don’t need your help for everything, Skye! I can do my missions on my own!”

You halted for a brief minute, confused as to why she was calling him Skye, before you realized you weren’t supposed to know anything about this man.

You chuckled as you emptied your bag onto the small table between a pair of couches. “You say you can handle it, and yet we were ambushed.”

“See, kitten? Even your little friend agrees with me.” He smirked.

His smile dropped, however, as he walked over to the table. “What’s this?” He asked, picking up Frankenstein.

Before you could answer, Em jumped in. “The weirdest book ever!” Sylus only looked at her, urging her to go on. “It doesn’t exist! I tried to search it up because she was surprised I hadn’t heard of it, and boom nothing.”

Sylus hummed as he flipped through the book.

“ ‘I am malicious because I am miserable,’ ” he read. “ ‘If I cannot cause love, I will inspire fear.’ ” He let the words hang in the air for a few moments before letting out a low chuckle. “How poetic. I quite like this fiend.” You flinched ever so slightly at the word, and if Sylus noticed, he didn’t mention it.

Em sat next to you, flicking through files and documents as you tried to figure out what to do next. Sylus watched for a few minutes in silence, before taking a sharp inhale.

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you Hunters to your mission. Wouldn’t want to interrupt.” Though he wore a wolfish grin, you could feel the tension that hid behind it.

You couldn’t feel, however, the pair of crimson eyes on you as you and Em gathered data for the next hour or so.

Sylus was very confused.

First of all, how did you know his name? What else did you know? Were you aware of his position in Onychinus?

Next, why did you flinch when he said fiend? The very title that adorned him in this life and the past.

You definitely knew more than you were letting on, but what was it exactly?

And further, why did he feel the need to be so gentle with you? He had felt no such need with anyone before, aside from Em, and even that took time. So what set you apart?

What confused Sylus the most, however, was what he saw when he looked into your mind.

He wasn’t surprised that you hadn’t noticed. You were very disoriented, after all, and he hadn’t entirely invaded your mind. Just a quick glimpse, just to check.

But the flashes he saw of another world, another life, left him scrambling for answers. What exactly you were hiding, Sylus wasn’t sure, but he intended to find out.

With a wave of his hand, he sent Mephisto into the field. He doubted you would notice him.

After all, what was so suspicious about a crow?

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[sethshead]

Another disconcerting element of “Queers for Palestine” is that it popped up in prominent left-wing anti-Israel/pro-Palestine rallies in the immediate aftermath of Hamas’s terrorist attacks, before Israel had the chance to respond. As such, there is no way to interpret this slogan and the surrounding leftist fervor except as a signal of support not merely for Palestine, but specifically for Hamas, the jihadist movement with the explicit aim of eradicating the state of Israel. It's imperative to understand that Hamas, as detailed in its 1988 Covenant, is propelled by a fundamentalist Islamist ideology with the goal not only of eliminating all Jews but also conquering the world — just like ISIS. Senior Hamas official Mahmoud al-Zahar was recorded saying, “The entire planet will be under our law, there will be no more Jews or Christian traitors.” Western support for Hamas, under the guise of Palestinian liberation, overlooks the deep-seated radical Islamist ethos driving the organization, which, if unbridled, would jeopardize the very freedoms cherished by LGBT people across the developed world. Anyone who doubts this should try being gay, bi, or trans in most of the Middle East and North Africa’s (MENA) Muslim-majority countries. Virtually all of these nations have laws that criminalize homosexuality and being trans, some of which carry the death penalty​​. Human Rights Watch’s "Everyone Wants Me Dead" report succinctly encapsulates in its title alone the perilous environment faced by LGBT individuals in these regions​. [...] The aftermath of the 1979 Islamic Revolution in Iran is a harrowing tale of leftists being tortured and executed en masse by the very Islamic regime they supported for the sake of their anti-imperialist goals. Many Iranians who aligned with leftist organizations supported the revolution only to find themselves persecuted by Islamists they helped put in power. Immediately following the revolution, the new regime led by Ayatollah Khomeini began systematically oppressing LGBT people and publicly executing them by the thousands. These atrocities were justified as a means to "eliminate corruption" and prevent the "contamination" of society. Between 4,000 to 6,000 gay, lesbian, and bi people have been executed since the 1979 Islamic Revolution​​. Iran’s legal system, rooted in Islamic law, criminalizes consensual sexual relations between same-sex individuals, with penalties ranging from lashes to death. Iranian law does not distinguish between consensual and non-consensual same-sex intercourse, allowing authorities to prosecute both perpetrators and victims of sexual assault​.

But I've been told by queer activists that criminalized, illicit sex is hot, and that gay men in the Muslim world therefore have the best and most sex of anywhere. Given that frequent, anonymous, and risky sex is to those activists the high point of LGBTQ liberation, gay men in Gaza and Iran are thus freer than they are in the US. It is truly Michel Foucault's world, and we are all just living in it.

Back in reality, however, Navabi places his finger on a core part of the "Queers for Hamas" problem: the flattening of all conflicts into a single perceived intersectional struggle between power and the lack thereof. Motives, histories, local considerations, ideological incompatibility - all of these can be replaced by the imposition of provincial Western issues on very different peoples, ideas, needs, and lives. None of the individual conflicts and movements embraced by intersectionality discourse are allowed to breathe on their own, to have their own particulars respected. Instead it all becomes one vast, undifferentiated, vague liberation kitsch using the same prefabricated slogans and jargon. "How is that not its own form of small-minded, white-man's-burden, Western colonialism", you may ask. And you would be right.

[pompom-prince]

Hey! Do you like The Magnus Archives, The Magnus Protocol, or Welcome To Nightvale?

Have I got a show for you!

The Millard Anomalies is a bi-weekly fiction podcast following the documentation of Dr. Christopher J. Peony as he works through reports, interviews, and much more on the mysterious happenings in the fictional location of Millard County, VA.

It Will Be produced by my dear friend Jaden Stoicich, who also co-authored and created the audiobook Future Earth and created the analog horror series “Tape 14”.

You can find it on spotify as The Millard Anomalies

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Internet Is Forever: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Summary: A man is going around killing women in their homes and filming it for all to see. It's heartbreaking to watch but you're determined to catch him before he can hurt anyone else.

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

"The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it has taken place." - George Bernard Shaw

You're not required by your work to attend any more therapy sessions. Melissa signed off on your progress even though you were a bit sad to leave. She had created such a safe space for you to vent about your life and feelings. She gave you the option of attending sessions either through insurance or out of pocket which you might do. You don't need to be going multiple times a week or even once a week. Maybe you might do a bi-monthly thing.

You and Spencer are getting ready to go to work when you notice him staring at himself in the mirror by the front door. He got a haircut since his hair was getting too long but you think he looks sexy. You cap the thermos full of coffee and slide it into your bag before walking over to Spencer. He runs his fingers through his hair and tries to style it in a way that makes it look normal.

"Spencer, would you stop? You look handsome."

"What if they don't like it?"

You turn him to face you and reach up to touch it. He closes his eyes when he feels your fingers glide through his hair. You scrape your nails against his scalp lightly, and you grin when you see goosebumps on his arms.

"It doesn't matter if they do or not. I think you look sexy."

"My hair was getting too long."

"I know. I don't mind this at all. As long as your hair isn't longer than mine."

'It wasn't that long," he chuckles.

"Again, you look very handsome." You tighten your grip on his hair and lightly tug it. "Plus, it's still pullable."

"Don't start something you can't finish," he growls.

"Come on, we're going to be late," you laugh.

Everyone is already in the briefing room when you get to work. He nervously plays with his fingers so you take his wrist and run your hand over his pulse point. He slides his hand into yours and squeezes it tenderly. You let go of his hand when you walk into the briefing room.

"Well, hello," JJ says.

Everyone looks at Spencer in confusion.

"What, did you join a boy band?" Hotch asks.

"No?"

"Isn't he handsome?" you grin and kiss his head.

"Alright, this is Dorris Archer who is the third woman to go missing in Boise, Idaho this year. With her are Paula Renmar and Samantha Rush. They went missing roughly two months apart," JJ says.

"Okay, so what are we looking at here? Late twenties to early thirties and all living on their own, but two of them were in committed relationships. It looks like they lived in normal suburban houses that can give the unsub privacy."

"The differences are more striking than the similarities," Spencer says about the looks of each woman. "There are different hair colors and different body shapes."

"What do you know about his MO?" Hotch asks JJ.

"That's why we were invited in. The abduction sites are pristine. There is no DNA besides the victims, and there are no signs of forced entry or a struggle. The victims aren't reported missing until two or three days after they're abducted."

"Two or three days? Women like this don't just vanish without someone noticing."

"Yes, which is why I asked Garcia to dig into their lives."

Speaking of, Penelope walks into the briefing room at the right time. She gives Spencer a confused look but doesn't comment on his hair.

"When I took a look at their online activity, I could easily see how the unsub is doing it. It's through their social networking sites. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and just about everything else. If it's a social media network, they were on it. If you look at each of their last posts, they all say the same thing. They were all going out of town, on a business trip, or on a vacation. However, when you look at the time and date stamp on each of the photos, they were posted the morning after they went missing."

"The unsub posted them," Hotch says.

"Social network apps are an easy way for an unsub to target his victims. These women were especially open. They posted everything from what they were having for dinner to where they were going on dates."

"So, this unsub friends his victims and then uses that as a cover once he takes them? That means he can hack into their accounts. He's excellent with computers, then."

"That definitely profiles as patient and organized," Spencer says. "He's obsessive enough to remove all forensic details but also patient enough to wait two months before abductions."

"He can afford to be. He gets three days to do whatever he wants to these women. That means we need to assume these women are already dead. The question is what he does do while he has them?"

You continue the conversation on the plane.

"So, if this unsub is using social networking apps to find his victims, can't we use that to find him? If these women each had a hundred friends following them, then the unsub would pop up on each of their lists, right?"

"The detective in charge, John Fordham, looked into their groups. Everyone checked out."

"Social networking sites are surprisingly insecure. Facebook recently tried to update all their privacy settings, and in doing so, they made everybody's profiles viewable."

"Can somebody explain to me the appeal of these sites? 'Eating sushi tonight. Yum.' 'Boss is keeping me late at work. Grr.' Whose life is so important that we'd be interested in this kind of detail?" Rossi asks.

What a boomer. You have to hold your laugh in but you lock eyes with JJ who only smiles.

"I don't know. I guess that's the running joke, right? Nobody is, but we'd all like to believe there's actually an audience out there that wants to follow our every move. some sites even have a GPS feature built in. You can tell exactly where someone is every time they post a new comment."

"This is telling us how he's finding them, but it's not telling us how he's getting into their houses," Hotch says.

"At the very least, I believe that he has copies of their keys. Dorris had a home security system installed, but the disable code was entered at 1:56 AM. He knew that, too. He also found a way to deal with her dog. A German Shepherd she adopted from the pound last year went missing the night that she did," JJ explains.

"So, this guy's gotta be in and out of the house well before the night of the disappearance. He comes up with some ruse and talks his way inside. Once he's familiar enough with the house, he knows he can come back and kidnap them without disturbing anything."

"What about the people who come into your house that you don't consider a threat? Home repair guys? Dog walkers?"

"Detective Fordham looked into that, too," JJ says. "No one even came close to being a killer."

"Okay, Morgan and Prentiss, start with the last abduction sites and see if anything points to his MO. Dave, you, Reid, and Y/N go back over the women's lives. Start with their friends on the social networking sites. If this is how the unsub is finding them, maybe they're connected to him without even realizing it."

Once you land in Boise, you meet with Detective Fordham at the police station.

"Thank you for coming," he says after the introductions. "We can really use your help."

"Did you find anyone willing to talk to us about the victims?"

"The problem wasn't who to bring in. It was who not to."

Looks like you're doing interviews. The man you're with is Dorris' boyfriend who is eager to give any information that might be important.

"Thank you for coming in, Nate. We just have a few more questions about your girlfriend's disappearance. Did Dorris ever mention letting someone in her home?"

"Like who?"

"We're just trying to figure out who would know the code to her home security. It must have been someone she trusted with the combination."

"No," he shakes his head. "She was smart. She took precautions. That's the whole reason she got Bruno, her dog. She trained him for like six weeks."

You sigh and take out her crime scene photos.

"I know these are going to be hard to look at, but do you see anything different?" You lay out the photos for him. "Maybe something he might have done to get himself inside?"

Nate has a hard time looking at the photos but he is confused rather than sad. He comes across a picture of a bookshelf that's only filled with photographs of her and Nate. There are three shelves with two pictures on each shelf.

"No, this isn't right." He points to a picture of them that's on the top shelf on the right. "This is when we first started dating. It should be on the left, not the right."

"She wouldn't have rearranged them?"

"No. She arranged them in a certain way to tell a story. It was how we fell in love."

You step off to the side and call Derek who is at her house with Emily. You explain to him about the misplacement of the photographs. If he rearranged them, he must have put something behind them.

"Do you see it?" you ask.

"Yeah. It looks like he tried hanging something on the wall behind it. There's even a little bit of residue left over."

"Morgan," Emily calls out.

"Let me call you back." Derek hangs up the phone and walks over to Emily who is on the small landing on the stairs. "What is it?"

"I found something on here, too."

"What would he try to hang on this part of the wall?" he asks.

"Well, from here, I have an unobstructed view of the second floor and down the stairs."

"It's the same thing down here. You can see the entire entrance." A light bulb went off in his head. "Cameras. He put up cameras."

You, Spencer, and Hotch head over to her house once Derek and Emily request your presence. He quickly explains the discovery of the holes and the theory of the cameras.

"We think this is what he's using to spy on his victims. They're small, they're cheap, and they're easily hidden behind photos, books, and plants. The footage they record can then be transmitted anywhere to a website of your choice and even your cell phone. He can toggle between cameras to see everything that's happening in the house."

"How many did you find here?"

"Five. Upstairs, downstairs, bedroom, and even the bath."

"A ruse might get him in the door but it doesn't buy him enough time to put five of these up."

"Right. That's why we think he starts with one camera facing the front door. That tells him when it's safe to enter the house, when she comes and goes, when the dog-walker comes, and what the combination to the house is."

"It fits his MO. If he learned their every detail on social networks, he would be just as obsessive in his surveillance," Emily explains. "Once he learns their routine, all he has to do is pick the lock, put up the rest of the cameras, and he got their whole life at his fingertips."

You stand on the landing and look at the front door. The unsub's energy is all over the place. He's been here more than once like Emily theorizes.

"What does he do with the video? Does he keep them?" Spencer asks.

"If he's a voyeur, yes."

"Voyeurs are rarely violent, though. Their excitement comes from spying without the object knowing they're being watched. By abducting his victims, he's removing the outlet of his sexual release. He must have some other agenda with these cameras."

"He might be sharing the footage with other people. We need to have Garcia dig into surveillance and illegal video websites," Hotch says.

Spencer sees a picture on the fridge of Dorris and Nate which he takes down.

"I'm going to take this with us."

"Why?"

"We originally profiled that there wasn't any facial similarity between the victims, but I'm not so sure that's true. I want to compare Dorris' picture with the other victims."

You four head back to the police station where Rossi is talking to Penelope over video chat.

"With the videos the unsub took, it looks like he posted one of them online which I can use to nab him."

"If he puts it on the web, can't you track that back directly to his computer?"

"Normally, yes. Normally, I can get you the network he's using in seconds and get the physical address of his modem. This guy is different. "Do you guys know what a proxy server is?

"It's an internet relay," you say from behind Rossi who jumps slightly at your presence.

"Precisely. Kids use them to get around blocked sites. Now, usually, one proxy is plenty but this piece of work is using dozens of proxy servers. He's bounced his signal off of China, North Korea, Russia, and South Africa."

"Garcia, can you trace him back to Boise?" Hotch asks.

"Of course, I can. That's exactly what I'm doing but time is the unfortunate ingredient I need." Something comes across her computer that you can't see. "It looks like one of the proxy servers archived what he was streaming on the night of Dorris' disappearance."

"Can we see it?"

"Pulling it up now." Penelope's video chat moves to the left of the screen and another screen pops up on the right so you can still see her and watch the video at the same time. The unsub is wearing a ski mask to hide his identity as he enters her house. He immediately types the code into the alarm panel to disable the alarm before it goes off. He takes something out of his pocket just as Bruno walks up to him. "Oh, please don't hurt the doggie."

He doesn't. He feeds it a treat and lets it out of the house. Now that he's alone, he slowly treks up the stairs as if he is making a show for himself.

"Well, Prentiss and Morgan were right. He knows the house, and the dog knows him. How many trips inside the house would that take? A dozen?"

The camera changes the angle to show the entire upstairs floor and the stairs. He reaches the top of the stairs and heads to Dorris' bedroom. The camera switches the angle so that it looks like it's a POV camera.

"See that? The camera's attached to him. It's his point of view so he can relive it over and over again," you say.

The unsub grabs Dorris' throat and starts strangling her. She immediately wakes up and starts struggling but the unsub has a deathly grip on her. Penelope immediately looks away from the screen, not wanting to see that.

"Can someone tell me when it's over?"

"Not yet." When Dorris takes her last breath, the camera changes to one he stashed in her bedroom. "Okay, he's done." Penelope turns back around to watch the unsub fix her hair like he's caring for her. He wipes a stray tear from her cheek. "He's tender to her. She means more to him as a corpse than as a living person."

"Garcia, we need to find the unsub's network. Even if it's a rough area, it'll help narrow the geographic profile."

"Sir, that's what I'm trying to figure out. There is something else kind of huge you need to know about." She goes into the code of the video and shows a piece of the code outlined in red. "Do you see this line of code there?"

"Yeah."

"It allows the user admin, and in this case, the unsub, to set up a chat room. People were watching this on the night of the murder."

"We thought he was posting these after the fact. He's not. He wants people to experience it with him. He wants an audience. He has fans."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[deathsmallcaps]

Casual reminder that being queer does not preclude you from repeating racist, xenophobic, conservative and just down right inappropriate shit, or from being a terrible hypocrite. I don’t want to out this person, so I covered their name. but I spotted a bad take, went to investigate and block, and saw these two posts right above and below each other.

This person, with a bi flag as part of their avatar, reblogged a fairly popular post about how the term ‘pedophile’ is weapon used against queer people. Right after reblogging a post about the troubles in Libya right now and adding a comment about how they can’t feel sorry for a country with bad child marriage laws.

As if such a statement wasn’t heartless and hypocritically unaware. As if such a statement didn’t also write off all the people that they’re supposedly arguing for (the women and children affected by those laws). As if derailing a post about the deaths of thousands from the collapse of a dam during a drought was in any way appropriate.

Warning for mentions of pedophilia, and xenophobic and Anti-Libyan comments. The photos below will be followed by image descriptions.

Image Description One: A tumblr post from December 10, 2017 by Robotlyra. The original post says: If "grooming an underage person" becomes the new go-to accusation that gets trotted out any and every time an adult makes any mention of sexual topics in the presence of a person under the age of 18, I wonder if it will eventually become functionally impossible for any adult in a position of authority to act as an educational reference for sexual health matters.

It is then followed by a reblog from Robotlyra, the original poster, on December 14 2022. It says: I was going back through my tumblr archives and found this post from five years ago and now I need a drink.

End image description One

Image description two: a picture just to prove that that the post in the previous screenshot is connected to the post in the next image. It shows parts of both posts.

End image description two

Image Description Three: a post by Unhonestlymirror from September 15, 2023. It is a screenshot of a tweet by Lyla_lilas, and contains both text and an image of a man wiping tears from his eyes. The text reads: A Libyan journalist cried live on television before declaring: "The world has abandoned us."

As a reminder: a new report shows at least 11,300 deaths in the country.

#PrayForLibya #Lybia

End Image Description Three

Image Description Four

A screenshot of a September 16 reblog with a comment, with part of the previous image’s tweet visible to make it clear this was a reblogged comment. The text reads: Ima be real. I struggle to feel bad for a country that has no issues with child marriage (as long as it is arranged by the parents/father, which it always is anyways)

And the age of consent is “Must be married”.

Oh and if rape is acknowledged, the woman (or girl) is kicked out and out in a “social welfare” home.

So I apologise if I struggle to cry about a country filled with pedophiles.

End image description Four