#i wish i could include everyone because i love you all but

[mynameisjag]

For anonymous: Prompt: Nicepool crushing hard on Weapon X.

Author's Note: If given the chance, I will write Logan as the embodiment of a feral cat unless specifically told not to.

-

The usual thing about the TVA force hiring Deadpool and Wolverine to help handle cross universe dilemmas happens. Which was usually solved with a good fight, quips, and hauling their blood covered bodies back home for a greasy dinner.

Handling the situation with words…was abit more…problematic…

No one wanted to get near Weapon X to demand the variant go home and Deadpool, well, he had his own issues with his variant.

“The forces of fanfiction are against me, why are you fucking here?!”

“Good to see you too buddy!”

“Fucking how!”

Nicepool just shrugged and did a little wave over at Logan, who waved lightly back, “The forces of the multiverse are a mystery, death and life is at it’s own whimsy command. Much like love.”, and the man was now dreamily sighing and staring lovingly at the pissed off Wolverine variant.

Who was currently distracted by Wade’s Logan.

Logan was steadily just watching the other black clad mutant circle around him, both bristling.

Wade ignored that whole situation, they could take care of themselves like the big girls they are.

“You can not “Pretty Woman” this situation, Miss Lola over there is a man eater in the way Hannibal Lector is.”

“Oh, their name is Lola? That’s so pretty…Lola…”

“Is this what everyone back home feels like dealing with me, shit, I’m going to have to some apology letters or flowers when we get back home.”

“I should get them some flowers, what do you think they’re favorite is?”

“Lily’s, like the ones they use at funerals because that’s what is going to happen.”

Both Wolverines were on all fours and doing great imitations of cats now, hissing and teeth baring included.

“Awe, they are making friends!”, Nicepool clasped his hands in front of himself, sighing deeply again.

“Just fucking stick your dick in a trash compactor, it would end the same!”

“I can give them a better life, I can save them from the streets, I can be their hero.”, there seemed to be actual anime sparkles around the man…Wade waved it all away like a bad fart.

“Lola” was now purring and rubbing up against Logan, both chittering away like the ferret cousins they were.

Deadpool was just staring at his variant, his face being covered did not deter the aura of his annoyance being projected full force at the other, too bad Nicepool paid absolutely no attention to the waves of hatred sent his way, “You know what “Mr. Salt is too spicy for me”, go on, go confess your love,” he dramatically pointed over to the Wolverines, “go on, go-wait, where’s the other one?”

Logan shrugged nonchalantly, “He left.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he went home.”, he pointed at one of the doorways usually made from the TVA for dimensional travel, “I think he wants me to follow him.”

“Nope, I kidnapped you fair and square, we have a dog and rent together now, so you are not going anywhere. I’ve gotten too used to stealing your body heat at night. I’ve got no body hair to keep me warm, Lo, you’ve got too much, it’s a perfect balance, we can’t mess with the balance.”

Nicepool took a deep loud breath, interrupting the other two as he placed his hand on Wade’s shoulder, who just shrugged it off, “I know what I should do now, wish me luck,” he then turned and went through the gateway like a soldier on a mission, the entryway closing behind him in a zip of light.

“Wow,” Deadpool clapped his hands together once, “he is going to be murdered. Violently. Lola is going to use his thighs and squeeze his head like a watermelon in absolute viscous glee…I’m sorta jealous that’s how that cheery fuck will go out this time,” he turned toward his partner, “will you-“

“-I’m not getting your rotted out brain shit all over my crotch.”

“Fucking damn it!”

-Lola comes from the lyrics, “Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl.”

[sketch-guardian]

Imagine the students with an mc who’s like a middle aged man and has a beer belly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone write about a loud middle aged man in obey me

You're right, I guess I haven't seen many headcanons about such theme either🤔so I'll do my best to fix it☺For my headcanons, however, I usually use a gender neutral MC to make everyone feel included, so I hope this small change won't bother you too much🙈(I also apologize for the delay😥classes have started in uni again and I'll have less and less time to reply to asks, I might need to close the askbox for headcanons soon😭):

"RAD CLASSMATES+NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A MIDDLE AGED MC WHO HAS A BEER BELLY"

DEMYA

Demya loves a bit of meat on bones, she can appreciate the thinnest or most muscular physiques too, however she would find a bit of plumpness charming, because it would make her mouth water. Middle Aged MC however wouldn't have to fear being mauled, because as Demya's mate, they would be off limits and have privileges that others would not be granted. Demya may nibble or kiss Middle Aged MC's beer belly out of affection while liying down on it during cuddle sessions in her soft nest, so hopefully Middle Aged MC doesn't mind having some marks, in easy-to-hide spots. Since Demya and Middle Aged MC are both troublemakers and food lovers, they would likely be a loud and occasionally chaotic couple, but still very much in love

DOMNRA/MOBIM

Domnra is a pretty fit and sporty demon, however he wouldn't force Middle Aged MC to follow his training regime, he would leave the choice up to them, depending on how they feel, Domnra would joke about Middle Aged MC deciding to settle down with a demon of all the available options though, at such an age too. Domnra could become Middle Aged MC's drinking buddy, celebrating with glasses of alcohol and getting angry at TV, shouting and breaking havoc, Domnra would mostly be a depressed drunk though, as if Demonus eased his anger issues. In quieter moments, Domnra would hold Mobim in his arms and rest his back on Middle Aged MC's soft beer belly, playing some music to listen to together, making sure to satisfy both of their tastes in music

AZUL

Azul is a twink, so the idea of ​​carrying Middle Aged MC in his arms or holding them on his lap without using magic would be quite out of the question, at least for Middle Aged MC at first, because they wouldn't want to risk hurting Azul with their weight, however he would likely be into such stuff and, as a demon, he would still be rather resistant, so as far as he is concerned, Azul would let Middle Aged MC crush him, hell he would even thank them. Being quite eccentric, Azul wouldn't care if Middle Aged MC made a racket, to be fair he's chaotic too so they would be one of the wildest couples at parties, and if they were to suffer from insecurity due to their age or chubbiness, Azul would remind Middle Aged MC of their beauty through drawings and photographs, or straight up physical intimacy such as kisses and hugs, if the first options didn't work. Azul would like Middle Aged MC to feel confident in their own body and if they wished to lose weight, he would support them, suggesting dancing as a fun exercise

ZURI

Many demons would wonder how the hell Middle Aged MC managed to woo an ethereal and elegant woman like Zuri, the answer probably being their charm and genuine feelings winning the demon over somehow, making her overlook their appearance for a while, their relationship could almost remind a bit of the one between Morticia and Gomez, in a certain sense. The occasional loud mess might upset Zuri, who often gets migraines due to her hectic work, therefore she would appreciate if they could spend some quiet quality time together, while occasionally sharing a glass of Demonus. However, Zuri would still attempt at helping Middle Aged MC with their drinking problem and would try to clean them up a bit, by buying them expensive suitable clothes that compliment their figure and curves

ODON

Not gonna lie, the first thing that came to mind when thinking about a couple made of a middle-aged human and a horror beyond comprehension was Gravity Falls, specifically Stanford Pines and Bill Cipher, even if the dynamic would definitely be different. For Odon, most people, both on Earth and in Devildom, are quite young when compared to them, even Lord Diavolo, so they wouldn't really pay too much mind to Middle Aged MC's age, only if pointed out, it wouldn't make any difference though, especially because Middle Aged MC would still remain the youngest, even compared to the only other human in the exchange program (Solomon). Odon wouldn't care about Middle Aged MC's appearance, considering that the form in which they technically presents themselves doesn't correspond to their true monstrous appearance, so Odon would love Middle Aged MC no matter what and their messing around wouldn't even bother the eldritch horror, on the contrary it would amuse them, plus Odon would keep Middle Aged MC company while they drink, to make sure they're okay, drinking a cup of green tea instead of alcohol. Odon and Middle Aged MC would often lounge together, like an old married couple, on a couch covered in a flannel blanket while reading books, in the comfort of Odon's cabin in the woods. It would be cute to imagine such a domestic life

REMIEL

Remiel is aware of how fragile and short life can be, she considers it precious and would get quite concerned over Middle Aged MC's health status, from a logical and medical point of view. Their age would also remind Remiel of how little time she has left with Middle Aged MC and therefore, despite some somberness, she would try to enjoy as many moments as possible with Middle Aged MC, kindly trying to help them change their harmful habits, not wanting the day in which she will have to assist their soul in reaching the afterlife to approach so soon. Remiel, apart from her wings, has cold skin, so being in Middle Aged MC's arms, pressed against their soft and warm beer belly, would certainly be a new, but pleasant experience, a source of heat, perhaps enough to lull the angel of death into a light nap, which she would honestly need, as she often attends to her celestial duty. Middle Aged MC being loud would surprise Remiel, since she is more used to a calm and isolated environment, however it wouldn't bother her too much, since she literally has two uncles and an aunt, who don't know much about the concept of being quiet, whether it's because of her powerful voice (Fury), his heavy step (War) or his shenanigans (Strife)

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel would notice Middle Aged MC's age and size, however he wouldn't give too much weight to such details and would focus more on their affinity and how to spend time together. Nathaniel would be quite capable of handling Middle Aged MC being loud, after all he isn't the Archangel of Patience for nothing, however if Middle Aged MC bothered him too many times during his meditation sessions, then Nathaniel might decide to take revenge, it would be unclear how or when and Middle Aged MC would live for a while with anxiety, not knowing what to expect and when the angel would strike, usually it would just be a little tease anyway, because he's lenient. Being very chill, sometimes, Nathaniel would let Middle Aged MC sit on his lap while he meditates or while they rest like, playing with their belly as if it were a stress reliever and resting his head on their shoulder, finding the act very therapeutic. As for drinking, Nathaniel would just make sure Middle Aged MC doesn't overdo it

URIEL

Even Uriel would have no idea how Middle Aged MC managed to capture her heart and yet, much to her embarrassment, they still somehow accomplished such feat, however, due to having a reputation, the warrior angel would appreciate if Middle Aged MC avoided being loud or messy while she's busy with important celestial matters. Uriel knows how fragile humans can be and how many things can contribute to a premature death, therefore, not considering Middle Aged MC's lifestyle healthy, she would try to help them exercise, stop drinking and eat healthy, at least Uriel would do her best to not turn the experience into military training. One thing Uriel would be able to do with ease would be lifting Middle Aged MC in her arms, without effort or trouble, no matter their height or how big their beer belly is, Uriel is strong and Middle Aged MC would be like featherweight to her, so that would probably make them feel like royalty. Uriel would also enjoy the contrast between her sturdy body and Middle Aged MC's soft one

[winteriron-trash]

rdj the (whitewashed) electric boogaloo

This is a reminder to everyone who's excited about RDJ's casting as Doctor Doom that this casting is whitewashing. Victor Von Doom is a Romani character and has been a Romani character since his introduction in the 1960s. (Fantastic Four Annual #2 [1964]) Not only that, but his Roma identity and the persecution he and his family faced due to it is integral to his character, it is what forms his identity. (Books of Doom by Ed Brubaker) Even if on the off chance this casting is meant to not be Victor but instead be some variant of Tony or whomever else becoming Doctor Doom, it is damaging to the character to rob him of that important cultural background. Doctor Doom does not exist without that history. Fans have been pushing hard to cast Doom as a Romani actor for years, especially since the MCU has whitewashed other Romani characters. (Wanda, Pietro, etc) This casting is not a celebration moment, it's fucking heartbreaking that the MCU repeatedly ignores the important and nuanced cultural backstories of characters.

I know I can't change anybody's mind on whether or not you want to be excited about RDJ's return to the MCU. But I do think at the very least you should be mad that the MCU is baiting us all and destroying nuanced and interesting characters for the sake of self-referential easter eggs and nostalgia bait. Because that's what it is. Feel how you'd like to feel about RDJ's return, but personally, this is soul-sucking. I had such a deep love for the MCU as a teenager, it was obviously something incredibly formative to me, especially Tony Stark. This isn't recreating what I fell in love with the MCU for. This is turning a well-planned and artistic storyline of adaptations into cheap cash grabs and fan service. Because, I think we're past the point of being able to call the MCU an adaptation of anything. They can use existing characters' names and powers, but to say they're being properly adapted is laughable.

This is not an adaptation of Doctor Doom. This is RDJ the Electric Boogaloo because Marvel's fear of losing the interest of dedicated MCU fans overrides their willingness to tell stories that are genuine to the characters. I don't know what there is to be excited about that. The MCU has lost its authenticity and aside from a few projects, feels heartless. Every movie is a copy of a copy. This announcement isn't something celebratory, it feels like a death knell of a cinematic universe that's so desperate to cling to relevancy it's resorting to nostalgia for a character/actor who hasn't even been dead for a decade. We're not getting anything new, we're just rinsing and repeating the same song and dance.

I get it. I love Tony Stark, his death destroyed me and I to this day, rue the ending he got in Endgame. It misunderstood his arc and it robbed him of a satisfying conclusion. But the solution to that isn't dragging the corpse out of the grave five years later to whitewash an existing character with rich and interesting nuance, just to forcibly tie his existence in the MCU to Tony. Whether he is a variant or not. Why would you want someone else's fave's legacy to be destroyed simply so your fave's legacy can go on? Hell, if we were really all so hellbent on the return of RDJ and/or Tony to the MCU, we have the multiverse for a reason. There were other ways to do it that didn't whitewash and ruin someone else. This just. Isn't something to be happy about.

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3

[icewindandboringhorror]

I have a big google doc thing where I keep track of media and stuff (putting everything in loosely ranked categories), which is mostly just for my own reference so I know what tv shows I've already seen before, etc. and I never really look back through it, typically just a quick "okay, watched two movie in the past 8 months, need to quickly slap them somewhere in the lists. okay. done. save document. exit". But today I was actually reading through some of the old notes and there are like... MULTIPLE places where my comment is basically "It would have been good if it were about elves" or "I wish there was a fantasy show made in this same style" or "It's well made, but I just keep thinking about how I would like it more if everyone was an elf or was in old 1700s costumes" or etc like...... lol.... Most biased media ranking system on earth blatantly made by someone with an extremely hyperspecific range of narrow interests. It'd be like if a food reviewer only had 5 foods they actually liked, so they'd just go to a pizza place and be like "eh, the pizza was okay, but I just think it would be better if it was cereal instead. :/ ...2 out of 10"

[goldkirk]

.

[elegyofthemoon]

i'm thinking about the sunchildren again bc enkanomiya ost is my go-to study music.

Like Ion for example was someone who was inept with telling people's fortunes, but on his grave, it's written "he failed to predict his own short life." Tbh, based on the one conversation we get to have with his Sunshadow, where he tells us that many people of Enkanomiya have such poor luck so he chooses to lie to them instead, I feel that Ion must have known about his death. He doesn't know the context of it or why this is the case, but in that short span of life, he may have just wanted to make people happy, even if it meant lying about their fortunes.

Or Rikoru who was manipulated to believe Aberaku was trying to kill him when it was the one who manipulated him that would be the cause of his death. Aberaku was trying to speak up against the Jibashiri using a child as a puppethead over the rest of Enkanomiya, but of course, the Jibashiri would jail him and tell Rikoru that Aberaku was wrong and that he's just trying to threaten Rikoru. Plus, Rikoru being the first sunchild -- it makes me wonder how did the Jibashiri manage him first, setting a basis of how to treat the Sunchildren before tending to the others. I just wish that there was more information regarding the Jibashiri to understand them more.

[katskitoshi]

"W-WAIT, YOU'RE NOT A BOY?" with TWISTED WONDERLAND

synopsis: he's gotten to the point where he thinks he knows everything about you, until you (accidentally) spring on him that you're not even a guy.

characters: riddle, trey, cater, ace, deuce, leona, ruggie, jack, azul, jade, floyd, kalim, jamil, vil, rook, epel, idia, ortho, malleus, lilia, silver, & sebek x fem! reader

includes: mutual crush relationships (everyone -ortho), cursing, mentions panties and bras, slightly suggestive in some parts.

--------------------------------------------------------------

if not for an unbirthday party where you needed an outfit that accommodated your body more, riddle rosehearts would have never noticed unless you outwardly told him. only now did he realize your more feminine features, and he turns as red as his hair. after realizing, he does treat you slightly more respectful because he was raised to treat women respectfully. besides being more respectful, flustered, and in love with you, not much changed in you two's friendship.

trey clover would have found out sooner or later even if his hand never touched your bra on accident while tying your apron. he straight up asks if you're a girl, and when you tell him you are he acts surprised and flustered. honestly, not much changes. he acts the exact same but gets slightly more protective of you.

when cater diamond found out over magicam that you were a a girl, he nearly died. he just though you were one of the guys that were more naturally feminine, only to find out you're actually a female. honestly, he's not mad. he still loves you! he'll help you keep it a secret if you wish, but if you don't want to, there probably won't be a student in the school who doesn't know you're a girl. but don't worry, he'll keep all those icky pervs away!

okay, okay. because he's a little shit, he wanted to prank you and it just happened to involve you dressing yourself. so ace trappola waited until he knew you were changing to barge into your room, only to be face to face with you in just a bra and panties. he screams, like a girl, more girly than you, and rushed out the dorm with his face red. the next day is awkward, but at least he knows his crush is a girl, and that you have a really cute body under the clothes that convinces others you're a boy.

it's just so strange, the feelings deuce spade has. he even calls his mom and tells her all about his little crush. but by the way he was describing you, ms. spade didn't think you were a guy. so deuce builds up the courage to ask you if you're actually a guy. to his surprise when you tell him you're not, he dies of embarrassment. queue delinquent deuce whenever someone makes some pervy comment (or generally speaks) to you.

honestly, leona kingscholar probably knew already. he could probably sense or smell the female hormones on your or something. i don't know, all i know is that leona knows. he doesn't really have to ask or anything. he just knows. and you think he knows because he treats you better than any other male in the school. his attitude towards you doesn't ever really change but he's definitely flirty with you.

ruggie bucchi is in the same boat is leona. they both can just tell you're not a guy. however, he fears you. male hyenas usually listen to their female counterpart, so ruggie usually just listens. however, when he realizes he has control and that you aren't a threat, he's definitely becomes more friendly around you. no matter how much he fears you, his crush never ever leaves.

i won't lie, but every person in savanaclaw probably knows you're a girl. jack howl included. he won't make it painfully obvious that he knows but he definitely lets you know subtly know he knows. he shows you great amounts of respect and sometimes can't help but feel absolutely vile for thinking of you in some... not so respectful ways.

look, you're gonna give the poor octopus a heart attack once he finds out! you're filling out a contract and you inform azul ashengrotto that you're a girl and ask for certain things to be changed. he simply dies on the spot from shock and is a blushy little octopus. he thinks of using you to convince more people to the monstro lounge, but he can't do that to his crush!

just as expected, jade leech finds out rather quickly. one walk in the forrest on a hot day and a crop top with some sweat soaking through was enough to spill the beans. of course he had his suspicions, but you confirmed them for him! he finds you somehow cuter with your secret revealed. don't worry, your secret is safe with him!

floyd leech always thought you were just so cute! so, he just has to squeeze you to show you his love, right? when he squeezed you, he felt something push against him. he realized what he felt was what all the female merfolk had. "oh, shrimpy! you have boobs!" and he enjoys squeezing your boobs more than you. it doesn't matter if they're big or small, he just can't stop squeezing them!

this shouldn't come as a surprise, but it takes kalim al-asim a long time to find out. i mean, he can quite literally see you naked and be like "wow! you're very female-bodied for a guy!" of course, he didn't find out that way, but he could have. he actually found out by spilling water on you and seeing your bra. anyways, he's surprisingly calm about it. he still treats you like a friend that he has an obvious crush on, so yeah!

jamil viper is surprisingly shocked at what he found out. a little cooking mishap caused you to take off your oversized hoodie and make jamil realize your more... feminine features on your upper body. of course, he's a lot more over protective of you, and oh! he just can't stop staring! he tries his best, but his crush is just a bit more apparent!

he had always had his suspicions. vil schoenheit always thought your more feminine appearance had been more than some accidental blessing. apparently, he was proven right when on a shopping spree he got a little look of your breasts while trying on some clothes. he'll bring you all sorts of clothes that he thinks will suit you, enjoying getting to see you try on the clothes. you can tell he knows your little secret by the more.. risky.. clothes, if you can even call them that, he requests you in.

rook hunt knew from the first second he saw you. you come into night raven and expect not to be observed by the hunter? how cute. he gets actual confirmation when he was watching you change one night. of course he looked away while you were naked (maybe not), but he saw your bra and completely knew. the next day, he obviously hugged you more to try and egg you on that he knows (and feel you), but don't worry, it doesn't take to long to find out.

okay, so epel felmier though you two were on the same boat. two really pretty men cursed by genetics somehow. but, after he takes you on a magic wheel ride and feels you against him, he realizes he is alone. he's obviously flustered but he feels more manly somehow? he protects you and comes off as manly as possible. surely other guys will see how manly he is if his crush, and the only girl on campus, sees it, right?

when idia shroud found out, he was more than surprised and honestly didn't even think he could face you ever again! with a bit of convincing from his dear little brother, he could face you again. although with pink tinted hair and a red face, he'll still see you! how did he find out exactly? well, he accidentally touched you boob when aiming to punch your shoulder after a won game.

(platonic) a simple body scan gave ortho shroud the answers he needed. ortho is the biggest idia x [name] shipper on the planet! he'll call you 'big sister', and probably lock you in a room with idia if it'll help speed up the love-i-fication process. eventually he'll break the news to his brother, but he loves playing the waiting game with him. is idia getting any closer to finding out? no- wait, yes, wait-!

malleus draconia is an intelligent man. however, to crack this mystery, he'll need every clue and sign laid before him. once he pieces the picture together, he still might need to to clarify that you are in fact a woman. and don't forget, malleus is a gentleman. he'll treat you with love and respect as he courts you, beds you, and makes you his queen.

at some age, you just realize what everyone is, y'know? lilia vanrouge just knows that you're a girl. it probably started out at a gut feeling that ended up true. and maybe he'll let you know that he knows by giving you a cutely wrapped box of matching black and pink panty and bra set! maybe with a rose and a note that says 'be my girl?'

sleepyhead silver realizes completely by accident when he just wanted to lay on your shoulder. next thing you know, you've pulled his head to your thighs and when he tries to look up, he's meet with a new type of pillow. he's conflicted between staying awake or going to sleep upon this newfound discovery. either way, don't think that his sleepiness will prevent him from wanting to be as knightly as possible for you.

sebek zigvolt accidentally unhooks your bra when trying to fix your posture. it's an awkward moment and sebek is surprisingly quiet when he asks you your gender. his loudness returns as he begins yelling about how informal he's been to you. as a servant of his dear master malleus, he promises to treat you with the utmost respect!

[saintobio]

blank canvas: the epilogue.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. past lovers, angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. mentions of toxic relationships, purple hearts-ish themes, maybe some heartache

notes. 2.4k wc. i said it’ll come in a few days, but i had free time so here it issss!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

TWO YEARS LATER

Tonight was Yuki and Choso’s going-away party. 

Their decision to migrate to another side of the world was because Yuki had always talked about wanting to live abroad, and so when Choso was offered a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity in another country, it became the perfect chance for them to make that dream a reality.

So despite your apprehensions, you couldn’t miss the chance to see Yuki one last time and accepted her invitation to the party.

The evening was alive with laughter and chatter as their families and friends gathered to celebrate their bittersweet departure. Among the crowd, you spotted some familiar faces who exchanged greetings with the couple, as well as some strangers you had never seen before.

But one person was conspicuously absent. 

It had been two years since you had seen Sukuna, and the thought of potentially running into him again filled you with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. However, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t be there. There was no chance of him ever showing up because you hadn’t heard from him since that fateful night. The apartment you once shared together now housed a new tenant, and the tattoo shop across the street had transformed into a record store. Neither Yuki, nor Choso (even Yuuji), had mentioned anything about Sukuna since then, possibly avoiding any mentions of him to you out of his request. He had simply disappeared, evaporated from existence, leaving behind nothing but a fading memory.

As you scanned the room with a forlorn smile, your thoughts were interrupted by Yuki’s cheerful voice. “Y/N! So glad you could make it! I thought you weren’t gonna come, too.”

Your first instinct was to hug her tightly. “Of course, not! You know I can’t not see you before you go.”

“Aww.” She embraced you tighter before pulling away with a sad smile. “I’m gonna miss you so much. You’re like a little sister to me.” 

Indeed, and she was the big sister you never had. Things would feel different without her here, but you supported her decisions and would always wish her the best in her future endeavors. So, despite the distance you two would soon have, you gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “We can still keep in touch. And maybe, I’ll pay you a visit there, too.” 

“Honestly, I would love that!” she enthused, “Please do, even if I have to harass Getou and Gojou about it.” 

You chuckled as she mentioned the duo’s name and spent the next few minutes with you chatting for a bit, catching up with your life, talking about your future plans. It was amazing how much can change in two years, and how some things can also stay the same. Like your friendship. And this bond that you would never find with anyone else.

For now, the night was still young, and you knew Yuki still had many more guests to accommodate, so you didn’t want to take all of her time. Eventually she did excuse herself to greet more guests, and you found yourself standing by the kitchen island, absentmindedly stirring your cocktail.

As you stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by the chatter and laughter of the party, you felt a sudden jolt run through your body as loud voices boomed across the room. They were Yuuji and Choso’s exuberant greetings cutting through the air, drawing everyone’s attention, including yours.

“Nii-san!”

“There he goes, Mr. First Lieutenant!” 

Your eyes widened as you saw the figure they were addressing with playful salute—a man in a crisp military uniform, standing tall and confident. It took you a moment to recognize him, but when you did, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Sukuna.

He looked different, transformed almost, his demeanor more composed, his smile softer yet still retaining the undeniable aura of masculinity. He looked a lot more muscular than the last you remembered. His hair, now dyed back to its natural color, was neatly trimmed. You recognized that the uniform he wore was of the Japan Self-Defense Forces, adorned with badges and insignias that spoke of his achievements. The reckless, wild look in his eyes had been replaced by something steadier, more focused.

It wasn’t just the sight of him that made your heart skip a beat—it was how different he looked. 

“That’s so cool!” Yuuji raved about his older brother’s badges, his starry eyes genuinely intrigued at the sight of Sukuna in a uniform. 

Choso, on the other hand, was pulling him in a hug in an emotional jest. “Dammit. You said you couldn’t make it!” 

“Don’t cry now,” Sukuna teased, patting the younger brother’s back. He seemed to be genuinely having fun teasing his brothers. “Had to pull some strings. I was on duty, but do ‘ya think I’d let you go without seeing you?” 

You felt a pang of nostalgia in their interaction, but also recognized the visible difference in the way your ex-boyfriend spoke to others. He was genuinely happy. He was all smiles. He was the healthiest version of himself, both physically and emotionally.

It was clear to you that Sukuna had turned his life around, and it was evident that he was doing well in his field of work. The man you once knew, who had been consumed by his reckless way of life, was now standing tall and respected as an honorable member of the military.

When you said you had never met Sukuna again in your lifetime, that was true. Because the Sukuna you knew was no longer here. It was an entirely different man, changed for the better, just not for you. 

As if sensing your gaze, Sukuna turned and your eyes mirrored each other’s surprise. For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, as if you were characters in a movie screen seeing each other for the very first time. It was as though your eyes were the camera, and he was the actor. You could say you were starstruck, your heart thumping so loud that you could hear it vibrate through your ears. 

Two freaking years, and Sukuna still had that effect on you. 

You didn’t know what to do. You found yourself at a loss, the red cup in your hand now shaking from the sudden surge of anxiety. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, a kaleidoscope of heavy emotions, a tornado of nostalgic bliss, leaving you feeling adrift in a sea of memories. 

You wondered if Sukuna hated having to see you here. And if so, should you leave to spare yourself—or perhaps him—from any potential discomfort?

Caught in this internal struggle, you felt paralyzed, uncertain of what to do next. But then, you saw a flicker of recognition and regret in his eyes. 

Before you could even contemplate your next move, Sukuna was already excusing himself from his brothers. Their knowing looks exchanged in silence spoke volumes, indicating they were aware of where he was headed. The realization then hit you like a wave. Sukuna, your ex-boyfriend of two years, was coming toward you, and you were suddenly faced with a decision between confronting the past or making a quick escape.

“Y/N,” he greeted with a boyish grin, his voice deeper, more controlled. The bad boy persona he used to carry was completely gone. 

“Sukuna,” you replied, struggling to keep your voice steady, a complete opposite from his confidence.

There was a moment of awkward silence before he spoke again. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” you meekly replied, clearing your throat and gesturing to his uniform, “You, too. Military suits you. I never saw that coming.”

He smiled in agreement, seemingly happy about his current appearance. You had never seen this kind of bliss from him before, like he was filled with content and a sense of self-worth. He was proud, and truth be told, you were, too. 

“It’s been a good change. It gave me structure, purpose,” he paused, taking a red cup from the kitchen island nearby, “I finally got something ‘better’ to do with my life, huh?”

You smiled softly, not missing the implication of his last statement. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

“Mhmm.” 

The minutes that followed were some of the most agonizing of your life, not because of Sukuna, but because of the overwhelming awkwardness that enveloped the two of you. It felt as though you had nothing else to discuss, knowing full well that delving into your shared past was a territory you could never comfortably navigate. However, Sukuna, always the more vocal one in your relationship, had finally broken the silence.

“Do you…” he began, leaving you on edge, anticipating his question, “Do you wanna get some fresh air outside?” 

Right. And with a smile, you nodded. “Sure.” 

— —

You were grateful for the opportunity to escape the stifling atmosphere of the party and find some solace in the cool night air. Both of you were at the front porch, sitting over the pavement talking about anything but your past. 

Sukuna excitedly talked about his time in the military, where you learned that he had enlisted two years ago and joined the army. After enlisting, he quickly excelled in the rigorous training required for the Special Operations Group (SOG). It didn’t surprise you that his physical prowess, sharp intellect, and determination made him a standout candidate.

“I actually completed advanced courses in counter-terrorism, reconnaissance, and combat survival,” he shared, his gaze set on the clear starry night above you. “Oh, and last month, I was deployed on a high-stake mission overseas. We extracted hostages from a conflict zone. Remember the action movies we used to watch? It was exactly like that. It was fun, thrilling.” 

You listened intently, an elbow propped on your leg as you absorbed the enthusiasm in his stories. Pride and joy swelled in your heart as you heard him talk about something he was passionate about, because it was a stark contrast to the old Sukuna who wouldn’t have shown interest in these things. And this time around, you felt like you were infatuated again, but with the new him. 

“I’m really proud of you.” Longingness dripping from your voice. “Very proud. And you’re First Lieutenant, too? Wow.” 

The compliment seemingly made him blush, a sight so rare to see that you haven’t seen it throughout your relationship. “I wanted to become a better man.” 

You felt a squeeze in your heart. You recalled the words he said that night at the parking lot, of him telling you that he had his own insecurities, too. That he knew all along that your uncertainties about him were rooting from his way of life. That he was aware that he couldn’t give you the life you deserved. 

“Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue in an affectionate manner. He soon rose from his seat, prompting you to follow suit, before turning to face you. “I forgot to mention.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

His smile was sweet and genuine. “I’m engaged now.”

Oh.

Of course. 

What did you expect?

His words settled in your heart like a suffocating shroud. Despite the ache in your chest, you managed a polite nod, concealing the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But you couldn’t contain it—the damn tears that pooled in your eyes. Please, not now. You turned away, hoping to shield your reaction from him.

But it was all too late. 

He was already pulling you into an embrace, the familiarity in his warmth only making you weaker inside. “You are and will always be my greatest love,” he whispered into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple, “And also my biggest regret.”

Damn it. You covered your face with your hands, feeling ashamed of the tears streaming down your cheeks. What an absurd twist of fate. You could have gone about your day without encountering him again, yet here you were, shedding tears over the same man who had broken your heart two years ago.

“When I say regret,” he continued, cupping your cheeks and smiling at you lovingly. He ran his thumb across your cheeks, wiping your tears away. “I meant regret of not being that man for you. I didn’t treat you the way you deserved, or respected your boundaries like I thought I did.” Sukuna’s charm had you holding your breath still, too enamored by his beauty under the moonlight. He used to be a man of a few words, and now he didn’t shy away from pouring out his raw emotions. “I’m sorry I was two years too late. I’m sorry I had to let you go and be with someone else. But you and I know that it’s for the best.”

You weren’t crying because you wanted to get back together with him. You weren’t crying because he had promised marriage to someone else. You were crying because it felt like he was the one who slipped through your fingers, the one that got away, the one who could have been your forever if circumstances had aligned differently. It was the regret of a lost possibility, the ache of knowing that in another universe, you and him could have shared a lifetime together, untouched by the mistakes of the past.

He had dreams of making you his wife, dreams of having your children, dreams of growing old with you.

But the old Sukuna was dead, replaced by the new Sukuna who was happy and free from love’s toxicity. You realized it was time to let go. Time to bury the past and instead celebrate the future. 

“Congratulations on the engagement,” you offered your well wishes, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze with your tear-filled eyes. “I hope she doesn’t find you a handful.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No, no. I have to behave or else I’m a dead man,” he joked. “She's in the army, too.”

“Well, I’m glad you met her, Sukuna. You deserve it,” you said, your voice filled with genuine warmth as you wiped your lachrymose eyes. 

Gratitude and comfort shone in his gaze. “And I’m glad you found your peace, Y/N. You always deserved better.”

You smiled in appreciation of his words as he helped you dust off your pants. Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket, briefly taking your attention away from the current scene. “Uh, I think I need to go,” you hesitated, glancing back at the house. “But I think Yuki’s pretty busy.”

“It’s fine,” he assured. “Do you want me to call you a cab or?”

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, shooting him a grateful expression. “Satoru’s on his way to pick me up.”

He nodded, smiling. “Cool.” You were surprised when he offered his hand, a gesture to finally close whatever remained between you two. “It was nice seeing you, Y/N.”

You shook his hand and gave him a playful salute. “Likewise, First Lieutenant Ryomen Sukuna.”

As he returned to the party, immediately attacked by his friends, there was no hint of yearning or longing in him, as if the poignant exchange with his ex-girlfriend had never occurred. He was back in the scene in a fluid motion, laughing, catching up with his loved ones, telling stories about his life. No heartbreaks, no painful memories.

While as you stood there, knowing you had shared respect and love for each other, you were happy that there was a sense of closure in seeing Sukuna as the man he had become. You had both grown, both changed, and in that moment, you knew that your story, though painful, had led you two to where you needed to be. 

That your love’s canvas, once blank, now held colors to complete the portrait.

[creatingblackcharacters]

“Why’s she so rude?” (She’s Not)- Stereotypes, pt2

So I'm sure that you all thought I was going to give a blow-by-blow list of "visual stereotypes to avoid". I'm going to be honest here, I thought about it, and figured it would be redundant. My page already includes sensitivity on depicting Black people. So instead, I'm going to focus on stereotypical "character" concepts, so that you can 1) not write it in your stories and/or 2) recognize it in media (fiction and reality!) and in life!

Two major resources: the Jim Crow Museum website is an EXCELLENT resource to understand the imagery of antiblack racism in U.S. history and society. The other, White Tears, Brown Scars by Ruby Hamad. The book focuses on the many racist stereotypes projected onto women of color and how that purposeful, systemic negative perception of us bleeds into every aspect of our lives- specifically by white women/white feminists who believe that they are not contributing to said oppression.

I'll start with Black women, just because I’m passionate about it (obviously) and there are so many things I wish I had and hadn’t seen growing up. We deserve better by the year of our lord 2024.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mention of sexual assault, assault

Misogynoir

What I want everyone to understand, before I get into this, is the concept of intersectionality, and more specifically, misogynoir. Misogynoir is the specific type of contempt and prejudice that Black women face at the intersection of race and gender. I say this because you might read these things and go “oh, as a woman, I experience these things!” I get it, but I want you to PAUSE, and remember, that right now, we are talking about Black women’s experiences. And those will often be different, due to that intersection of identities. And that understanding will have an effect on how you understand (and thus, write) those experiences.

The Jezebel

The link goes into much deeper detail, but the Jezebel is the idea that a Black woman or girl who is sexual is somehow “fast”, “salacious”, “a hoe”, “driven by desire/doesn’t understand purity”, and at its worst, unable to be r*ped/a victim because she is less valuable yet somehow inherently seductive to men.

This gets thrown around CONSTANTLY in media and life for Black women (my first experience of treated like I was ‘fast’ was when I was like… twelve?) One major, visible example is Megan Thee Stallion. Meg has a college degree, she likes anime, she’s a brilliant rapper, and has an entire personality and struggles she’s shared… But she also likes to dress scantily clad and have sex. By doing those things, she ‘lessened in value’. And because of this, when she was shot at and assaulted, even Black people questioned her character, rather than understanding that she could have been anyone, and she still wouldn’t have deserved to be assaulted. She's not allowed to be multi-faceted; she "brought it on herself".

Black girls and women who happen to take charge of their own sexuality, to the discomfort of society, are treated as Jezebels- as whores. Think about it- if one of Taylor Swift's recent boyfriends shot at her, would the media question her value or her word? Question her equivalently high ‘body count’?

Question how you write your Black woman- she can enjoy sex! She can be sexy! We love to see it! But if you're punishing her specifically, or judging her within the narrative, versus your other characters who are allowed to safely explore and act upon their sexuality… Check your judgment! Why do you feel the way you do about this character? Why do you think that your Black character is the one that should be judged for her actions. Would you feel this way if it were a nonblack character?

The Sapphire/Angry Black Woman

Ohohoho, I have infinite amounts of feelings about this one.

This is the "sassy Black friend", the "aggressive Black boss", “step on me angry mommy”, the one who does the z formation and makes everyone "uncomfortable". She’s not allowed to be confident, assertive, or self-assured- she’s arrogant, rude, and aggressive.

I discussed it in part one, but I'll reemphasize it: your Black woman doesn't have to be an ‘Angry Black Woman’ in order to be angry! Just like any other human being on the planet, we are allowed to be mad. (In my honest opinion, we have a lot to be mad about, but I digress 😅)

If the only character that ever gets angry is your Black character, I want you to consider why. What is she angry at? Was this something you wanted the reader to understand or empathize with? Are we supposed to disagree? How does everyone around her treat her anger? Is her anger righteous? Is she always shut down or dismissed for it? Is it only meant to defend her friends, but never herself? Does the narrative suggest that it’s only good in use of others and not herself? Would this be the same reaction if one of the nonblack characters was angry? Is this something you did on purpose?

Very often, we're called 'angry Black women/girls' to invalidate our emotions. My therapist once said anger is a protective emotion. We might be hurt, overstimulated, sad, depressed, frightened, anxious… But we are often not allowed the grace of others digging deeper to see that. Even if the other characters do not understand her anger, even if her motives are not meant to be understood at the moment… you as the writer should be aware. But if every time it’s time to show anger or upset, it’s your Black character… consider why this is the one you thought would best convey that message, and how your Black readers might feel seeing that this character (who may not even be the ‘bad guy’) is the one that is ‘only’ angry. No other development, no other emotions, just… there to be mad.

I take this one to heart, as someone who feels very passionately about things… this is one of those things where I wish, in life and in media, people would have more grace for Black women. We're human, too. We have feelings, too.

The Mammy

This one isn’t as visually blatant anymore in media as it was in the past (like every Mammy doesnt look like Aunt Jemima), but you may have seen this one as "the mommy figure". The "lesbian that parents the silly gay boys". The one that’s always encouraging the ship of the white boys, but never the one allowed to be in the ship (especially when her ship is canon!)

A good example of this was how people expected Jessica Drew from ATSV to be "more loving" to Gwen, rather than the mentor and boss she was (plus, as a Black woman with a Black mother… trust and believe, she was quite direct and gentle). And in comparison to her counterpart, white man Peter B. Parker, was decried far worse for similar detrimental actions.

The Mammy often serves in opposition to the Jezebel and Sapphire/Angry Black Woman. What makes the Mammy particularly annoying is that it implies that the only good Black woman character is a ‘nice’, demure, unthreatening, homely, motherly figure whose job it is to make sure to center the (usually) white ones. The Mammy is expected to coddle everyone, to her own detriment. She's a ‘good Black’ because she causes no issue, raises no fuss, never shows a negative feeling, knows that she has to ‘be strong’ but to always defer because the white characters know best. She’s ‘not a threat’, and that’s why she’s ‘allowed’ to be around. We shouldn’t have to be those things in order for our stories to be heard and understood, in order to be empathized with or treated like someone of value.

The Strong Black Woman

If I never hear this phrase again in my life, if we eradicate it from future generations for Black girls and women, I'll cry of joy lmao. I hate it, and it's not for the reasons most nonblack people would expect. Lord, this one. Anyway. The ‘strong Black woman’ is meant to protect everyone, no help needed! Whenever something is wrong and we all need a pickup, here she comes to ‘let me do it’ and everything is going to be okay! She did all the necessary suffering so that your characters don't have to! She can sweep in and save the day!

Now here's the dissonance kicks in. This one on its surface probably sounds like a good thing. She's a hero! She’s resilient! She's great! Who wouldn't want to be superwoman? Who wouldn't want to reject being a love interest, all women are always love interests! Let us be the badass that kicks ass and shows the men what for! Who wouldn’t want that, 24/7?!

The answer: US. 👍🏾🤣

This is a long, separate conversation on its own, but we have to understand that Black women (women of color, really) and White women do not always share the same end goals and understanding of "strong woman character" or even feminism. We certainly aren't always the love interest. Very usually not, in fact. We are always pushed to the side. We are already the hero in our lives, we're already the "strong woman".

Not everyone yearns to be the Singular Hero who will Fix It All as many of us are already expected to do. It's exhausting having to swallow your own needs for everyone else all the time, especially when it's suggested that you have no value otherwise if you don't. Heroism is Exhausting, and it's something worth looking into when you’re characterizing your Black girls and women. I’m not saying that we can’t be strong! We are, and it’s impressive! But I also want us to add some nuance to that strength, the way we would for any other character. What it means to have community, rather than to do it all alone. How even if she wants to be the hero (and that’s okay! That’s fine!) how it would still wear on her. Surrounding your Black girl character with unconditional support, to have a lover that actually wants to pull some weight- that's something many of us actually would like to see, because we're usually shafted to the side as 'someone who can do it all herself' (in order to hide that no one thinks we need or are deserving of the help).

It's okay to let your Black woman and girls show weakness, to rest, to be taken care of! It's not "less feminist" to accept that we're humans that need help and can't carry it all, too. That it’s okay to want to feel valued and protected. Because god knows, I wish I didn’t grow up strong and resilient, I wish I grew up knowing that the world cared that I was safe.

Standards of Beauty

These standards are not the same! I've mentioned it before in my lesson on skin tones, but very often when we think of "beauty", it’s easy to fall into the idea of whiteness. Pale skin, thin hair textures, etc. If those are our existing standards of beauty, then it doesn’t matter what any of us look like- we’re ugly! When I was in high school, I remember a classmate saying that Swedish people were the most beautiful people because of "white hair and pale skin". Without even meaning to, that guy basically said everyone darker than a stack of loose leaf printer paper was ugly by proxy of not being Nordic White (no matter how pretty they actually might be!!) 🤣

It’s also of note that whiteness/paleness tends to be connected with innocence and cleanliness in western culture, while blackness/darkness tends to be considered dirty, sinful, fearful. Now, while the origin of this idea may not be racist itself, when you spend hundreds of years implying that Blackness is bad- to the point that, in the U.S. they came up with an entire slur one step past “negro” (meaning ‘Black’) to deem you less than- it’s hard to say that the societal connotation didn’t apply.

Now we've already discussed working on describing our Black characters better! I continually remind you all that you should be describing them as wonderfully made as you do your white characters. Keep in mind that we live in a world where from day one when we enter the world, Blackness and Black features are not seen as beautiful nor emphasized. Whiteness is the standard of beauty that we, for a long time and still, are expected to adhere to. If you'd like to do better by your characters, remember that you don't have to give them "white features" or use "white" as an adjective to do that!

Black Women as Women

“There was literally nothing, not a thing, that a white woman could ever have that was worth more than her sexual virtue, and this obligated mandatory chasteness and sexual vulnerability… If the most important thing a woman has is virtue, and only white women can have virtue, then by definition, only white women can be women.” Ruby Hamad, ‘Only White Women Can Be Damsels’, White Tears, Brown Scars

Often, Black women by definition are not included under the societal banner of “women”, from our features, to our personalities, to our 'role' in life. "True Womanhood" is denied us, cis and trans, because of our Blackness. The things that make women ‘women’, we are not included under, because systemically, the only ‘women’ that were meant to mean anything were white.

I bring up Megan Thee Stallion again. Meg is probably one of the most beautiful, feminine women I've ever seen in my life. Men still call her a man, due to her height, due to her confidence, and due to their insecurities. Same with Serena Williams; Serena is damn near built like a god in my eyes. She was told she was manly from the beginning of her career, no matter how beyond skilled she was in women's tennis. Even when she damn near died giving birth- the most basic of 'tasks' women are seen as having in this society, it didn't matter. Black women are 'less womanly', 'less valuable', 'less in need' of that protection and identity that society swears Women™ need (and not in the honest way that we do need protection).

Consider that you're making sure that your Black women have the options of range of gender expression and emotions (and if they aren't allowed to, is that on purpose). If you're only ever creating us and we're in service of some dainty white woman and never the other way around... consider how that may reflect what you think our role is in your story, and in your mind.

Adultification

“Awkward moment when Rue is some black girl and not the innocent blond girl you imagine.” twitter: sw4q

It has been shown that Black girls the same age as their white girl counterparts are deemed older and less in need of protection, and supposed to 'be more mature'. Imagine that. Deemed inherently less innocent, due to your skin color. Having to parent our siblings, get jobs to contribute, do all the cleaning, and more. Yet, when we act with the maturity that we've been forced to grow into, we're "fast". A little 12-year-old girl, now to society, the Jezebel. All because she wanted to try pink lip gloss or wear a skirt; things that little tween girls might try to understand the big world around them and push boundaries. Now she's a woman, now she can never be a victim. Now she can be beat on and hurt and it's her fault.

I explain this for two reasons: One, for you to think about how your write your Black girls, and Two, for you to hold more grace for Black girls- real and fake. Do you hold her to a higher standard than your white characters of similar age? Does she inherently seem less innocent to you for reasons outside the plot? Is she as human to you as your other characters? Is she allowed to be a child? To act like one? To make mistakes? Are you as empathetic or understanding about that childishness as you are towards nonblack characters? Do you make these decisions on purpose?

It's not like Black girls can never be YA protags or anything- ofc we can. But keep in mind that she's not somehow automatically "stronger" by proxy of her Blackness, that she'd "be tougher". She's a kid. Let her be one.

Conclusion

There’s a LOT you have to consider when writing Black girls and women. I’m not going to sit here and say it’s easy, because being Black, and being a Black woman, is not easy. If you’re stressed reading it, imagine being stressed living it lmao. It’s a constant chain of quick-time events every day of your life to prevent nonblack nuclear meltdown in response to your every single action. I’m not going to apologize for it, either.

That being said, I don’t expect you to understand everything, especially not all at once. I just want you all to keep these things in mind, to question yourself when you’re writing your character- are you treating her differently on purpose? Or are you treating her differently because of a bias you might not even notice you have? It might help to go back, to read how you treat all of your characters. Or, if you’ve never written before, to maybe outline the traits of your characters and figure out where things balance out. As always, all you can do is practice at it. Because it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers.

Whew, I'm actually emotionally strained after this one. My chest is beating fast. Let me go get some groceries now.

[gb-patch]

GB Patch Games: Response About Sensitivity Reader

[Some of you might not have heard of this happening, but I wanted to address it across the board]

Hey everyone,

I want to make a post about the screenshots of comments from one of our sensitivity readers. The situation is that neither me or Rose want people to feel uncomfortable with Our Life: Now & Forever, but Rose hasn’t done anything terribly wrong and isn’t going to be punished.

The comment about OL MCs wasn’t meant to be genuine hatred towards all male players/MCs of OL. Rose wrote a reply about it-

"Hi everyone! This is Rose, I want to address the male MC comment since it was taken wildly out of context and without the lengthy discussion that was after it. I don't hate male MCs, in fact far from it, male MCs are integral to the story in OL:NF as female and trans MCs are. I think the relationship they could potentially have with Qiu could be a great asset in my opinion as they figure out their gender alongside the MC. The discussion itself was about how I noticed players were sticking to heteronormative norms by shipping Tamarack with a man purely out of societal norms than it was genuine thought into the characters and how I personally wished there was more sapphic relationships with Tamarack or just Tamarack with trans characters as a sapphic trans person myself. I didn't mean to offend anyone by it as no one but my friends who understood what I legitimately meant behind my message and it definitely wasn't meant to be seen seriously. I am sorry regardless to anyone I have offended and I love your male MCs regardless."

And most of the comments were about me. I’ve seen screenshots of the full conversations and they’re not as harsh as the cropped snippets made them out to be. It was longer discussions about not including Derek in any base game Moments for no good reason and not having any plus-sized love interests in OL1 because I was afraid players wouldn’t accept it. That’s not a lie, it’s what I decided for the game I created, and it is ridiculous of me. I’m the one who should be feeling embarrassed over how OL1 will forever be that way, not the people who remember that I did that. I’m not perfect and Rose actually cares more about the players than making me feel like I am flawless.

I also don’t want to tone police an employee venting about their boss in private, on their own time. Both the OL games deal with personal, important topics. This is sensitive work, and it can bring up frustrations. Sometimes people do use harsh words among friends, but they wouldn’t ever say it to a person seriously and directly.

I understand if you wouldn’t want to see anyone speak badly of a dev you like, but I promise it’s not a point of contention between me and Rose. I don’t feel mistreated in anyway. Rose genuinely cares about the Our Life series, and that’s why they get fed up with me over certain parts of the game.

Rose has never been unkind or unreasonable to me when working on the project, and their advice is detailed and well-explained. They do care about the game and want it to avoid having content that upsets people because of my own ignorance/shortcomings.

This being shared publicly from a private server is targeting Rose and seems to be a continuation of things that have happened before this. I don’t want this to continue happening. If you do still have concerns over the one comment about the community, you can let me know. But again, I don’t want people being mistrustful of Rose on my behalf for comments about me in conversations with missing context.

Do not send angry messages to Rose about any of this. We’ll do our best so that OL2 will be better than I was before. Thank you to everyone who reads this and participates in the community!

[obsessedwrhys]

hi baby, you can make an hcs of the characters from The Boys with a Harley Quinn! readers?? With all characters including Soldier Boy

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ THE BOYS X HARLEY QUINN!READER

ᯓ★ looots of goofy shit, dark humour, gore, sensitive topics (abuse, toxic relationships, etc), toxicity, reader is fem!!

ᯓ★ Characters included (I couldn't do everyone so I just did these guys, I know yer kind missy 👴): Homelander, Black Noir (Old and New), Butcher, Soldier Boy

HOMELANDER

He's honestly so fed up with you.

Sure he loves watching you mess with people but he does not like it when YOU DO IT TO HIM!!!

"Quinn!" He'd shout for your name and you'd open the door to see him standing outside your room. You laugh when you see him covered in ketchup. One of your many pranks.

"What?? You needed the upgrade for the suit cupcake" You smiled all innocently.

That being said you LOVE pulling pranks on him.

Whether if it's putting hair dye in his shampoo or stealing his suit so he wakes up searching for it.

It's just your favourite thing to do.

There have been times he's tried to kill you due to his rage but it takes every cell in his body to stop himself because he knows that he's not able to do that.

Because why? Because he thinks you don't even deserve to be killed by him directly.

You disgust him that much.

He just wishes that you weren't such a pain in his ass.

If the pranks weren't bad enough that it had him double checking every item he uses, AKA worsening his trust issues. You've also came up with nicknames to mock his superhero status.

"If it ain't the flying dick!" You'd address his entrance to everybody the moment he walked in the meeting room.

Just imagine him suddenly stop and standing at the door like 🧍‍♂️

If you wanna know more nicknames, we've got captain narcissist, america's buttplug and sperm cell.

Trust you are never sent on safely planned missions, only the ones he knows are highly dangerous in hopes of you dying...

There was this one time he sent you on a suicide mission and he was all proud of himself, but just as he thought he finally got rid of you, the elevator door slides open to reveal you, some fabrics of your clothes were ripped and there were bruises all over your body but it didn't seem to bother you.

"What's up toots?" You'd smile even though your nose was bleeding. That's when he looked down to see the head of the guy he asked for you to assassinate.

Who also happened to be one of the most protected men in the nations by the way.

Like how the fuck did you do it?

You're not even an ACTUAL supe!!

Regardless, he has his respects for you but really why WONT YOU LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE.

PLEASE STOP FLIRTING WITH HIM SO CASUALLY ITS WEIRD??!???!?

ALSO DONT PINCH HIS BUTT!!!

You once did that during a meeting and the sight of him yelping as his body jumps was unforgettable!!

You're JUST like a bee addicted to its pollen. P.S, he's the pollen.

BLACK NOIR (OLD)

He.. doesn't... understand you??

Why do you enjoy showering him with love??

You say it's in your nature but why do you always ask to be carried around the tower??

And why does he obliges each time??

Apparently how your mindset works is that you find extremely deadly things to be adorable.

In this case, he's the extremely deadly thing.

With his silent nature, you just NEEDED to get a reaction out of him.

You tried tickling him or making him sneeze but he always just stares at you in confusion.

You can't see his face but you can tell he's giving you the "What are you doing?" Face.

That's when your bright ass thought of a plan.

A dumb and reckless idea... but hey! You have suicidal tendencies so this is fine!

You'd put yourself in danger on purpose just for him to always come rescuing you. He has lost many body parts when doing so but you could care less, you would give him those heart eyes as he carried you back to Vought in bridal style...

Just for the managers to lock you up in a small prison cell to prevent you from pulling more of these stunts.

Though they were never enough to hold you back.

Naturally there would be rumours in the industry if you two were dating and you never hesitate to push those rumours even more.

Imagine for a premiere for your movie, you'd walk on the red carpet in a dress with Noir beside you, still in his signature suit.

"You're looking real good tonight, handsome. I'm liking what I see" You'd say with your arm wrapped around his. He looks at you as you winked at him seductively.

Someone save this poor boy from your endless flirting.

Jokes aside, there has been times he's seen you in your lowest, like that time you trashed your room with your makeup melted from your tears.

Apparently you got rejected from a movie role you wanted to get so badly. Which was Mario but stupid Chris fucking Pratt got it instead.

Seeing the state you were in, he'd grab you by the shoulders firmly and make you sit down, then putting a blanket around you. He'd leave the room for a couple of minutes... to come back with a bucket of ice cream for you to happily snack on as you rest your head on his shoulder.

BLACK NOIR (NEW)

"EW!! Get this mo'fuckin' bastard away from me!" Literally your words when you heard about the replacement.

Is a bit hurt by your disgust towards him??

But that just means he knows what he's doing right or wrong with this new role.

No because seriously everything he does, he would stop to watch for your reaction, most of the time you are never impressed.

Like how he killed those homelander fans to frame the starlighters. He'd hold the bat, his mask all bloody as he turned to see you, arms crossed, no reaction to his performance.

UNTIL at the end of season 4 where he began killing people within the company, that was what got you to start growing interest in his character.

Even though you're fine with him, for now, you really don't like it when he pushes things.

As in trying too hard to replace the old Black Noir. You just don't fw it 😡

"Hey! Hey! Harley wait up!" He'd call out for you while you ignored him and decided to speed walk away. Anyways, he manages to catch up with you.

"The team wants us to attend the premiere of your next movie together.. since.... y'know... we're rumoured to be dating??" He said and you had to stop walking to put your entire energy into giving him the most NASTIEST look. The second he sees you take a deep breath, he knew it was over.

"I ain't yer GODDAMN babysitter, and don't you think that for a second that wearin' the suit makes you my damn boyfriend, alright? I ain't here to hold yer hand and coddle you. I got better things to do than listen to yer constant whining and need for attention. So knock it off, ya copy-cat!" You'd point at him before walking off, hand on your hip.

You can bet that he asks Deep for advices on how to win your heart.

BRO IS TOO INVESTED IN HIS CHARACTER 😭

That's why he thinks making you fall for him is one of Noir's characteristics.

You love mysterious and threatening looking people? Okay gotcha.

You want hyenas for pets? Cha-Ching! Got it!

But seriously someone please tell him to stop before he gets his ass beat. He does not want that Brooklyn smoke.

BILLY BUTCHER

Ah great another crazy chick.

The only possibility to why you'd be apart of the boys is if someone vouched for you.

50/50 it's either Hughie or Frenchie.

Though surprisingly enough, you were the first to notice the symptoms of his virus. Like he could be fidgeting at the office and you'd point it out so casually that everybody turns to look at you in confusion.

Everybody thought you were crazy at first, it's to be expected, but the second his virus was confirmed to be lethal. Everybody has started to take you a bit more seriously.

Read carefully. A bit.

He finds your weapons fascinating though. Like how your gun has words engraved in it, your initials being the biggest. Not to mention the designs being the inspiration of poker cards.

"That must make you the clown" He once said when you whipped it out to shoot someone. You smile mischievously at his remark.

"Oh you'd better watch your tongue before I make you the punchline of my next joke!"

He likes you.

ONLY if you don't fuck anything up.

Sure you guys do argue a lot but theres also strange moments of understanding between you two.

There was this one time he found you alone in the office, your legs placed on the table and you were literally downing a bottle of alcohol. It was when he came closer that he noticed the bruises on your body.

"What the hell happened to you?" He said and you sniffed as you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes.

"Oh, I'm just peachy, tough guy... Can't you see I'm having a little cry-fest over here after a lover's spat with my oh-so-darling ex-boyfriend. Yeah, he just looooves to use me as his personal punchin' bag, y'know? But don't worry 'bout me. I'll be back to my ol' crazy self in no time. Just need a minute to let the tears dry and the bruises heal"

For the rest of the night he'd stay to talk about how shitty both your lives are. You guys actually BOND over your past traumas.

The booze just making the conversation ever more fun.

Will go out of his way to take you to places for shopping or eating at a restaurant to make you feel better.

After understanding you better, he realised you're just a once normal person who became a psychotic sociopath after whatever the supes did to wrong you.

He may not show it to you but he really cares about you and would not hesitate to protect you despite how much he says he wish you'd just fuck off.

SOLDIER BOY

You have to be some kind of masochist right??

He says the most disrespectful shit to you and you just squeal in excitement from it.

It's starting to weird him out.

Everything he does or say, you love to mock him, like he could be giving orders and you'd be at the back using your hands to mimic his talking like a puppet as you mouthed along and made faces.

But he has to say, he finds your insanity amusing. Because deep down, he sees a tiny bit of himself in you.

He calls you Looney Tunes. Why exactly? Nobody knows its for his own entertainment.

He's into older women but that doesn't stop you from flirting with him. He finds your efforts interesting.

"You're a tough nut to crack, Soldier Boy, but I'll get you to crack a smile eventually" You'd say and it'll be enough to have him grinning at you.

"You gonna tickle me?" He'd say, returning the same energy.

But that doesn't mean he's interested in you, he's just toying with you.

AND YOU KNOW IT. But apparently red flags just look like a go flag to you 🤷‍♀️

Despite that, if any other guy did the things he did to you, he would be fast to knock out the fucker. That's because he knows you value loyalty and he does too.

Everything aside, he really appreciates it when at the end where everybody turned against him you stayed by his side. Just imagine him driving the car while you're in the passenger seat singing your heart out to Cherry Bomb by The Runaways.

He'd simply shake his head with a smile on his face.

But the more relationship develops, he'd actually start to show you his softer side. Not soft side. Soft-er side.

Will literally lecture you into standing up more for yourself and stop being a doormat for every man in your life.

How ironic huh?

"You might act all tough and macho, but I see that big, marshmallow heart under there, sweetheart" You'd boop him on the nose that has him rolling his eyes with a smirk.

"You already said that. Are you a broken record or just dim?" He said.

If you stay obedient and don't push the wrong buttons, he might just keep you around.

[pellucid-constellations]

The Construct of Loyalty

Pairing: Cassian x Rhys's Sister!Reader

Summary: After months of "disobedience" your father calls upon Cassian to be your personal guard. That leaves Cassian, a soldier in the Night Court army, your childhood friend, and a man deeply in love with you, to protect you from all fronts—including the arranged marriage you were born into.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Angst, arranged marriage, panic attacks, dual pov ;)

a/n: This wasn't going to be so long initially but then whoops it developed its own life. Part two will be necessary I think ♡ For context and clarification, the reader grew up with the IC and everyone is around 50-70 rn. Rhys's other sister is alive still but not really important to the plot.

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

“What if we just—” 

“No, y/n.” 

“But, Cassian, this is ridiculous. I’ve been stuck in here for three days.” 

“And you’ll be stuck a lot longer if you disobey your father again.” 

“You don’t even like the guy! Why are you so intent on kissing his ass?” 

Cassian bit the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes at the defeated posture you’d adopted. In truth, he didn’t like your father—hated him, actually. But Cassian knew the life you lived and what would come if you continued to act out against him. He knew things were becoming serious because Rhysand voiced his concerns over your circumstances when he was usually too protective to divulge anything, and he knew things were bad because the High Lord of the Night Court tasked him to watch over you. 

Him, a bastard-born Illyrian who was nothing more than dirt on the bottom of his shoe. 

But Cassian was dirt that you’d actually listen to. 

According to Rhys, your father had appointed six high fae to be your personal guard over the past six months. All six had been sent away rather abruptly when they failed to rein you in. But “rein you in” was a ridiculous sentiment, as you called it. All you wanted to do was to get out of the room your father kept you cloistered in and actually experience a life. 

You wanted to speak to people who weren’t your assigned propriety tutors or servants. You wanted to get out of the Moonstone Palace and be a person outside of the marital obligations your father placed on you. You wanted to shop in Verlaris with Mor and make Cassian take you flying and, above all, you wanted to understand your magic—to hone the combination of night and day that your father’s choice of mistress had carefully curated.

Because that union was the entire purpose of your birth, and the moment you turned 50 you were ripped from your family and hurled into the Moonstone Palace to live out your purpose. 

You were to be the figurehead of the alliance between Night and Day and you were to fulfill that duty through marriage. 

It didn’t matter that you were hardly seen as a person; you were a pawn, and as long as your father lived, you would continue to be used and maneuvered as the court saw fit. 

Rhysand had been trying his hardest to keep you from marriage for as long as he could, but the more you acted against your father’s wishes, the closer you got to your fate. 

You knew it was coming. You’d had far more freedom before you turned 50 but you’d still lived under your father’s thumb. Cassian always hated watching you get pulled from quiet nights in with your sister and would cast you sad looks when you were made to watch from the sidelines when everyone else was training. But that had always been your life, and there was never anything he could do about it. 

Cassian clenched his jaw in abject frustration. “Y/n… don’t do this.” 

You scoffed and harshly sat on your bed, the gauzy material of your dress splaying up before floating back down to rest on the blankets. Whatever hairstyle had been twisted upon your crown this morning was unraveling in a pretty mess around your face and Cassian itched to brush away the strands. 

You’d always been so pretty. 

He turned his fingers into his palm as you began to speak. “He wouldn’t even have to know. I wouldn’t leave your side once,” you mumbled. Your words felt more like a routine and less like an actual request. Because Cassian always said no when the other guards always gave in too easily. 

Or you had simply slipped past them too easily. 

“Look, Starfall is coming up. I’m sure your father would let you go out to be with everyone.” 

You twisted your mouth in a way Cassian knew meant you were trying not to cry. You blinked up to look at the ceiling and nodded your head with your teeth embedded in your bottom lip, and Cassian’s heart was dangerously close to breaking. 

When he’d gotten the station report—or rather, demand—to be your personal guard, Cassian had seen it as a good thing. He’d get a break from the grueling hours of being a soldier in the Night Court’s troops and he’d get to spend more time with you. He’d missed you terribly since you’d been sent to Hewn City. 

But then he’d gotten to your room and spent three weeks telling you no and watching you go stir crazy and he was three seconds away from caving. It wasn’t surprising that the other appointed guards had failed so quickly—you were too lovely to deny, especially when you looked so sad. 

Cassian breathed out a sigh and walked to your seat on the bed, his leathers groaning as he moved to crouch at your feet. You were still staring at the ceiling and Cassian was still aching to somehow fix all of this. 

“Hey,” he prompted. When you only tightened your grip on the piles of luxurious blankets on your bed, Cassian took your chin between his finger and thumb and brought your gaze down to him. “There she is,” he smiled, but the hazy gleam in your eye felt like a punch to the gut. 

“I hate this,” you whispered, all shaky and upset.

Cassian tsked. “I know, sweetheart.” 

“I just want to go back home.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s so weird that you’re in charge of me.” 

Cassian snorted. “I’m not in charge of you. I’m the one that has to follow you around.” 

You narrowed your watery eyes. “If that were true you’d let me go back to Velaris. Or go anywhere other than this wretched place.” 

“Well, in that way I guess I’m more protecting you than in charge of you. That’s what a guard does, sweetheart.” 

“Protecting me,” you laughed, jaw clenching as Cassian kept it in his soft hold. “What would be so dangerous about going to Velaris, hm? Or… running away. Really, really far away.” 

“Can’t run away, y/n. We’d all miss you too much,” Cassian teased, but the hint of panic in his eyes was unmistakable.

You raised an unamused brow. “Because you all see me so much now.” 

Cassian offered you a bittersweet smile and gave your cheek a soft pat. “You know I’m not protecting you from the people out there. You know why I won’t let you leave.” 

You looked resigned, but that reality was becoming more commonplace. You sighed and reached up to place your touch on Cassian’s knuckles. “I know, Cass,” you hummed. “I know.” 

~~

You shifted in your seat for the countless time that evening, the stone throne at your back doing little for comfort. The heavy crown on your head was giving you a headache and your father kept yelling, exacerbating the pounding behind your eyes. 

You were made to attend official court business more often, your father assimilating you into the role he birthed you for with more urgency as you rebelled. Cassian stood behind you with a stiff posture and murder in his eye, playing the role of a guard to perfection. And you knew, with all certainty, that if anyone looked at you wrong they would be on the floor. 

That was one benefit of having a personal guard—even more so a guard that you grew up with. 

“—not accept this insolence,” you heard your father bite out. He jutted his hand back to the shorter throne you sat upon. “And you bring it in front of my daughter. I won’t have this. Not in my court.” 

You hid a flinch as the man before the dais was forced to the ground by a free-flowing darkness you could recognize anywhere. 

Your father’s show of power. 

The man screamed and pleaded and you couldn’t remember what had brought him to this, but you knew this was just a ploy by your father to assert his dominance over the court. You breathed through your nose as he continued to scream and plead, pressing your lips into a line and maintaining your mask of neutrality and boredom. 

You were never made out for the life your father expected from you. 

After the man was thoroughly incapacitated and groaning, your father let up and sent him away and you were left feeling sick to your stomach. 

Almost done, you reminded yourself, and then you could rot in your room with nothing to occupy you but the dread of your upcoming fate. You could feel Cassian’s presence at your back and it was somewhat reassuring that he would be rotting along with you. Maybe he would even play cards with you today or you could pass the time begging him to help you with your magic.

He always denied with an apologetic expression and you knew, deep down, that he would never agree to anything. The back and forth was simply a way to get through the day. 

The doors to the throne room burst open with a loud boom, startling you out of your roaming thoughts. You sat up in alarm when a small brigade of soldiers dressed in Day Court armor marched in, preceding a well-built, stoic-looking man with a grimace plastered on his face. 

You whipped around to look at Cassian in an uncharacteristic act of impropriety. Cassian looked just as lost as you were, but he blinked away the concern and sent you a reassuring nod as if he had everything under control. You watched his ruby siphons flicker and his fists clench as he clasped them together by his thighs, but you turned around. You had to turn around because you were not supposed to consult a guard about matters of your court. 

A quick glance at your father told you that he was surprised as well, but pleasantly. “Blaise,” your father greeted, clapping with the word. You hid another flinch. “I was not expecting you today.” 

“Clearly,” Blaise snarked, stopping before the thrones at the head of the room. “Your full court is not even here. Where is your heir?” 

Your father’s expression morphed into a glare. “Training,” he said. And then, “But that shouldn’t be what concerns you. Your bride is just beside me.” 

The world slowed, your thoughts and the movements of those around you sticky and heavy. You thought you might have opened your mouth but the action was delayed and it was hard to find the path to your muscles. Your chest caved. The light in the room became dim. 

Blaise smirked and trailed his gaze to your figure. He let his eyes rove from your feet up to your face, so unhurried, so lax. As if you were already something he owned and he could take all the time he wished. In a way, you guessed he could—it wasn’t as if you had anywhere else to be.

“Huh.” Blaise stuck his tongue against his cheek. “Come.” 

You blinked as the man stuck his hand out and waved his fingers in three harsh motions, beckoning you to him as if you were a dog. 

It felt like you’d been doused in ice water as onlookers watched you expectantly. Rhys had told you he was buying more time. Cassian had told you. Azriel sent shadows to your room and you took them as signs of something. But before you stood your betrothed and behind you stood Cassian and there was nothing to be done. 

You looked over to your father. 

“This is Blaise. He is a duke in Day. You shall be married. Go to him,” he commanded, nodding towards the stern brow in the center of the throne room.

“Father—” 

“Go to him.” 

You rose. Everything fell off its axis, a rush of lightheadedness making you lose your balance and lean back to grip the arm of the throne. A steady hand on your elbow grounded you. You didn’t even need to turn to know it was Cassian, but you did, anyway. 

Hazel eyes bore back into yours, devastation and determination mingling in the hues. Something dropped in your stomach and something else made you tear your gaze away and stare at your fate head-on. Cassian’s fingers lingered. They pulled away when you fully righted yourself. 

“Do you give me an ill bride, High Lord?” Blaise accused with a mean raise of his brow. 

“Of course not. Do not insult me.” No further explanation. 

You passed your tongue across your drying lips and took the steps down to meet Blaise, the man instantly snatching your hand and raising it above your head. He walked around you, inspecting you as if you were something to be appraised before buying, and nodded after completing the circle. Then, to set your stomach rolling, he swooped down and pressed his mouth to your ear. You heard a rushed step behind you, but the sound was drowned out by hot breath and whispers. 

“You’ll do nicely, given that you’re house-trained. Virgin?” 

You pushed back on his armored chest to gain some distance and Blaise cackled, knocking his head back in delight. 

“A bit skittish, but that’s fine. You said she’ll be used to Day? Definitely not staying here.” 

Your father hummed, taking a bored sip from his chalice. “She’s spent time in Day. Her mother hails from the court.” 

The rest of the conversation was lost to buzzing. 

~~

Cassian was wrought with panic. 

He had already opened his mind and shared the information with Rhys, but Rhys was still honing his daemati abilities and Cassian had no idea if his brother even got the information. 

He hid his panic behind a stone wall of neutrality and malice as he walked you back to your room, cataloging the way you took even steps and stared blankly at the walls in front of you. His facade was breaking down with each step you took; you seemed to be escaping into yourself and Cassian was becoming increasingly worried. 

Part of not being able to practice and control your magic came the dangers of it overtaking you. No one was sure if you harnessed daemati powers like your father and brother, but if you did and weren’t aware, you could get stuck. Cassian had witnessed Rhys’s struggles with that when he was first learning to control his magic and emotions were high. 

The moment your bedroom door clicked shut, Cassian’s hands were on your face. 

“Y/n? Hey, look at me,” he urged, tucking his wings into his back because maybe the light from your windows would help somehow.

When you didn’t look, a faraway haze to your eyes, he shook you, rattling your head in desperation. You should be screaming, crying, begging him to let you leave after what you just discovered. And, instead, you were blank. 

His next demands were stern. “Y/n, I can’t get Rhys here. You need to snap out of this. I don’t know how to help you.” 

You breathed a little deeper, but no change. 

“Fuck.” Cassian looked around the room, his head whipping back and forth as he searched for anything that could help. For Rhys, it was easier to develop skills to get him out of this state because he had been expecting it. For you, there was no prep, no warning.

Cassian turned back to you, his heart pounding out of his chest. If he couldn’t get you out of this before your father noticed—

He saw your eyes shift and something clicked. 

You were staring intently at the red siphon gleaming on Cassian’s chest, blinking quicker the longer you stared. 

“This helping?” Cassian murmured, yanking the siphon from his chest without care to hold it up to your eye level. “Okay, we’ll work with that.” You blinked even more with the tone of his voice and Cassian took that as motivation. “Keep working yourself out of this, sweetheart. You do this and I’ll teach you how to use a blade. Haven’t you been asking? Dumb question—you’ve been asking since we were twenty but—”

Cassian cut off his rambling when the first few tears fell down your cheeks. He watched each as they fell, wiping them away with his thumbs as he waited. And waited. And then you choked out a sob, and as much as he hated the sound, relief flooded through him at your state of consciousness. 

“You—you said there was more time,” you stressed, stumbling over your tears. “Rhys… he told me there was more time.” 

Cassian shook his head as he spoke. “I know. I know, sweetheart, but we’ll figure it out, okay? Me, Rhys, and Az. We can—” 

“You can’t do anything,” you cried. Your breath was picking up. “No one has been able to do anything my entire life. Not my brother or you or even myself. I—Cassian, I was only born to do this. No one cares about anything else. You’re only here because my father willed you to be. Because it serves his agenda to have you guarding me.”

Cassian’s fingers buzzed as he wiped more and more tears from your face. He kept opening his mouth to say something, anything, but it didn’t matter. Nothing would make up for this. 

“I—I can’t. I can’t be married to that man. Being locked in here was bad enough. Being coddled and prepped for my entire life was enough. I’m not a princess, Cassian. I’ve never wanted to… and now I…” 

You were hyperventilating now, raucous inhales colliding with heavy, painful exhales. You dropped to your hands and knees and Cassian followed suit but with the sole purpose of propping you up and placing a steady hand on your stomach. You fought him, desperate to claw at the ground and escape the world, but Cassian wouldn’t have it. 

“I need you to breathe,” Cassian requested, his words firm but soft. “I need you to focus on how I’m touching you and I need you to breathe into my hand.” 

He’d done this before, it was familiar. 

You used to get panic attacks anytime your father forced you to stay at the Palace for a weekend to view one of the many horrors at the Court of Nightmares. Rhys helped, but it was Cassian who noticed the tells—the uneven breaths, the panic in your gaze. It was Cassian who felt pain himself each time your throat closed. 

You shook your head at Cassian’s demand, clawing at your chest. 

“Yes, y/n. Try. For me, please.” 

He could tell you were trying, even as you continued to shake your head until that ridiculous crown toppled onto the floor. You tugged at the shimmering black material on your chest and never broke eye contact with Cassian and you tried. 

Slowly, eventually, Cassian saw your chest stutter and your breath begin to even out. 

“That’s it,” he praised, rubbing his thumb along the boning of your dress. Your lashes fluttered until your eyes closed. “That’s it, baby,” he muttered, the endearment slipping past and getting lost in the air. 

You reached down and gripped Cassian’s wrist. “I’m okay now. I think I’m okay.” 

“You sure?” 

You nodded. “I mean, I’m not okay. But I can breathe and think.” 

“Those are accomplishments I guess.” 

“I don’t think this is part of your job description,” you joked, the small laugh that followed half-hearted and weak. 

Cassian smiled. “Did the other guards do it?” 

“I can’t say they did.” 

Cassian readjusted his position on the floor and shifted you to no longer sit on your knees. He brushed your hair back and fixed the neckline of your dress. 

“You scared me,” he admitted, still focused on adjusting the mess you’d made of yourself. 

“I’ve had panic attacks before.” 

“No, not that. You got stuck, I think. Like how Rhys would when he was first learning to use his daemati abilities.”

“Don’t tell my father.” The words were so quick from your mouth that Cassian shot up to look at you. “Don’t. I already have a difficult time with the court abilities and I don’t need him to—” 

“Y/n, I would never tell him,” Cassian interrupted, a furrow in his brow. “Why would you ever think I would do that to you.” 

You cast your gaze down. “Well, I don’t know. You’re in his employ—you have to report to him and be loyal. The other guards—” 

“I am not another guard.” 

“Well, I obviously know that. But I just wasn’t sure where that part of you started and my friend ended.” 

Cassian closed his eyes for a long, disappointed beat. 

It was pretty obvious that Cassian was in love with you—at least, it was pretty obvious to himself as of three weeks ago. The moment he saw you again after months away, all pretty and sequestered away and so happy to see him you were glowing, he knew he was a goner. There had been hints of it when he was growing up, but seeing you again made it hit him full force. 

Of course, you could never know, because as much as you said you weren’t and were adamantly against the title, you were a princess, and Cassian didn’t want to add more stress to the plethora of horrors in your life. 

Still, the realization of his feelings only made your questioning tone hurt that much more. 

“Y/n, look at me.” Eyes met in your bedroom. Cassian kept his hands in his lap and you had your fingers pressed to the ground. “My only goal is to keep you alive and happy. I frankly don’t give a shit about your father. Everything I do or have done has been to keep you safe. He isn’t safe, so I make sure to follow his orders because not doing so is dangerous for you. Rhys… Rhys has been keeping close tabs on the situation from the outside and informs me what I need to divulge or keep secret. Nothing has ever been done out of loyalty to your father.” 

You released your bottom lip from your teeth and Cassian watched your shoulders sag in relief. He was about to say more, but then you launched yourself into his chest and his arms were wrapping around you without him willing them to. He had to stop the two of you from lying flat on the floor, jutting an arm out to stabilize the hug before bringing it back around to rest in your hair.

“I thought I'd lost you for a little while there,” you admitted, your face buried in Cassian’s shoulder. 

Guilt ate at his heart. “I thought you said you understood why I was making you stay?” 

“I did,” you mumbled. “Or, I thought I did. I knew you wanted to keep me safe, but I thought you also wanted to please my father.” 

Cassian dragged you back from his chest, hands resting along your head and back. “I’m sorry it felt that way. I have only wanted to please your father for your benefit. I’m—we’re family, y/n—” and I love you, he wanted to add “—you’re my family.” 

You stared back at Cassian, tears still fresh in your eyes and on your face. “Can we leave now?” 

Another piece of Cassian crumbled, shattered. “We can’t. You can’t. Rhys is working on another way out of this but if you try to run right now you know your father will only come after you.” 

“What about the human lands?” you rushed out, hands on Cassian’s chest and so close to his heart. “Or I could go off-continent. I could learn to glamour myself and try. Cassian, I could try.” 

“Y/n, you just got lost in your own head and you have no idea what kind of powers you have beyond that. You have no fighting skills, no way to defend yourself. I know you’re capable, but you’ve had your every need catered since you were born. And your father would be after you. I don’t know if you’d survive.” 

Cassian watched you deflate as he spoke. He brushed his hand up from your back to run a soft touch along your jaw. “And I would come with you—if you ran. But your brother has his head up his ass and he’s going to need help when he becomes High Lord.”

You smiled some—a sad, dejected smile.

“We’re gonna figure this out, sweetheart, just like I told you.” He leaned forward until your foreheads touched. “You’re not going anywhere I can’t go.” 

“And what if none of you can do anything about it?” you whispered.

Cassian ignored the fear that threatened to cease him at the prospect. “Then I’m going to fight like hell until I can.”

[signedkoko]

HEHEHHEE OPEN REQUESTS???

Hello koko! I was summoned by your open requests, and I just had an idea, how about headcanons/one shot for Alastor and Vox (separately) with a reader who has powers a bit like Toge Inumaki in JJK?( I saw that you were watching JJK so I assume you know how his powers works) like what do they think about it? how do they react when reader uses her powers? How they communicate with her?

THANKS FOR READING MY REQUEST DEAR KOKO! HAVE A GOOD DAY/NIGHT

-🐚

Alastor | Vox X Reader [Romantic]

In which your speech causes action, so you can't speak unless you wish to control others. Reader is female.

When you first came to the hotel, Alastor was not impressed

You were certainly a gorgeous sight, but it was ruined by the device in your hands that you had your nose buried in, screen lighting ruining your face

It took him quite a while when he heard strings of words emanating from the device to realize you were speaking through it, your fingers pressing on keys faster than he could follow

You introduced yourself to everyone that day, as a new hire for the hotel, and how you couldn't speak but hoped it wouldn't get in the way

He was certainly irked by the device in your hands, but it was funny to see someone so weak that they had to rely on a flimsy device made by an even flimsier overlord

Truly a shame

You learn the hard way not to get too close to him while using your device, or else it starts to act up and get damaged

Alastor still spoke to you; of course he did! Because he was amused knowing you couldn't retort

But eventually, without noticing, he would talk more and more, filling every aspect of the silence between you

You were the best listener, both since you had no choice and because you didn't give any shitty advice

The only thing that weirded him out was the weird clicking he started to hear around you

Something about it was so familiar

J-E-R-K-J-E-R-K-J-E-R

When he looked down at your hand and saw a clicker in your hand, he realized what you were doing

Of course he knew morse code by heart! He studied all sorts of things, but he wasn't sure why you'd do things that way when you had a much easier device

Unless you did it just for him?

R-K-J-E-R-K-J

" And who are we calling names, my voiceless companion? "

Y-O-U

Still, it's very touching to see you go from using your phone to putting it away when you come to him to talk

And not much changes since you can't get out too many words with your morse method

One evening, while on a walk together, Alastor was reciting to you how he'd come to work for Charlie and how she sang on the news for so many to see! When a group of assassins surrounded the two of you, angel steel weapons were on full display

Before Alastor handled them—which, let's be fair, would be no issue to him—you pulled quicker on the draw

" COMATOSE. "

You yelled it with your hands clamped over Alastors ears, and the instant the word came out, they all dropped, beyond unconcious

Alastor laughs, because wow, that was quite the display!

But he's already dragging you over them to continue talking, now teasing you for treating him like a helpless damsel

He was certainly glad that he hadn't made an enemy of you when he first saw you, because you may stand a chance against him with an ability like that

Most sinners had some kind of ability that grew with their power, often souls under contract or training enhancing them

Vox himself had plenty of tricks under his sleeves, and he'd seen the most pathetic of abilities to those worth cowering before

But he'd never heard of something like yours

Overlords loved showing off their resources, which could include people who became very useful in battle

You were a 'friend' of Zestial, though, while most jumped at the opportunity to introduce themselves to other overlords, you only waved

Of course you piqued his interest, because when he ran his servers over you, he found little to nothing beyond pictures

After several days of stalking video feeds, he caught you and Zestial together when—oh fuck! You sign!

While he could have just waited for the next opportunity, Vox was far too invested in your story and opted to pay Zestial a visit, if it meant he could see you

From what he could tell, you were using ASL, so once he bumped into you he began signing his typical introduction

Something about his heart sparked when he saw you smile, the way those curious eyes sparkled

He was immediately embarrassed when you revealed he didn't have to sign because you could hear

But he was all healed when you signed that you were very glad to have met someone else you could talk with

Vox is used to the overstimulation of noises from news, music, footage, all of it always beaming into his head so much that the silence around you is eerie and takes him awhile to get used to

Zestial certainly has an ace; one Vox is jealous of

Since you got along so well, you and Vox schedule meet-ups so you can interact, seeing as he and Zestial are almost exact opposites

The first time he witnesses your powers is when Alastor shows up at one of your meetings, and he was certainly trying to embarrass Vox in front of you

But Vox was your friend, and you had no tolerance for Alastors threats

" Silence. "

From your lips poured a thick fog, which whisped its way over Alastor's mouth, forming a seal that prevented him from speaking

The radio demon wasn't pleased, but he wasn't about to act up a scene right now, so he turned and left

Vox immediately fanboys because, oh my FUCKING GOD, you showed him!!!

Wait, you can talk? You sound like that?

YOUR POWERS DID THAT???

He is about to waste your evening asking all kinds of things, you probably can't sign as fast as he can ask, too

Author's Note - Conch anon gets only the BEST of the BEST!!! I did like writing these anyways though, because i adore Inumaki...thank you for requesting!

[reidmarieprentiss]

hii wondering if you could write a little something about to how spencer would react to an undercover mission going wrong with his gf??<3 whether she’s on the mission alone or together with him is up to you

Where We Were Meant to Be

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: kidnapping, guns, typical case talk, break ups (not spencer), feelings talks, being injured

Word count: 7.8k

a/n: i took a little bit of creative liberty with this one i hope that's okay! it's spencer's best friend that he just so happens to be in love with heheh --- also this is meant to be a treat because i only posted once yesterday <333

main masterlist

Spencer Reid was a man of many secrets, but the one that weighed the heaviest on him was the love he harbored for you. It was a love that grew quietly over time, nurtured by the countless hours spent together, the late-night conversations that often veered into deep, uncharted emotional territory, and the shared experiences that bonded you in ways that words could never fully capture.

Everyone at the BAU knew how close the two of you were. It was impossible not to notice. From the way your eyes would light up whenever Spencer entered a room to the ease with which you could communicate without saying a word, it was evident that you shared a connection that transcended the ordinary.

"You two are like two halves of the same brain," Derek would often joke, a knowing grin on his face as he watched you and Spencer exchange another one of your silent conversations.

"Or the same heart," Penelope would add with a playful wink, causing you to blush and Spencer to give her a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

But despite the teasing, no one knew the depth of Spencer's feelings. No one knew that every time you smiled at him, his heart ached with a longing that he buried deep within himself. No one knew that every time your hand brushed against his, he had to remind himself that it meant nothing more than friendship—because that was all you could offer him.

You had a partner. A good one, at that. Spencer had met them a few times, and he couldn't find a single flaw. They were kind, intelligent, and treated you with the love and respect you deserved. It made things easier and harder all at once. Easier, because he knew you were happy, and that's all he'd ever wanted for you. Harder, because he couldn't help but wish that he were the one to make you feel that way.

But Spencer was nothing if not practical. He had always been good at compartmentalizing his emotions, and he used that skill now to keep his feelings in check. He accepted your relationship with grace, never once letting on that every "we" you mentioned with your partner's name attached chipped away at his heart. He forced himself to focus on the friendship you shared, cherishing every moment, every laugh, every secret confided.

In his quieter moments, Spencer allowed himself to dream. He imagined what it would be like to be the one who held your hand as you navigated life’s challenges, to be the one who made you laugh on your hardest days, to be the one you turned to when the world felt like too much. But those dreams were fleeting, and he always pushed them away, reminding himself that you were happy, and that was what mattered.

One evening, after a particularly tough case, the team decided to unwind at Rossi's place. The atmosphere was relaxed, the tension of the day slowly dissipating as everyone gathered around with drinks in hand. You sat next to Spencer, your shoulder lightly brushing against his as you leaned in to whisper something that made him chuckle softly.

"See, this is why you're my favorite," you teased, poking him playfully in the side.

"Flattery won’t get you anywhere," Spencer replied, his voice tinged with affection as he looked at you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long.

You caught it, your smile softening as you reached out to squeeze his hand. "You're the best, you know that?"

"Only because I have the best friend," he responded, squeezing your hand in return before letting go, trying to ignore the way his heart raced at the simple contact.

The night continued, filled with laughter and stories, but Spencer couldn’t help but feel the weight of his unspoken feelings pressing down on him. It was a bittersweet sensation, knowing that he would never be able to tell you the truth, that he would never be able to cross the invisible line that separated friendship from something more.

As the evening wound down and people started to leave, you lingered behind with Spencer, helping him clean up the remnants of the gathering. It was something the two of you often did, slipping into a comfortable rhythm as you worked side by side in silence.

Once the dishes were done and the living room tidied, you both collapsed into your car, a comfortable silence settling between you.

"Thanks for sticking around," Spencer said, his voice soft as he turned to look at you.

"Of course," you replied, meeting his gaze with a tired smile. "You're my person, Spencer. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Your words hit him harder than you could have imagined. He swallowed, forcing himself to smile even as his heart twisted painfully in his chest. "And you're mine," he whispered, more to himself than to you.

You rested your head on his shoulder, letting out a content sigh as you closed your eyes. Spencer remained still, afraid to move, afraid that the moment would shatter if he so much as breathed too loudly.

In that moment, Spencer allowed himself to believe, just for a second, that things could be different. That maybe, in another life, in another world, he could be the one you chose. But as your breathing evened out, signaling that you had fallen asleep, he knew that such thoughts were futile.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled back, his heart heavy with the weight of what could never be. 

And so, he continued to keep his secret, burying it deep within himself as he held onto the one thing he could have—your friendship. It wasn't everything, but it was enough. It had to be enough.

—

The briefing room was unusually quiet as Hotch laid out the details of the mission. The tension in the air was palpable, the seriousness of the situation evident in the way Hotch’s voice took on that hard, steely edge he reserved for the most dangerous of cases. You sat next to Spencer, your hands folded neatly in your lap, trying to keep your expression neutral as the reality of what was being asked of you sank in.

The unsub had escalated, and the BAU was running out of time. The only way to catch him was to go undercover, to insert yourselves into his world, to become the very thing he was hunting. And for this, Hotch had chosen you and Spencer to pose as husband and wife.

The room emptied out after the briefing, but Spencer lingered, his brows furrowed, a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes. He looked at you, searching your face as if trying to find a way to convince you to change your mind before he even spoke.

“This is too dangerous,” he began, his voice low and urgent. “You shouldn’t go. We can find another way—there has to be another way.”

You reached out to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Spencer, we’ve been through worse. We can handle this.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his voice trembling slightly. “This isn’t just another case. This is… it’s different. If something goes wrong—if he even suspects for a second that we’re not who we say we are—” His voice caught in his throat, and he looked away, swallowing hard.

You squeezed his arm, trying to anchor him. “Spencer, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he turned back to you, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and desperation that broke your heart.

“We’re the best shot at stopping him,” you said gently. “You know that. If it were anyone else, I’d be just as worried. But it’s us. We’ve got this.”

His hands balled into fists at his sides, his knuckles white. “But what if something happens to you? I couldn’t—” He stopped, his breath hitching as he tried to compose himself. “I couldn’t live with that.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, at the raw vulnerability he was showing you. “Spencer,” you whispered, stepping closer, “I know it’s risky. I know you’re scared. But I’m scared too. And that’s why we have to be careful, why we have to trust each other.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, but the fear was still there, clinging to him like a shadow. “I do trust you. It’s just… I can’t lose you.”

The intensity of his words hung in the air, a confession of something deeper, something unspoken between you. You felt your heart twist, knowing how much he cared, how much he had always cared.

“You won’t lose me,” you promised, your voice steady even though your heart was pounding. “We’ll go in, do what we need to do, and get out. Together.”

He nodded slowly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t diminish. “Promise me you’ll be careful. No risks, no heroics.”

You smiled softly, trying to ease the tension. “I promise. We’re in this together.”

The days leading up to the mission were a blur of preparations, briefings, and final checks. Spencer was quieter than usual, his mind clearly racing with thoughts of what could go wrong. You tried to stay focused, knowing that you both needed to be sharp for this to work.

When the day finally arrived, you found yourselves in a small, nondescript hotel room that served as your cover. The ruse was simple: you and Spencer were a newlywed couple, traveling through the area, the perfect targets for the unsub’s twisted games.

The charade was almost too real, the way Spencer’s hand rested on the small of your back as you entered the hotel lobby, the way he leaned in to whisper something in your ear as you checked in. The familiarity of it all was both comforting and disconcerting.

The hotel room’s dim lighting cast a warm glow over the space, but it was nothing compared to the light in Spencer’s eyes as he looked at you. You had just finished getting ready for the final phase of the mission, slipping into the elegant dress that completed your undercover persona as the charming, newlywed wife. As you turned to face him, adjusting the last of your jewelry, Spencer’s breath seemed to catch in his throat.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. There was a softness in his tone, a tenderness that seemed to seep into every syllable. His eyes, those expressive hazel eyes, were locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

For a moment, the world outside the room ceased to exist. The mission, the danger, the need to keep up the pretense—it all faded into the background. All that mattered was the way Spencer was looking at you, with so much love and adoration that it was almost overwhelming.

But then, as quickly as it had surfaced, Spencer seemed to reel it back in. He blinked, his expression shifting as he forced a small smile, trying to play it off. “I mean, it’s… it’s perfect for the mission. You look exactly like someone who would turn every head in the room.”

You could hear the faint waver in his voice, the way he tried to rationalize the emotion he had just displayed. He chalked it up to the nature of the mission, to the need to sell the story, but deep down, he knew there was more to it.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the tension between you, a silent acknowledgment of the feelings that were bubbling just beneath the surface, unspoken but undeniably present.

Spencer nodded, averting his gaze as he adjusted his tie, trying to focus on the task at hand. But the way his hands trembled ever so slightly, the way his jaw clenched as he fought to regain his composure, didn’t go unnoticed by you.

You took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. “We’ll be okay, you know,” you said, trying to reassure him, to reassure yourself.

He looked up at you, his eyes once again filled with that same deep, intense emotion. “I know,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “As long as you’re with me, I know we’ll be okay.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with unspoken words and hidden desires. It was as if the world had paused, holding its breath as you both stood on the precipice of something that could change everything.

But then, with a deep breath, Spencer forced himself to step back, his professional mask sliding back into place. “We should get going,” he said, his voice firmer now, though there was still a lingering softness in his eyes.

You nodded, trying to push down the emotions that were threatening to spill over. “Right. Let’s do this.”

And as you left the room together, hand in hand, the lines between mission and reality blurred just a little more, leaving you both wondering what would be left once the dust settled.

—

The situation had spiraled out of control so fast that it felt like a nightmare, the kind where everything you feared the most came true. One moment, you and Spencer were navigating the careful dance of your undercover roles, blending into the crowd at the lavish party where you hoped to catch the unsub off guard. The next, everything went dark—both literally and figuratively.

The unsub was smarter than they’d anticipated. He saw through the act, his twisted mind zeroing in on your every move, every glance exchanged with Spencer. And then, in an instant, the plan unraveled. The lights flickered, and when they came back on, you were no longer standing by Spencer's side. You were in the unsub’s grip, his arm around your throat, his gun pressed against your temple.

“Spencer!” you cried out, your voice filled with a terror that tore through him like a knife.

Spencer’s heart stopped in that moment. The blood drained from his face as he saw you, saw the fear in your eyes, the way you struggled against the unsub’s iron grip. His mind raced, every possible scenario playing out in rapid succession, each one worse than the last. He could feel his entire world crashing down around him, the panic setting in, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

“Let her go!” Spencer’s voice was raw, desperate, his hand reaching out instinctively as if he could pull you back to him by sheer force of will. “You don’t want to do this. We can help you. Just—just let her go, please.”

But the unsub only sneered, tightening his hold on you, dragging you backward toward the exit. “Help me? You’re the ones who need help. You think I didn’t see through your little charade? You think I didn’t know?”

Spencer felt his knees buckle as he watched the unsub’s every move, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t. The thought of it was too much, too overwhelming. He tried to take a step forward, but the unsub jabbed the gun harder against your head, making you gasp in pain.

“Stay back, or I’ll blow her brains out right here!” the unsub snarled, his eyes wild with a dangerous mix of paranoia and rage.

“Please,” Spencer begged, his voice cracking, his eyes pleading as he tried to reason with a man who seemed beyond reason. “Don’t hurt her. You don’t have to do this. We can talk, we can—”

But the unsub wasn’t listening. He was already backing out of the room, dragging you with him. And then, before Spencer could react, you were gone—thrown into a nondescript van that peeled away from the curb, leaving Spencer standing there, frozen in horror.

The moment you disappeared from sight, something in Spencer snapped. He was a man undone, no longer the composed, brilliant profiler but a man in the throes of utter despair. He spun around, his eyes wild as he looked at the rest of the team, who had arrived just in time to witness the tail end of the horror show.

“We have to find her!” Spencer’s voice was a shout, laced with a hysteria that made everyone in the room tense up. “We have to find her now!”

“Reid, we’re going to do everything we can,” Hotch said, his voice calm and steady, trying to contain the situation, but it only seemed to fuel Spencer’s rage.

“You sent her in there!” Spencer roared, pointing an accusatory finger at Hotch, his voice trembling with fury and anguish. “You sent her in there, and now she’s gone! You did this!”

“Spencer, we’ll find her,” JJ said softly, trying to step in, but Spencer wasn’t hearing it. His mind was a blur of panic, grief, and guilt. All he could see was you, the terror in your eyes, the way you had been dragged away from him.

“No! You don’t understand!” Spencer was nearly hysterical now, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his face as he continued to lash out. “She’s out there alone, and it’s our fault! We have to get her back! We have to—” 

“Reid, stand down!” Hotch commanded, his voice taking on a sharper tone, but it did nothing to calm Spencer.

“No!” Spencer screamed, his hands shaking as he pointed at Hotch again. “You don’t get to tell me to stand down! You don’t get to tell me to do anything after what you’ve done!”

Hotch exchanged a quick glance with Rossi, who gave a small nod, understanding that Spencer was too far gone, too deep in his emotions to be reasoned with right now.

“Reid, go back to the hotel,” Hotch ordered, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. “We’ll handle the search. You need to stand down.”

But Spencer didn’t move. He just stood there, shaking, his eyes wild and red-rimmed, the pain etched so deeply into his features that it was almost unbearable to look at. He wanted to fight, to do something, anything to bring you back. But all he could do was fall apart, right there in front of everyone.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he finally gave in to the grief that was tearing him apart. “Please bring her back.”

“Go back to the hotel, Reid,” Hotch repeated, softer this time, but still with that commanding presence. “We’ll find her.”

Spencer didn’t want to go. Every fiber of his being wanted to stay, to fight, to tear the city apart if that’s what it took to find you. But he was too broken, too shattered to argue anymore. So, with one last, desperate look at Hotch, he turned and left, his heart heavy, his mind spinning with every horrible possibility.

Back at the hotel, Spencer was a man possessed. He couldn’t sit, couldn’t think straight. He paced the room, his thoughts running in endless circles, every one of them coming back to you and the unimaginable fear that you were out there, somewhere, hurt or worse. The room felt too small, too suffocating, and he found himself screaming, yelling out your name, cursing at the walls as if they could give him answers.

When the anger wasn’t enough to dull the pain, the tears came full force. He collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in his hands as he sobbed, the grief pouring out of him in waves. He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t. The thought of it was too much, and yet it was all he could think about.

Hours passed, though it felt like an eternity, and still, there was no word. No update. No sign of you. Spencer felt like he was drowning in the silence, the waiting, the not knowing. Every second that ticked by felt like another piece of him being torn away, until there was nothing left but the hollow shell of a man who had once been whole.

When the phone finally rang, Spencer lunged for it, his heart in his throat as he answered, his voice shaking with desperation. 

But it wasn’t you. It wasn’t even news about you. It was Hotch, telling him to stay put, telling him that they were still searching, still trying to find you. It was a command wrapped in reassurance, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside Spencer.

“Just bring her back,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible, broken. “Please, bring her back to me.”

And as he hung up the phone, Spencer curled up on the bed, clutching your jacket that still held the faintest scent of you, and prayed with every ounce of his being that you would come back to him, that this nightmare would end, and that he wouldn’t lose the most important person in his life.

—

Spencer was pacing the floor of the hotel room, his mind a whirlwind of fear, guilt, and desperation. The silence of the room felt like it was closing in on him, pressing down on his chest until he could hardly breathe. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity, and the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling was the hope that the team would find you before it was too late.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he nearly fumbled it in his haste to answer. “Derek?” he gasped, his voice tight with panic.

“Reid        , we think we found her,” Derek said, his tone serious but laced with urgency. “She’s at an abandoned warehouse on the east side, just off of River Street. We’re heading there now.”

Spencer didn’t wait for another word. He grabbed his keys and bolted out of the hotel, the thought of you in danger propelling him forward with a speed he didn’t know he was capable of. The drive to the warehouse was a blur of speeding cars, red lights he didn’t bother stopping for, and the singular focus of getting to you as fast as he could.

When he pulled up to the warehouse, he barely threw his car into park before he was out the door, sprinting toward the cluster of agents and medics near the entrance. The sight of them only made his heart race faster, a mix of relief and dread coiling in his stomach.

“Where is she?” he shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation as he pushed his way through the crowd.

The sight of you nearly brought him to his knees. You were lying on a stretcher, your body bruised and battered, your face pale and drawn, as if the life had been drained out of you. The medics were working quickly, checking your vitals, hooking you up to an IV, but all Spencer could focus on was the faint sound of your voice, weak and trembling, as you mumbled incoherently.

“My love,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “Where is my love?”

The words broke Spencer’s heart into a thousand pieces. He rushed forward, ignoring the shouts of the other agents as he made his way to your side. You were so fragile, so small against the harsh metal of the stretcher, and all he wanted to do was gather you in his arms, protect you from the world, from everything that had hurt you.

The medics began to wheel you toward the ambulance, but as they moved, you caught sight of Spencer, your eyes fluttering open just enough to recognize him. Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion that weighed you down, you tried to sit up, your hand reaching out toward him as if he were the only thing that could keep you tethered to life.

“My love,” you said again, your voice cracking with emotion, your eyes filled with tears as you looked at him.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, grabbing your extended hand and squeezing it tightly. “I’m here, I’m right here,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held onto you like you were his lifeline.

The medics glanced at Spencer, recognizing the emblem on his jacket, the desperation in his eyes. “I’m riding with her,” Spencer told them, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The medics nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. They helped Spencer climb into the ambulance, making room for him next to you as they continued to work. Spencer never let go of your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your bruised knuckles, his heart breaking at the sight of you so weak, so vulnerable.

As the ambulance sped away, sirens blaring, Spencer leaned in close, his voice soft and soothing as he whispered to you. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes fluttered open again, your gaze locking onto his as you tried to muster the strength to speak. “I was so scared,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you clung to his hand.

“I know,” Spencer said, his own voice cracking as he fought back his tears. “I was too. But you’re safe now. We’re going to get through this, okay? I promise.”

You nodded weakly, your eyes drifting shut again as exhaustion took over. But even as you slipped into unconsciousness, you kept your hand in his, holding on as if he were your only anchor in the storm.

And Spencer held on too, refusing to let go, refusing to let the fear, the guilt, the overwhelming emotions consume him. All that mattered was you—keeping you safe, getting you through this. He couldn’t think about anything else, couldn’t allow himself to imagine a world where you weren’t with him.

As the ambulance raced toward the hospital, Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, his voice a quiet promise in the chaos. “I love you,” he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them, before he could overthink them.

But it didn’t matter now. There was no taking it back, no more hiding how he felt. And as the ambulance tore through the night, Spencer made a silent vow that he would do whatever it took to keep you safe, to bring you back to him—because losing you wasn’t an option. Not now. Not ever.

—

The antiseptic smell of the hospital was a sharp contrast to the warmth of Spencer's presence beside you. The sterile environment only emphasized how vulnerable and fragile you felt, lying in the hospital bed with a sling supporting your broken collarbone. The pain was manageable, dulled by the medication the doctors had administered, but the emotional whirlwind you were caught in was another matter entirely.

Spencer had been there since the moment you arrived, never leaving your side. His eyes, red-rimmed and exhausted, had stayed fixed on you, watching over you with a mix of concern and something deeper that you couldn’t quite name. He was a mess of emotions—fear, relief, and something bordering on anger, though you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

You were just beginning to doze off when a nurse entered the room, gently informing you that your partner had arrived. Your heart clenched at the words, not out of relief or comfort, but out of a confusing sense of dread. Spencer’s hand tightened slightly around yours, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but one that spoke volumes. He was still there, still holding onto you, but you could feel the shift in the air, the way his grip loosened as the footsteps approached.

When your partner stepped into the room, their eyes filled with worry and love, Spencer immediately withdrew his hand, standing up to make room. You could see the tension in his posture, the way his jaw clenched as he forced himself to step back, to let go.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” your partner said softly, their voice sincere as they looked at Spencer with genuine gratitude.

Spencer nodded stiffly, the bitterness in his expression barely hidden. “Of course,” he replied, his voice tight. “It’s what anyone would have done.”

But you knew that wasn’t true. Spencer had done more than anyone else would have, more than your partner could even begin to understand. He had been your anchor in the storm, the person you had instinctively reached for when you were at your weakest. And now, with your partner standing there, all you could think about was how much you had wanted Spencer—needed Spencer—when everything was falling apart.

Your partner leaned down to kiss your forehead, their touch gentle, comforting. But it wasn’t the same. It didn’t ignite that spark inside you, didn’t calm the commotion in your heart the way Spencer’s presence had. Your mind kept replaying those moments in the ambulance, when Spencer had whispered those three words that had changed everything.

“I love you.”

The weight of those words settled heavily in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t meant the world to you when he said it. But now, looking up at your partner, you felt trapped between two worlds—one where you were safe, where everything was familiar, and another where your heart was pulling you toward something deeper, something more complicated, something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

Spencer stood there, watching the exchange with an expression that broke your heart. You could see the pain in his eyes, the bitterness that he was trying so hard to hide. He had given you everything he had in those terrifying moments, and now he was being pushed aside, as if all of that meant nothing.

But it did mean something. It meant everything.

“Spencer…” you began, your voice soft, uncertain.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, waiting for something—anything—that would tell him what you were feeling, what you were thinking. But you didn’t know what to say. You were too confused, too overwhelmed to put your emotions into words.

Your partner squeezed your hand gently, drawing your attention back to them. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” they whispered, their voice filled with relief.

You nodded, trying to smile, but it felt hollow, forced. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m okay.”

But as you looked back at Spencer, you knew that you weren’t okay. Not really. Because all you could think about was how much it had hurt to watch him leave, to see the pain in his eyes as he stepped back, knowing that he was walking away from something that had just barely begun.

Spencer took a step toward the door, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “I should go,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “You need time with your partner.”

The word "partner" seemed to catch in his throat, and you could see the way he flinched as he said it, as if acknowledging their presence hurt more than he could bear.

You wanted to call out to him, to tell him to stay, to tell him that what he had said in the ambulance had changed everything for you. But the words wouldn’t come. You were too afraid, too unsure of what any of it meant, or what it would mean if you acknowledged it out loud.

So you said nothing, letting him walk away, letting him leave the room with a heavy heart and a bitterness that you knew was only going to fester.

As the door closed behind Spencer, you felt a tear slip down your cheek, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. Your partner was still there, still holding your hand, still trying to comfort you, but it wasn’t enough. Because the person you needed most had just walked out the door, and you didn’t know if you had the courage to bring him back.

—

When you returned to work after your medical leave, there was a part of you that was eager to get back to a sense of normalcy. You thought that once you were surrounded by your colleagues, by Spencer, things would start to feel right again. But from the moment you stepped into the bullpen, you knew something was different.

Spencer was there, of course, as he always was—dutiful, courteous, offering you a small, polite smile as you walked in. He asked how you were feeling, made sure you had everything you needed, even went out of his way to help you catch up on what you had missed during your absence. But there was a distance to him, a careful politeness that felt foreign between the two of you. It was as if there was an invisible barrier between you, one that he had constructed with precision and intention.

He wasn’t your Spencer anymore. He was still the brilliant, kind-hearted man you knew, but the easy closeness, the spontaneous laughter, the silent conversations that you had once shared—those were gone. And as much as it pained you, you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him about it. You were too afraid of what you might find out, too scared that if you asked him what was wrong, you would only confirm your worst fears.

So you stayed quiet. You forced yourself to smile when he spoke to you, even though his words were measured and distant. You nodded along when he offered advice or assistance, even though the warmth you used to feel in his presence was replaced by a hollow ache. But the more time passed, the more you began to realize that this wasn’t just about Spencer pulling away—it was about what that distance did to you.

It felt like half of you was missing, like you were a shell of yourself without him by your side. You’d never felt this way with your partner, not even when they were out of town or during the rare arguments that led to hours of silence. There was something about Spencer, something about the bond you had shared, that had become an integral part of who you were. And now that it was gone, you were lost.

It was that realization that led to the end of your relationship. You couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when your heart was somewhere else, when the person you thought you loved couldn’t fill the void that Spencer’s absence had left. Breaking up with your partner was one of the hardest things you’d ever done, not because you were still in love with them, but because they were such a genuinely kind-hearted person. They deserved better than to be with someone whose heart wasn’t fully in it.

When you sat down with them, your voice shaking as you tried to explain, they listened with a quiet understanding that made you feel even more guilty. “I’ve known for a while that something was off,” they said softly, their eyes sad but not angry. “I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “You didn’t deserve this.”

They shook their head, reaching out to gently squeeze your hand. “You don’t have to apologize. I’d rather you be honest with yourself—and with me—than stay in a relationship that doesn’t make you happy.”

Their kindness only made the pain of ending things more acute, but you knew it was the right thing to do. You couldn’t keep living a lie, couldn’t keep pretending that you were in love when your heart was somewhere else. And as much as it hurt, you felt a strange sense of relief when they walked away, knowing that you were finally free to face the truth.

But now that the relationship was over, you were left with an even bigger question: What do you do about Spencer? The very person who had unknowingly driven you to this decision was the one you felt you had already lost. The thought of telling him how you felt was terrifying, especially when you weren’t sure if there was anything left between you to salvage. Would he even care, or had he already moved on, content to keep you at arm’s length for the rest of your lives?

As you sat alone in your apartment that evening, the silence pressing in on you, you found yourself picking up your phone, your fingers hovering over Spencer’s contact. You wanted to call him, to tell him everything—to tell him that this whole mess had made you realize just how much you needed him, how much you missed him, how much you loved him.

But fear held you back. Fear that he wouldn’t feel the same way, fear that he would reject you, fear that you had already lost him forever.

In the end, you put the phone down, your heart heavy with the weight of your unspoken feelings. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to move forward. All you knew was that you couldn’t keep living like this, trapped in the limbo between what you had lost and what you could never have.

But as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, you made a silent vow to yourself: You couldn’t let things end like this. Spencer had meant too much to you for too long to let him slip away without a fight. And even though the thought of confronting him scared you more than anything, you knew that you had to try. You had to tell him how you felt, even if it meant risking everything.

Because losing Spencer without ever telling him the truth—that was something you couldn’t bear.

—

Spencer sat in his reading nook, surrounded by books that had once brought him comfort but now served as a distraction from the thoughts he couldn’t escape. The words blurred together as he tore through page after page, trying to keep his mind occupied, to drown out the memories of you, the sound of your voice, the way you used to laugh at his terrible jokes. It wasn’t easy, keeping you at arm’s length, but it was the only way he knew how to protect himself. He couldn’t endure watching you be with someone else, not when every part of him yearned to be the one you turned to, the one you loved.

The soft knock on the door startled him, pulling him out of the world he had tried so hard to lose himself in. His heart raced as he set the book down, a sense of unease settling over him as he stood up. He wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all you.

When he opened the door, the upper chain still in place, his breath caught in his throat. “Y/N?” he asked, his voice full of surprise.

You stood there, looking up at him with an expression that was both determined and vulnerable. It was clear you had made a decision, one that had led you to his doorstep on a Friday evening, one that had left you standing there, waiting for him to let you in.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your chest. “I think we need to talk. Can I come in?”

He hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with the implications of what this conversation might bring. But the sight of you, the sound of your voice, was too much for him to resist. He needed to hear what you had to say, even if it meant reopening wounds he had tried so hard to close.

With a sigh, Spencer undid the chain and opened the door fully, stepping aside to let you in. “Of course,” he said, his voice softer now, tinged with the familiarity of your presence.

You stepped inside, taking a deep breath as you crossed the threshold. The air in the apartment was thick with unspoken words, with the tension that had been building between you for weeks. You could feel it, the weight of everything you hadn’t said, everything you were about to say.

Spencer watched as you took a moment to compose yourself, his heart aching at the sight of you in his space, a place you had once felt so at home in but that now felt foreign, distant. He wanted to reach out, to close the gap between you, but he held back, reminding himself of the boundaries he had set.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” you said, turning to face him, your eyes searching his for any sign of what he was feeling. “But I couldn’t wait any longer. I have a lot to say, and I kept repeating it in my head. I was driving myself insane,” you laughed a bit at your own expense.

Spencer nodded, his throat tight as he gestured for you to sit on the couch. He took a seat across from you, his hands clasped together in his lap as he waited for you to speak, his heart pounding in his chest.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, the ones that would convey everything you had been feeling, everything you had realized over the past few weeks. “Spencer, I know things have been different between us since I came back. And I know it’s because of me, because of what happened.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to tell you that it wasn’t your fault, that he had been the one to pull away, but you held up a hand, stopping him.

“Please, just let me finish,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, about what we had, and what we lost. And I realized that… I realized that I can’t keep going on like this. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not. I miss you, Spencer. I miss my best friend.”

His heart twisted at your words, the pain of losing you sharper than he had expected. “I miss you too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… it’s complicated.”

“I know it is,” you said, leaning forward, your eyes locking onto his with a determination that took him by surprise. “But that’s why I’m here. I need you to hear me out.”

Spencer nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he braced himself for whatever was coming next.

You took another deep breath, your heart racing as you finally found the courage to say the words that had been weighing on you for so long. “I ended things with my partner.”

His eyes widened in surprise, the words catching him off guard. “You did?”

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief at finally saying it out loud. “Yes. I did. Because I realized that I couldn’t keep lying to myself, or to them. I realized that the reason I was so unhappy, the reason I felt like something was missing, was because… because I was in love with someone else.”

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding as he tried to process what you were saying. “Y/N…”

“I’m in love with you, Spencer,” you said, your voice steady now, the weight of the truth lifting from your shoulders. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time I think, and it took almost losing you to realize that. I don’t know how you feel, and I’m terrified that I’ve already lost you, but I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. You deserve to know the truth.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as your words hung in the air, the enormity of what you had just confessed settling between you. Spencer’s mind raced, a thousand thoughts colliding all at once, but the one thing that stood out above everything else was the overwhelming relief, the joy, that came with hearing you say those words.

You loved him. You loved him.

“Spencer, please say something,” you whispered, your voice trembling now as the fear of rejection crept in.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions—relief, love, fear. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “that I didn’t think it was possible for you to feel the same way. I’ve been trying so hard to protect myself, to keep my distance, because I didn’t want to get hurt. But all it did was hurt me more, because all I wanted was to be close to you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words sank in, as the truth of what he had been feeling all this time became clear. “Spencer…”

He stood up, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as if he was afraid you might disappear. “I’m so sorry for pulling away,” he whispered into your hair, his voice choked with emotion. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. I need you in my life, Y/N. I need you more than anything.”

You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the tears finally spilled over. “I need you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling with relief, with love, with the overwhelming emotion of finally being in his arms again.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, holding onto each other as the weight of everything you had been through, everything you had felt, finally began to lift. 

“Please don’t ever pull away again,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

He shook his head, his thumb gently brushing away your tears. “I won’t. I promise. I’m done hiding.”

With that, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was long overdue, a kiss that spoke of all the love, all the longing, all the unspoken words that had been building between you for so long. It was a kiss that sealed the promise of a future together, a future where you didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to hold back, a future where you could finally be with the person you loved.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Spencer rested his forehead against yours, his arms still wrapped around you. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. And I’m never letting you go again.”

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered, the words feeling right, feeling true.

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice full of conviction, full of the certainty that this—being with you—was where he was always meant to be.

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