#SORRY THIS IS SO LONG. characters make me so.

[angelltheninth]

Arcane Characters Find Out You Haven't Had Your First Kiss Yet

Pairing: Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn Kiramman, Maddie Nolen, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Sevika, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, kissing, first kiss, flirting, banter, shyness, gentle kissing, musundertsnadings, age-gap, experiance gap

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I have kissed people before and I know I wanna kiss all of them too. They deserve kisses, they need kisses.

"Ya've been starin' at me for an awful long time now. Not that I mind, your eyes are real pretty, sugar. But ya've got me all curious now." Jinx invaded your personal space like it was no big deal and leaned in so you had but inches between you.

You pressed your lips together and fidgeted in your seat. "You... I was wondering have you kissed anyone before?"

"Well here and there but not recently. I've got someone I really wanna kiss now." She pointed at you and tucked a hair behind your ear. "Wanna make out? I don't have any important things to do for a few hours?"

"Few hours? People make out for that long? Wait no, that's not what I want to do. I was curious cause I never kissed anyone and I was wondering if you... maybe wanted to kiss me?" With a slightly bashful tone you met her shiny purple eyes which only seemed to get brighter as she closed in.

"Do I wanna kiss ya? I wanted to since I saw ya! Been waitin' to get asked. Ya know, gentlewoman and all that shit." She wasn't one, not by a longshot but she also knew she could cross boundaries easily, this was one where she was more than willing to wait. "Pucker up quick!" You only had a second to react before harsh lips closed over yours, her thin but strong arms locking you in place on the chair. "Mwah!" Jinx cackled when she pulled back. "There. That's one thing to cross of your list. Can't wait for more." Winking she spun around in her chair and did a little happy dance.

Everyone knew Vi was a bold one, what she wanted she went for, often with little questions asked. She spent the whole date taking initiative, taking your hand, showing you the best places in Zaun, and a few at Piltover too, although she didn't know as many that were cooler than Zaun's. At the end of it she walked your home.

"I live in a safe neighborhood, Vi. There's no need for this." You argued as you fished for your keys to unlock the door. As you did you had full intention to invite her in.

"You never know when someone might try something. You're too cut to pass up on, sweet thing like you, bound to attract eyes. People might get ideas. Like this." Before you knew it, she pressed both hands against your hips and kissed your neck. You nearly dropped the keys when you felt the bolt of excitement run through your body. "See what I mean?"

Gulping you turned your head to hers. "Y-Yeah." She smirked and cupped your chin with the opposite hand, bringing you closer. "Vi, hold on." You turned your head back towards the door. "I never kissed anyone before." The whisper pierced through all the horny energy in Vi's body.

Her hands dropped from your hips. "Oh. Well now I feel like an ass. Since you let me walk you back and all, I thought... sorry I don't know what I thought. Do you want me to leave?" She waited for you to turn around and was surprised when you cupped her cheeks and leaned in. Her eyes widened for a moment before closing, right as your lips met in the middle. The grip on your hips returned, but it wasn't as strong as before. She wasn't the only one who could initiate.

You could look far and wide and you wouldn't find a bigger gentlewoman than Caitlyn. She asked if anything she did was wanted, if it was okay, if you liked it. Some of it came from her Academy days, some from her upbringing but she was never pushy with you.

It was actually you that noticed she was glancing at your lips a little too often while you were helping her sort out through the many documents she apparently had to bring home to work on. "Today was supposed to be our date, seems to me like you're dating your work as much as you're dating me." You teased and watched her huff.

"That is not true. You are infinitely more attractive, darling. I wouldn't kiss the papers but I would kiss you any day." Caitlyn flirted back and set the mentioned papers down. "In fact... I could use a little break from this. And you're right, tonight is our date night. So, tell me," Caitlyn walked up to your side of the desk and leaned on her hands, her face above yours, "would you do me the honor of kissing me?"

A heavy blush bloomed on your face as you felt caught in her crosshairs. When she got serious about something she saw it though until the end. That's how she was looking at you now. "I'd love to kiss you, Cait."

She chuckled at your breathless tone. "I'll go slow. It's your first kiss, right? I figured from the way you'd blush and turn your head when I'd lean in." Her gloved hands slid over your hands, giving them a comforting squeeze. "Close your eyes for me, darling." The moment you did you felt her lips against yours, perfectly falling into place.

"You're joking, aren't you? You haven't kissed anyone? No one? Not even a little?" She tried to hide her amused smile behind her hand but it was futile. You rolled your eyes at Maddie and then threw a pillow in at her head.

"First, how do you kiss someone a little? And second, you know I've barely dated before this. You're the first girl I'm kinda serious about. Thought that waiting to have my first kiss would be... you know romantic?" You shrugged and hugged the other pillow close to your chest. Maddie let out a loud 'awww' and hugged you tight, kissing your cheek.

She laughed when you tried to push her away for making fun of you.

"Now hold on. I think that is really sweet of you, love. Not many people out there have your romatic mind and I love that about you. Also, real sweet that you want to kiss me out of everyone." Her hands pressed upon your shoulders and her smiling face approached yours. "Do I get to do that now or...?"

You could see how eager she seemed now that she learned all this new information. "I mean... if you want." Your hug around the pillow tightened as you tried to will yourself to calm down. On the outside you were calmer, ever pushing back into the kiss, sighing contently against Maddie's lips, but on the inside, you were a damn mess of anxiety. "Shhh, it's just me, remember?" She cooed against your lips and waited for you to relax, massaging your shoulders before leaning in for a second, longer kiss.

This was more of a dare than you wanting to kiss anyone tonight. It wasn't your fault that all your friends knew about your big crush on Ekko and roped you into a game of darts that you lost and therefore had to walk over to him and kiss him. Your friends watched you fumble over to him, all giggling.

Ekko looked at you a little bewildered. "Look, don't ask, this was all their idea." You pointed behind yourself at your friends. "They dared me to kiss you so, if you wanna kiss me... you know, cool

"I've got nothing against kissing you, firefly, but I'm a little confused. Thought you didn't mess 'round with friends like that." Ekko did, you knew but you always thought that if you crossed that line with him there would be no bottling your feelings back up. And standing here in front of him, asking for a kiss, you knew that was true.

"I don't mess around with friends. But they won't leave me alone about not kissing anyone yet and you were the safest bet. Plus..." You moved from foot to foot, like that would shake off your nerves. "I like you, Ekko. As more than a friend. I have for a while."

All the chatter from around the two of you seemed to fall into a void. Ekko opened his mouth to say something but you kissed him before he could, too scared of a rejection and too high strung to think about the fact that you might never get this chance again. But to your surprise he kissed back, his full lips pressing hard against yours. "Thought you'd never come out and say it. Damn, been waiting to hear those words since forever." Ekko hushed against you before he dragged his lips from the corner of your mouth to your ear. "I like you too." He confessed with a whisper.

"Don't you let what those assholes said get to you, darlin', their mouth is bigger than their brain." Vander cleaned the dirty glasses behind the bar as you handed them to him one after another.

You grimaced, remembering all the teasing, quite rude teasing might you add, that you endured before Vander stepped in. "I could have kicked them out myself. Besides what do they care if I'm dating you? Not like you gave me the job because of it." They said a lot more than that but you didn't even want to go through all of it.

"Hey, you do great work here. The kids love you; I love you. All that talk about tradin' favors, bunch of bullshit, that's what it is. Besides, I know you've kept to yourself more than others around here. Got nothin' against that. If anything, makes me a bit nervous. I mean, you really want this old man to be your first at everything?" He scratched the back of your head as he remembered the night when you cuddled and you confessed, he would really be your first everything, not just your first relationship. Since then, he'd been a bit jumpier.

"Vander, you're a bit more than a decade older than me. We're both old. And when you get to my age and you haven't done anything, people talk. So, I can't really blame them for thinking what they do about me getting a job here. It's shitty yeah, but like you said, they're just assholes. I want you to be my first kiss, first everything." You confessed and suddenly you noticed Vander wasn't cleaning glasses anymore. He still had the glass and the rag in his hand but he wasn't moving at all.

You seem to have stunned him with your words. There was an old story you remember, about a kiss breaking a sleeping woman from her slumber. With a cheeky grin you pushed yourself up on the bar to get high enough to kiss him. Vander let out a sound of surprise but quickly melted into the kiss. The sound of the glass shattering also shattered the quiet moment you shared and you parted, laughing. "Well, I'll be damned. Seems like there are still things that surprise me."

Silco didn't hear anything from you about the status of you kissing or not kissing anyone. He heard it from Jinx, who heard it from Sevika. And to think one of your best friends would rat you out to her boss' daughter like that. "I'll kill that mouthy bi-" Your threat stopped on your lips, silenced by thin lips. "Silco... what the fuck?"

"What? From how I heard it, you really wanted to kiss me, but were to scared of looking desperate. Best to get things like this over with fast, otherwise they clog up your brain with unnecessary worries." He spoke like a true businessman. And at his core he was one, a corrupted one, and really good at his job.

Still, you looked at him, blinking slowly, still feeling his lips against yours. Your fingertips touched the tingly flesh.

"Silco... that was my first kiss! You asshole!" You pushed him and he did take a few steps backwards. "This is why you can never tell anything to anyone around here!"

Like it was messy he fixed his tie and vest, tugging until they were to his standard again. Then he walked up to you again, his orange eye trained on you like a cat's eye on a little mouse. "Did you hate that I did it? I was never good at asking for permission when I wanted something, or forgiveness. However, if you need an apology from me, I might consider it."

Despite the imposing presence you weren't scared of him at all. "For god’s sake, Silco, I didn't hate it. You could have put more effort in it though. You know, make it more romantic for a lady, sweep her off her feet and take her out to dinner." It was like this man did every romantic thing backwards. He slept with you before he asked you out, he never even asked you out officially, just told you he liked spending time with you, and now this. "You're hopeless sometimes."

When she heard what you said she couldn't help but let out a full belly laugh at it. "Jerk! I'm being serious!" You smacked your fists against her shoulder, which only made the big brawler of a woman laugh more. Sevika never had the most tact or subtlety, or was the best at keeping her emotions in.

"I know you are! Which is why it's so damn funny. I mean shit, sweetheart, haven't kissed anyone? I see you tearing up that dance floor every night with me. You're telling me no one ever got lucky enough to kiss you on the lips? On the other lips maybe?" She wiggled her eyebrows at you.

"You're gross sometimes, you know that." You smacked her on the bicep again, and at the next attempt she grabbed your wrist and pulled you into her lap. Your whole body went hot when her thigh flexed between your legs. "Sevika, what are you up to?"

Sevika grinned wolfishly as her hand grabbed your ass. "I'm about to kiss you. Tell me if you want me to stop." She wasn't exactly asking but she also didn't want to force this on you. When you didn't put up and resistance and tugged her a bit closer by her shirt, she leaned in to capture your lips. Like with everything else she couldn't be gentle, she didn't do gentle. The kiss was rough, passionate, with too much tongue for you who never kissed anyone before. "I'm gonna teach you how to do that better."

"Will you?" You asked all breathless and with wide pupils. One simple kiss made your whole body feel like fireworks were going off. "Better make up for you making fun of me."

Viktor was very perceptive of things that interested him. You were one of those things, even before you became his girlfriend he always listened when you talked about anything. It was his first clue that he liked was in love with you.

He noticed you always seemed to be looking down at his lips more than the things he was writing whenever he was explaining something. "You know, if you want to kiss me, it's as simple as asking." He teased as his fingers traced the pages; he was reading out to you.

"O-Oh. You noticed that did you?" You looked away at the big wall of notes behind him then back at his smiling, knowing face. "Who am I kidding, of course you did. Don't get me wrong, I want to kiss you, Viktor. But I'm also nervous because it'll be my first kiss." He closed the book, with a bit more of a thumping sound than it was warranted. As quickly as he could he crossed the distance between the two of you. His hand lifted yours to his lips.

As shy as he could be with his touches, sparing even, reserved, he found it very easy to touch you and it made your heart skip a few beats every time. Viktor was comfortable with you; he teased you like it was no big deal and would hold your hand when walking through the halls.

"I must confess, darling, I don't have much experience with kissing, or anything of a romantic or intimate nature. I've only been in a few precious relationships before. However, if you allow me, I would love to be your first kiss, today." He emetized the time with a kiss on your fingers, then your knuckles, then across your arm, your jaw. And finally... your lips.

"Do you want to be my first-" You couldn't ask anything more because you heard and saw Jayce drop the hammer he was holding on his foot and was now leaning against his desk, cursing under his breath. "Kiss. My first kiss, Jayce. Get your brilliant mind out of the gutter."

His cheeks got hot when your eyes met across the room. "Your first kiss. Uh... you never kissed anyone before now, babe? Sorry if it sounds like a dumb question but... how? I mean you're the most beautiful, amazing woman I know!"

When he finally put his foot down, confidant that it was okay to do so, he scratched the back of his neck, further adding to his confused look. You sighed. "Thank you for saying all of that. I suppose I wanted it to be special. You told me you've managed to find a breakthrough in your research, so I wanted to reward you, and myself." As you approached him, he got a big, dumb grin that stretched all over his face.

"I see. A reward. If I knew I'd be getting one I'd spend more sleepless nights here." He wrapped his arms around your body when you stepped close and pressed your bodies close.

"No, you wouldn't. I would drag you back to your bed if that's what I had to do to make you sleep properly." And you really would have done that. For right now though Jayce did a good job, and giving him your first kiss was a reward. Jayce approached you slowly, taking great care to be gentle when kissing you, to not get too carried away. He didn't, he kept it to a gentle, long kiss, but quickly got in a few more when you tried to pull away. "You giant dork."

Mel gave you a goodnight kiss but as soon as she felt you stiffen, she pulled back. She frowned when she noticed how nervous you looked. "What's the matter? Darling, are you cold? Your hands are shaking?" She ran her thumbs over the back of your hands.

"Nervous is more like it. That was my first kiss." You said with a shy smile and tried to go in for a second one. But this time Mel stopped you, her hand acting as a barrier between you two. "Hm? What?"

"Your first kiss. And you only tell me that after I've kissed you. Have I known I wouldn't have rushed into it." She sighed heavily and looked almost guilty. She kept replaying her interactions with you in her mind, you were very confident on your date, you flirted with her quite boldly too. And when you kissed her hand, she thought you wanted more.

"What? No, Mel, I'm happy my first kiss was with you! It was perfect!" You quickly spoke up to assure her. "If I didn't want it, I would have stopped you before. But holy crap, do you have any idea how much I wanted to kiss you?! I mean honestly, do you! I hardly worked up the nerve to ask you out tonight." You scratched your cheek nervously and avoided her eyes. This felt a little embarrassing to admit when you worked so hard to remain calm and project and air of confidence with her.

Chucking into her hand, Mel cupped your cheek with the other. "Is that so? If that's all then I'm glad. You don't have to pretend with me. I can assure you too, if I didn't like you, I wouldn't have said yes to our date. Much less kissed you. However, if you would allow it, I would like to re-do that kiss." Mel took your chin between her fingers and brushed her thumb against your lower lip, parting your lips just a bit before kissing you again.

[spirit-lanterns]

HAVE A SEAT!

synopsis: co.ckwarming various hsr women

featuring: ruan mei, feixiao, lingsha, herta

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom character, strap on usage, strapwarming, co.ckwarming, feixiao and lingsha have d.icks, lingsha has two di.cks, lap s.ex, semi-public se.x, pene.tration, unprotected se.x, riding, oral, slight degradation (herta), slight exhbition (lingsha and herta), established relationship, might be ooc.

art credits: superstar rivalry

RUAN MEI

“Subject Delta’s brain waves are normal. Their behaviors are normal. A change in diet may be necessary however, as th— darling will you stop squirming?” 

Ruan Mei sighed and stopped her recording, looking down at you writhing in her lap as you tried to get comfortable. It was a long day in the lab for Ruan Mei, nothing out of the ordinary as she just had to get through the list of reports for the week. Unfortunately, (or fortunately) for you, whenever the biologist was starting to get bored in her office, she would always call for you to soothe her boredom.

And in this case, it seems that Ruan Mei had wanted you to get out the strap she loved using and sit on it while she did her reports. You never pegged your girlfriend as the type to be into something so risqué —especially in her lab of all places— yet she was adamant on you cockwarming her while she worked. 

“R-Ruan Mei I can’t…” your voice cracked as she nestled her strap deeper inside you, the girth of her cock stretching you open as slick pooled at the base of the toy. Ruan Mei had definitely noticed the sticky mess, but rather than being a clean freak and wiping it away, she gathered a bit of the essence on her finger instead. “Please move…I need it…” 

“I am not finished with my recordings. We still have to go over six more stages.” She comments curtly, admiring the consistency of your slickness by seeing how far she could stretch it between her fingers. The eyes behind her reading glasses were fogged in what appeared to be pure lust. She really was lost in the sight of you gripping her strap so needily, tightening around her while your nails dug deeper into her thighs. “…What did I say about your nails?”

“Mmngh…sorry…” you could barely contain the urge to bounce on her. Ruan Mei was just too mean… 

“Apology accepted. I should cut them for you later…” Ruan Mei made a mental note for herself and took one of your hands into hers, gently pressing against your nails —which had grown a bit long— and aimlessly began thrusting. 

At the sharp bounce of Ruan Mei’s strap bulldozing its way in, you resisted the urge to cry out in utter bliss. Ruan Mei ignored your obvious struggle and just stuffed her fingers into your mouth, slathering your precum over your tongue and making you gag.

“I need to start again. Please do be quiet this time.” 

She turns the recorder back on, the red light flashing mockingly in your face while Ruan Mei shoves her fake member deeper into your hole, back to being cold and calculating while your walls spasmed over her toy.

“This is take two.”

FEIXIAO

“Don’t grip me so hard…” 

Feixiao groaned and squeezed your waist as you nestled comfortably in her lap. The General thought it would be a fun idea to have you cockwarm her while she worked out, saying that she needed a “spotter,” but the General forgot to anticipate just how good you’d feel tightly squeezing her member. Maybe you’d be even more of a distraction than she thought…

“But General…you’re the one who asked me to—”

“I know what I said!”

She gave your hips one last squeeze before raising her arms to grab the bar above her, keen on doing a few chest presses while her cock was stuffed inside you. This was definitely unprofessional and dangerous by any means, but Feixiao was a strong woman. You trusted her to be able to handle herself during a workout, even if she might be distracted by your fluttering pussy.

“Alright, don’t move. Let me show you how strong your General is…” Feixiao purred and took the bar off the handles. The weights, intimidatingly massive, posed no threat to Feixiao as she pushed them up and down with no struggle. From where you were sitting, the sight of Feixiao flexing her muscles was just drool-worthy, watching as a thin sheen of sweat made her muscles glisten, the way they rippled with each pump of her arms. Not to mention how with each push of the weights, Feixiao’s cock throbbed inside you, almost as if it were aching to thrust with each rep. 

You felt as if you could get pregnant just by watching her workout.

“Babe, babe…” Feixiao grunted, her teeth gritting together. “You’re squeezing me…” 

You snapped out of your daze and looked down, watching as your pussy was practically clamping down on Feixiao and milking her. Though Feixiao hadn’t come yet, it sure as hell felt like it to her. “Sorry!” You exclaimed, trying to relax, though it was difficult to achieve as you couldn’t stop yourself from bouncing slightly on her dick. 

“It’s…fine…” Feixiao’s chest heaved as she stared down at you squeezing her length, some of your slick pooling at her base and forming a creamy ring. “…Fuck.” 

Your girlfriend suddenly lifted the bar up to the holders and set it there, carefully shimmying down so she can sit up and grab your hips. At the sudden movements, her heavy cock dragged wonderfully against your walls and caused you to let out a whine. “Maybe today should be a leg day instead.”

She chuckled and firmly grabbed your ass before making you bounce up and down on her lap. The sudden propulsion of your pussy getting pistoned by her dick had you throwing your head back sharply. “Feixiao…!” 

Your beloved General simply flashed you a wolfish smile before leaning in to bite your neck, deciding right then and there that fucking you incoherent would be a better workout than chest presses. At least for today.

LINGSHA

“Yes, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible once the results come back. How does an appointment in four weeks sound?” 

“Sounds good! Thank you Miss Lingsha!”

Your girlfriend smiled and waved off another customer coming to her for her remedies. However, despite her calm exterior, her thighs were quivering under the desk, all tension leaving her brow as she exhaled shakily and reached under. There, hiding just below her desk was you, pumping one of Lingsha’s cocks in your hand while your mouth pleasured the other. Just feeling the way you licked and stroked her two members had Lingsha whining and dropping her pen, unable to resist pushing your head down to bob further along her length. 

“You really have no shame, do you?” She sighed, running her fingers across your scalp and moving down to tilt your chin upwards. Your eyes flitted up to meet hers, lips still suckling greedily on her cock as your hand paused its motions. Both of Lingsha’s hemipenes were erect and dripping with precum, spilling onto your lips and fingers as she resisted the urge to just take you on the table. 

“Sawhy…” you said in a muffled voice, mouth too full of cock to respond properly. Lingsha just chuckled at your attempts to apologize, gently pulling you off her length so you could speak. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” 

You swallowed the saliva and precum that had built up in your mouth and groaned, clearly drunk off Lingsha’s scent now. You tried to go back to sucking her off, opening your mouth to take her in again, but Lingsha playfully pushed you away with a finger to your forehead.

“Ehh?”

“Calm down, I need a break…” Lingsha heaved, her cocks twitching with need while she steadied herself. “I have another appointment soon. I don’t want to make a huge mess under—”

There was a knock at the door, causing Lingsha to groan. “Yes, come in.” She responds, casting a glare towards you so you don’t get any ideas. You simply smile at her and lick your lips, trying to play innocent as the next customer comes inside. As Lingsha is talking however, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her, her cocks throbbing tantalizingly in front of you just begging for you to touch her. 

It didn’t take long for you to grasp one of her shafts again and take the other one in your mouth, causing Lingsha to stutter mid sentence.

“Is something wrong Miss Lingsha?”

“N-No— nngh…everything is fine!” 

Her thighs twitched as she felt your mouth engulf her bulbous tip, biting her bottom lip as she shot a messy load down your throat while the other one completely coated your hands in her cum. It was a miracle she even managed to keep quiet as she did, especially in front of another customer.

“Oh, alright then. So, I was looking for a remedy…”

As the customer trailed off, Lingsha subtly shot a glare at you from above the desk, watching as you licked up traces of her cum and cleaned her cocks up. Nevertheless, it was still quite a mess down there, but Lingsha had bigger things to worry about. 

It will be a long day before her lunch break with you under there.

HERTA

“Madame Herta! Are you in there? Madame Herta?”

Furious knocks rapped at Herta’s office door, but the scientist didn’t utter a single peep. Too engrossed in showering you with affection as you sat on your mistress’ lap, all Herta could hear were the cute whines that left your throat and the lewd squelches of your cunt gripping her strap like it was the last one in the universe. 

“Madame Herta! Your meeting is in half an hour!” 

Herta simply rolled her eyes at her assistant’s frantic words. The other society members wouldn’t dare start the meeting without her, they could wait a little while longer while Herta busied herself with you. Yes, there’s no need to rush. Herta is just going to sit right here and have you squirm on her cock until you can't take it anymore. It had been weeks since she finally had the chance to be alone with you, and she wasn’t going to pull out anytime soon. 

“…Herta?”

“Quiet now.” She tsks and drums her fingers against her desk, not even facing you as she was staring directly at the way her strap sucked deeper into your cunt. She chewed her bottom lip and noted how much slick was gathering at the base of her cock, the white ring surrounding the silicone making her imagine you cleaning it off with your mouth. ‘Her lips would look beautiful sucking me off…’ Herta wonders to herself ‘Maybe I can hide her under the table at the meeting…no, too risky. Ruan Mei would notice easily.’

“Herta…” You whine again, wanting her to pay attention to you. She was, technically speaking, but you wanted her to look at you instead of drooling over your pussy. “What is it, you needy girl?” Herta exhaled sharply, finally looking up at you and pinching your cheek. “I’m just admiring you for a second and you’re already complaining. Honestly, I should leave you here right now and not even bother to make you come.”

“No!” You exclaim desperately, clinging to her shoulders and looking up at her with big, teary eyes. Herta could be so mean to you sometimes! You just wanted her attention, and it didn’t help that she kept edging you instead of moving like she promised. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Now you’re going to make me look like the bad guy.” Herta sighed and cupped your face, giving your cheek a small pinch. “I am merely teasing, little one. But I can see when you’ve had enough.” 

She kissed your pouting, plump lips and shifted her hips, the snuggled strap on starting to plow into you at a shallow pace. The tip of the faux cock pounded relentlessly against that little bundle of nerves that had you arching your back. Oh how pretty you looked whining in front of Herta…your girlfriend had to hold herself back from reaching for her phone and taking a few photos of you bouncing. Tits in her face and your pussy creaming around her cock, Herta was starting to lose her cool. 

“Mm, that’s right…bounce on my cock little one, you need to come don’t you? Come for me…” Herta gave your rear a tiny pat and pulled you in for a kiss, lost in tasting your tongue and swallowing up any moans you let out. 

“Miss Herta!”

“Mmmph…five more minutes!” Herta pulled away from you with a growl in her tone, glaring at her assistant through the door as the string of saliva connecting you broke. “Tell the other members to wait just a little longer, I am finishing something important.” 

Right on top of the papers that Herta needed for her meeting, she grabbed your waist and hoisted you up to sit at her desk, pounding you into the table and soiling her precious reports with your cum. She didn’t care, honestly. So long as she had proof of your private time together, Herta was satisfied. 

[specialgradefckr]

thinking about bullying nerd!gojo.

shoving him against lockers. punching him in the arm, tripping him whenever he walks past, throwing his textbooks in the trash.

you sneer at him for being a nerd (you're in the same advanced classes), steal his fancy bento box lunches, make him carry your books between classes, even force him to be your errand boy.

he's asking for it, really. with those stupid digimon keychains on his bag -

"how did you know it's digimon?" "shut the fuck up, nerd."

his anime stickers -

"neon genesis evangelion? how can you like that anime? all the characters are so messed up!" "hehe, asuka best girl~"

and how he loaded up his stupid fancy walkman exclusively with anime openings -

"you wanna listen?" "no! hand it over to me or i'm telling the teacher."

nerd!satoru gojo who could very easily fight you off.

even though he's a bean pole (as you frequently point out), he's a lot stronger than you realize - hidden by his long sleeves and sweater vests and loose ("comfortable!") clothing.

oh, he plays weak in front of you. suguru gets a real kick out of it, but you're not any nicer to him.

"satoru, what the hell are you doing? just walk past."

you shoot the goth a scathing glare, "nobody asked you, edgelord freak."

"at least i have a style," suguru bites back. he's more than used to getting looks.

"yeah, and it's shit. fuck off."

"you-"

suguru is about to release an especially pointed remark on your lack of friends, perceived financial status, and general shitty personality that somehow managed to be worse than his idiot best friends', but satoru gives him an absolutely withering glare. icy.

"yeah, suguru," he parrots, "fuck off."

"you shut up!" you snap immediately, "i wasn't done with you!"

suguru doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

this song and dance has been going on for years now, and you're all seniors.

"oh! yeah, of course, sorry," satoru beams at you, "you wanted to study together after school?"

you'd been threatening him to hand over his homework.

suguru supposes, in satoru's deranged mind, oversaturated with media references and calculus formulas, this might sound like a date.

"fine," you snap in exasperation, "however the hell you want to do it. just be there, all right?"

"of course! i'd never let you down!" he's nodding eagerly as you huff, release his collar, and stalk away.

"wait up!" satoru whines, gathering his books and trailing after you like a dumb puppy.

"fucking keep up, nerd, i'm not slowing down for you," you say, as you slow down for him.

for fuck's sake. it's a miracle two people this dense could even meet each other, and somehow, you're both in advanced classes.

if you don't fuck by the end of the school year, suguru thinks he's actually going to die.

[lila-kriegerin]

OMG, OP!

I was just about to suggest "Now & Then "

but I saw it in your tags.

I'm so sorry this may look like an unhinged rant no one asked for, but someone has to tell people younger than me what I know, so I spent 2 hours crafting a reply/follow-up/addendum to you post, OP. Please forgive any formatting errors. I tried to keep things simple and engaging but a few things may look a little bit odd depending on what sort of device you're viewing it on. I couldn't take the risk of making all the text too small

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQLVzTtt2Ws

The biggest problem trying to find similar films is that they often involve at least two of the girls having some kind of relationship to boys causing drama (I'm looking at you, "Sisterhood Of The Travelling Pants "... and others) whereas a film like "Dead Poets Society " is definitely in that pseudo-homoerotic and explicitly homoerotic range of storytelling.

Why do you think "Little Women" was popular for so long? It was the 1oth century literary equivalent with the requisite brush with death and loss so common to an era before even antibiotics existed... and loss and grief still happen today.

It's true that so few are like "Newsies " and "West Side Story ", but DON'T sleep on hits like "Annie" &

🥁 drumroll, please 🥁

Want to guess what was the first obviously gay song featured in a film from Hollywood (after the Hayes Code)?

The First Gay Anthem: Calamity Jane's 'Secret Love'

It's not "West Side Story " because it's a western frontier musical, and they skirted the lines as hard as they could to have a nice Christian young woman fancying a "tomboy": Calamity Jane (who by historical record seems to have favoured women and men).

Though based on American Western folklore, this premise clearly imitated the successful 1950 film version of Irving Berlin's Broadway musical Annie Get Your Gun, about Wild West sharpshooter Annie Oakley.

But instead of a make-over, Calamity Jane gives its tough-gal heroine a powerfully symbolic pistol; her masculine aggression plays with sexual identity through gestures enlarged to the point of farce. And then it goes deeper--into emotional confusion that grows from Jane taking on supposed male habits. Doris Day brings comic overstatement to Jane's complex repression of her own instincts. Like many a closet case, she exhibits a self-defeating willingness to fit into a male-dominated culture. Her tough mannerisms are also designed to protect her hidden, vulnerable emotions.

You have to dig.

Dig deep, and be willing to watch a film with a different spoken language and culture, but there are some parallels.

Consider the Britney Spears film, which I believe is called "Crossroad(s)" in English. [Sorry, I don't have time to look up the title.]

Now— what if there were a film that's something a bit like a lesbian equivalent?

Touch

A Chinese movie produced/sponsored by the sapphic dating app Rela. It follows three girls on a road trip. Chinese language with English subtitles.

I've never, EVER seen any website draw direct comparisons to other films that way, such as:

If you loved "She's The Man" but want it more sapphic (though ultimately thwarted by the producer), you can't miss "Bend It Like Beckham"!

The photo which was posted by OP DOES contain valid points!! (No one is going to treat you "like a man/boy" unless they truly think that's what you are, and society DOES socialise people differently, so: how would a group of teenage girls or very young adult women ever have experiences identical to those in a film like "Dead Poet's Society"?)

Nevertheless, there are some similar films that are comparable:

"Superbad" — "Booksmart".

I decided to hyperfocus trying to think up some equivalents to "Dead Poet's Society".

Here's a quick comparison I spent far too much time on:

If you’re looking for a Dead Poets Society equivalent with mostly female characters, a few films capture that same blend of deep emotional intimacy, artistic passion, and repressed desire. Here are the best contenders:

1. Mädchen in Uniform (1931 & 1958)

This is the OG queer boarding school drama. Set in a strict Prussian girls' school, it follows a young student, Manuela, who falls in love with her teacher, Fräulein von Bernburg. The film is explicitly homoerotic in a way that Dead Poets Society is only suggestive of—there’s longing glances, whispered affections, and a stifling environment that tries to crush individuality and desire. Like Neil, Manuela faces tragic consequences for daring to express herself.

Cracks (2009) — If Dead Poets Society were darker and more explicitly about queer desire, it would be Cracks. This film follows a group of girls at a remote British boarding school under the spell of their charismatic teacher, Miss G (Eva Green, in all her seductive, unhinged glory). When a new student arrives, power struggles and hidden obsessions unravel. It has all the repression, poetry, and tragic queerness you could want.

Heavenly Creatures (1994) — Peter Jackson (yes, Lord of the Rings Peter Jackson) directed this feverishly intense drama about two schoolgirls in 1950s New Zealand—Pauline and Juliet—whose bond becomes so consuming that it leads to murder. Like Dead Poets Society, it’s about breaking free from repression, but it takes a much darker turn. The homoerotic tension between the girls is undeniable, and the fantasy world they create as an escape mirrors the way the DPS boys use poetry to carve out their own space in a suffocating environment.

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) — This one’s all about atmosphere—a haunting, dreamlike film about a group of girls at an Australian boarding school who mysteriously vanish during a picnic. While there’s no overt romance, the film is full of lingering touches, dreamy stares, and a pervading sense of longing and repression. The rigid Victorian setting and the contrast between the natural world and societal constraints make it feel spiritually connected to DPS.

The Falling (2014) — Starring Florence Pugh and Maisie Williams, this film is weird and hypnotic. It’s set in an all-girls school in the 1960s and follows a mysterious fainting epidemic that spreads through the students. It has the same themes of teenage rebellion, deep female friendships that tip into obsession, and an oppressive institution trying to crush individual expression.

Céline and Julie Go Boating (1974) — This is a more whimsical, surreal take on female friendship and creativity. It follows two women who fall into a bizarre, looping story in a haunted house, constantly re-experiencing and altering the narrative. It has a Dead Poets Society vibe in the sense that it’s about escaping rigid reality through art and imagination, but with a queer-coded, magical twist.

If you want the closest equivalent to "Dead Poets Society"...

..."Mädchen in Uniform" or "Cracks" are your best bets, and Cracks more than Mädchen in Uniform

because the latter is so old fashioned that to further scandalise viewers they paired a teacher with a student.

If you want something more poetic and atmospheric, "Picnic at Hanging Rock" or "The Falling" will scratch that itch.

If all of that is too gay for you (gofuckyourself, tee-hee)

You really, REALLY should try

"Mona Lisa Smile".

(...and if it's not too gay for you, then go watch CRACKS right now!)

"Mona Lisa Smile" [hereafter referred to as MLS] is often called the "Dead Poets Society" [hereafter, DPS] for women, and yeah, it certainly hits a lot of the same beats—

an outsider teacher inspiring students to challenge societal norms,

a prestigious school that values obedience over individuality, and

a group of young people grappling with expectations that threaten to suffocate them.

Where DPS is about breaking free through poetry and self-expression, MLS is about that sort of thing tosome degree, but more about feminism, gender roles, and the fight for intellectual freedom in a world that wants women to be just wives and mothers.

Similarities to Dead Poets Society

The Inspirational Teacher as a Catalyst for Change

In DPS, John Keating (Robin Williams) shakes up Welton Academy’s rigid, tradition-obsessed environment with poetry and passion.

In MLS, Katherine Watson (Julia Roberts) does the same at Wellesley College, using art history to challenge her students’ pre-ordained roles as perfect housewives.

Both teachers are NOT merely instructing— they’re awakening their students, making them see the world differently, and often doing so in ways that put them at odds with their school’s administration.

The Oppressive Institution and Its Ideals

Welton Academy is a suffocating prep school that values discipline over creativity, much like Wellesley College in the 1950s. They outwardly promote academic excellence but ultimately groom women to become ideal wives. (T_T)

Both films show how these institutions uphold deeply ingrained traditions that resist change, even when it's clearly needed.

Both films show some of the human cost of trying, and giving up.

A Group of Students at a Crossroads

Just like Todd, Neil, and the rest of the DPS boys who struggle between expectation and their own desires, the young women in MLS— Joan, Betty, Giselle, and Connie—each navigate their own battles between societal pressure and personal ambition.

Joan (Julia Stiles) mirrors Todd.

Betty (Kirsten Dunst) is like a mix of Cameron and Richard from DPS.

Giselle (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is the Charlie of the group.

The Tragedy of Repression

DPS’s tragedy is clear: someone's dreams are crushed & there is a heartbreaking su*c*de [all the trigger warnings apply]. MLS doesn’t have a singular moment that tragic, but its heartbreak is quieter—seeing some brilliant young women choose societal expectations over their own ambitions because it feels like the only option... that is definitely going to haunt some people more than it may haunt white cis-hetero male viewers.

In both films, someone (one you probably like most of all, in both films) will have something horrible happen to them by their own choice, and that is very haunting.

Additionally, I dont think it's too big a spoiler to say oth films end with the teacher leaving— but to say why would spoil the endings of the films.

The last scenes mirror each other emotionally: in DPS & MLS, a quiet, bittersweet goodbye with both endings suggesting that while the teacher is gone, the ideas they planted will live on.

Key Differences

The Central Conflict

DPS is about breaking free from repression through art and poetry. It’s about passion, self-expression, and the fight for creative freedom.

MLS is about that too, though with more of a (*cough*white*cough*cough*) feminist focus on gender roles, feminism, and intellectual independence to have intellectual and self growth as an individual— and it asks whether women can truly be free when they’re still expected to conform to outdated expectations.

Homoerotic "Sub"text

[be honest: if you miss it in either film you're in denial or unobservent and that is your own journey you need to take]

DPS is filled with homoerotic tension, especially between Todd and Neil. The intimacy between the boys—the longing glances, the whispered poetry, the emotional weight of their friendships—feels deeply charged.

If you DEMAND that level of queerness, MLS ain't it.

MLS has some queer subtext, particularly with [one character], who is coded as more fluid in her sexuality, but the film doesn’t lean into that as much as DPS does because it's focused more on the pseudo-historical narrative from the book upon which it was based.

Don't forget that DPS came out to cinemas...

THEN "The Craft" did,

THEN "Cruel Intentions" did,

THEN MLS.

DPS was intentionally pushing boundaries of censors for queer story-telling when the USA was still afraid for gay people to peck each other with a little kiss on the lips on television before 10 PM.

DPS ends in a tragedy that reinforces the cost of defying the system— [spoilers redacted], and the boys are [narratively] left in a state which leaves the viewers feeling a bittersweet limbo.

MLS is perhaps a bit more hopeful; and although the school seemingly remains unchanged, things in that world have definitely shifted for the characters.

Their worlds aren't fully transformed though for MLS, it’s beginning to open up, but MLS leaves viewers with their own bittersweet limbo like DPS[-lite] with a sliver of a dash of hope.

Final Verdict:

"Mona Lisa Smile" is "Dead Poets Society" through a differing feminist lens.

It swaps poetry for art,

an all-boys school for an all-girls college, and

queer-coded male friendships for female students fighting for their intellectual freedom.

It has the same spirit—

a teacher who inspires students to think for themselves, an oppressive institution trying to maintain order, and young people wrestling with societal expectations.

However, where DPS is a tale of tragic repression, MLS leans toward quiet rebellion— not a fiery "O Captain, My Captain" moment, but a slow, steady push toward change.

just saw this on pinterest and it hit me like a truck

[hrrtshape]

EMMA±??±?±?±?±??!?!?!?!OMGORMGOGMG????? STORYTIME HELLOW WHERE DID U EVEN SHIFT TO

i spent 15 days in the upper east side and now i have an existential crisis about my real life (but in a hawt way)

unlike my previous shifts, where i’d spend 10 minutes, maybe 20, dipping my toes into a life so much better than this one, i spent fifteen whole days in my better cr. fifteen days ago, i woke up in my king-sized bed with 1000-thread-count sheets and realised i had, in fact, won in life.

i had done it. no brief glimpse, no fleeting moment before snapping back to my real-world peasantry. fifteen days. enough time for a full socialite saga and to meet my beau!?!?!??! enough time to wake up in pyjamas which might as well been the most comfortable thing i've ever worn, hear the distant clatter of someone else in the other rooms, and stretch luxuriously as if i were in a renaissance painting. i could smell money in the air FOLKS!?!?!!!! not new money, but old money, the kind that sits heavy in the walls (!??!?!?), the kind that makes people say your last name like it means something. and this was my life. MY LIFE. at last. took it long enough.

the first morning, and you have to understand my main character syndrome for this, i stepped out onto the balcony, the manhattan skyline.....mhmhmhmhmhm....mhm. mhm. mhmm. stretching before me like a personal prophecy, and i felt it in my bones!!!!!!: this was home. MY HOME. okay. so. then i went around, you know, exploring my little room (not little...) and girl the moment i stepped in front of a mirror.......WHO'S THIS BABE???? yea. yea. i even had a cat !!!!

then i went to school. sorry, went, i mean DRIVE. now, here’s the dealio. i had scripted myself into this effortlessly put-together, socially untouchable, well-adjusted manhattan teen heiress life. but there were gaps in my logic. big ones. like, for example: i couldn't drive. i didn't know how to drive !!!

and yet, there i was in the morning in my super super super sSUPPPERRR cutesie school uniform, keys in hand, standing in front of a car (a Porsche, people, a porsche!!!) that looked like it cost more than my entire life back in my cr. so, i acted like i totally knew what i was doing. slid into the driver’s seat with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before, adjusted the mirrors like i had a clue, and started the car.

and then? i picked up lily-rose depp.

(she's not an actress in this dr, by the way. just my best friend. which is infinitely cooler.)

she didn't even question everything. just said i looked really hawt today. i was blessed. seriously. like i'm typing this and also screaming i want to go back.

somehow. miraculously. i got us to school in one piece. st. lazarus international college. it looked like a cathedraland felt like a warzone. we pulled up alongside a line of obnoxiously expensive cars (not a single honda in sight!?!?!?!?), and i barely had time to breathe before stepping out onto the pavement, uniform pristine, COACH. MOTHAUFCKING COACH TOTE bag slung over my shoulder like i was about to solve world hunger instead of sit through calculus (that shi fucking sucked btw !!!! but my school's classrooms were drop dead gorgeous).

anyways. i now have to brush upon something that made me almost let out a humongous squeal when i saw him. CORIOLANUS. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes,ewfygweuvbuihweiusvbgiweu`rs. i saw him. yep. yep. i had to slap myself. metaphorically.

SO. i had scripted that on my first day, i would give coriolanus snow a nosebleed.

and !?!??!?!?!!?! IT SUCCEEDED. when i first saw him, he was leaning against a row of lockers like he owned the place and i swear to god i almost moaned. crisp white shirt, tie loose, cheekbones sharp enough to wound, eyes narrowed. pray.

HO. HE WINKED AT ME. and then i walked past him with my bfffffff lily-rose and. and. and. nosebleed. bro. bro. bro. BROSKI. the way he blinked..........the way his breath hitched just a little as the first drop of blood slid over his cupid’s bow. the WAY he tilted his head back, tongue darting out briefly over his lip. oh my god. i was actively fighting to not go and jump on him and like do vile disgusting things.

i had won the war, but at what cost?

because he was so hot.

SO FUCKING HAWT.

uh. so. yeah. that was just the first two hours of my better cr, and it was already putting my entire existence to shame. like, objectively, scientifically, undeniably better than anything i have ever done in my cr.

ssssoooooo. IF ANYONE WANTS TO HEAR MORE…do let me know. because, hands clasped, eyes glistening, heart on the verge of combustion, i am being so serious. this was the peak of my human experience. i have tasted divinity PEOPLE. i have lived too well. i fear i must go back, or else i will experience genuine withdrawals from the lack of my paramour’s face in my daily visuals.

so yeah. if you’re curious… hit me up. (evil, knowing laughter echoing into the abyss)

OH AND. whenever i'd go to sleep there i'd like cry out of fear that i'd wake up in my cr but whenever i'd wake up just...there...i'd literally pray to god. BECCAUSE EIJISEJFEWUSHFIHEJI. i'm there.

anyway, i am so not okay about this. i keep coming back to edit, rewrite, relive. but okay. listen. if you ever had even a sliver of doubt about shifting, i am kneeling right now, hands clasped, eyes wide with conviction, telling you!!!!!!!

SHIFTING IS SO FUCKING REAL.

it’s real in a way that defies logic, in a way that makes the air feel electric, in a way that rewires your entire understanding of existence. so real. so unimaginably real.

[adieutristana]

hii! could i request the arcane women comforting reader on her period?

of course! thank you for the request <3

b2b by charli xcx on repeat yuuuup

summary; headcanons of the arcane women comforting their girlfriend on her period.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, maddie

tags/warnings; menstruation, fluff, comfort, suggestive (jinx's section), reader has hell periods, mentions of poor mental health, can't think of anything else honestly

minors and men dni.

jinx;

✧.* idk why, but i headcanon that jinx is one of those super lucky girls who has really light 3-4 day long periods. basically nothing at all.

✧.* so when you told her that your periods were long, and heavy, and painful, she was honestly taken aback. jinx was a bit puzzled as to how that's possible.

✧.* "but mine aren't that bad! are you suuure?"

✧.* she doesn't mean anything by it, she's just genuinely perplexed. sometimes it's difficult for jinx to put these kinds of things into perspective. however, the second she sees you doubled over in pain, clutching your stomach and whimpering in pain, her instincts kick in and she's rushing to your side.

✧.* "oh- oh, toots, are you okay?! what happened? why d'ya look so hurt?" she'd ask, crouching down next to you with panic evident in her voice.

✧.* "just... on my period," you'd strain. "nothing out of the ordinary. don't worry about me."

✧.* jinx absolutely will worry about you, though. she's by your side, asking you what you need. since her own periods are so mild, she doesn't know exactly where to start with this sort of thing. but she's doing her best.

✧.* she'll research! she finds out all about the cravings, mood swings, pains, and how to soothe all of those things. she nerds out when she gets to research anyways, but she'll go above and beyond to make sure her girl is comfortable and happy. as much as you can be during shark week, anyways.

✧.* the same day she finds you in pain, she's swiping things from shelves of pharmacies and convenience stores like no tomorrow. pain medicine, water bottles that she plans to heat up, chocolates, tubs of ice cream, blankets, lots of sanitary products. hell, she'll even burn a few dvds so the two of you can have movie nights. jinx doesn't do anything halfway, especially not something like this.

✧.* even more clingy than normal somehow. i imagine jinx runs pretty cold, but also has a lot of natural body heat, if that makes sense? she uses the guise of being your 'built-in heating pad,' though anyone can tell she just wants to be close to you and comfort you. she'll have both her arms and legs wrapped around you, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck and peppering kisses along the soft skin.

✧.* "mm.. don't mind me, sugar. just wanna be here for 'ya, help you feel better 'n all that."

✧.* she's got such a sweet tooth, jinx might swipe a few of the snacks she stole for you while you're not looking... sorry. she can't help herself

✧.* will try to distract you to the best of her ability. movie nights as i said, as well as taking you around the streets of zaun (when you can manage to stand upright), gaming with you and purposely letting you win just so she can see your smile and hear your laugh.

✧.* along with the extra clingy thing, jinx will not let you out of your sight until she's absolutely sure that you're off your period. it's not that she doesn't think you can handle yourself, but she just worries so much. part of her knows it's irrational, but seeing you in so much pain eats at her inside, makes her afraid that she's going to lose you. even though it's just a natural part of your cycle

✧.* she's also read that other kinds of relief can be especially helpful for cramps, so you know jinx will be offering that to you if you know what i mean.

vi;

✧.* oh she's right there with you.

✧.* has the worst fucking periods known to man. it's like she's completely MIA as soon as it hits every month, she's just dead to the world. trust me, she understands.

✧.* which means that she can help you that much better! she knows firsthand what it's like and what works for her, but she also knows that it's not a one-size-fits-all situation. it'll take a bit of time, but vi knows what she's doing.

✧.* she's already got a stash of things lined up for you in her bathroom the day after you tell her you've gotten your period. panty liners, pads, tampons of different sizes. she doesn't even bother asking what you prefer to use, she just wants you to have the options depending on what you need at what time. only the best for her girl

✧.* fridge, freezer and cupboards are also full to the brim of your favorite snacks, the best medications. candies, chocolates, baked goods, ice cream, pain relief... all the good stuff.

✧.* don't even bother asking where she got all this stuff and how she could afford it, just let vi take care of you.

✧.* "shh, cupcake. that's for me to worry about. you sit your pretty self down and let me do all the hard work, 'kay?"

✧.* has heated blankets and water bottles ready for you at all times! the second she hears the slightest whimper of pain from you she's got the water bottle in her hand, instructing you to lean back so she can put it against your lower abdomen. she'll stay with you to make sure you're okay. she needs that reassurance both for you and herself.

✧.* vi is the type of lover who can't rest until she knows for sure that you're okay, regardless of how much you tell her that you're alright.

✧.* "i'm fine, baby. really, you don't need to worry about me." you'd say, though the way your face contorted in discomfort betrayed your words. "are you sure? you can't fool me, pretty. i know you're hurting. just let me help you. that's what i'm here for."

✧.* she also knows that insomnia comes with menstruation at times, so she'll make sure you sleep in her bed until you're off your period. holding you close, rubbing soothing circles over your back and stomach to help relieve some of the pain for you. don't worry about clinging to her, don't worry about how long it takes you to fall asleep or even the possibility of bleeding onto her sheets. vi just wants to make you feel comfortable, she'll take care of everything later.

✧.* doesn't let you do a damn thing for yourself. she almost treats you as if you're made of glass. it's not that thinks you're helpless, vi knows damn well just how fierce and independent you are. but she also enjoys taking care of you and knowing she's making your life easier.

✧.* "i'm on my period, not helpless." you'd protest, crossing your arms over your chest with a light pout. vi would chuckle to herself, playfully pinching one of your cheeks. "i know, i know. but i just wanna do this for you, okay? let me take care of you."

mel;

✧.* mel probably knows your cycle by heart after a certain amount of time being with you. not in a creepy way, but she's just that connected and attuned to you.

✧.* she'll come to you a few days before she knows you're due for your period, concern evident in her tone. "are you starting to cramp at all, dear?" she'd ask, or something along the lines of, "i know you're due soon. no discomfort? any cravings? you can tell me these things, darling."

✧.* she has a constant stash of things and she knows your preferences when it comes to hygiene products, snacks, medicine, all of your favorite comforts. she truly knows you like the back of your hand.

✧.* she'll be taking off work for you as well, as much as you protest and assure her that you're okay. realistically, mel knows sure and well that you're okay. but she still wants that time to be with you and make sure that you're comfortable and you're in as little pain as possible. it's more for her own peace of mind.

✧.* her own are honestly pretty moderate, not too bad but not exactly pleasant either. though again, she's attuned to your own senses and knows exactly what you need.

✧.* mel will be basically attached to you by the hip. she doesn't let you out of her sight for a second out of pure worry for you and your well-being. seeing you nauseous, craving the most odd foods, doubled over in pain, it hurts your girlfriend to even think about. she knows she can't outright prevent all of that, but it'll ease her mind to be there by your side.

✧.* mel doesn't insist that you take it easy, she knows that life goes on despite everything. she doesn't want to hover over you too much, but again, she'll be by your side. helping you run errands, walking you to and from work, watching from the sidelines as you do those little things that make you happy. painting, reading, writing... any of it.

✧.* it's a well-known fact that she loves to spoil you, so if you mention wanting anything at all, she won't even go out and buy it for you. she'll take you to the store with her and tell you to just buy whatever you'd like. no limits.

✧.* "anything at all, beautiful. let me treat you." "but mel, this is-" she'd shush you lightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "too much? nonsense. i can handle it, you just tell me what you need. it pains me to see you so uncomfortable, regardless of how natural it is."

✧.* holding onto you so tightly, and you just know mel would give the best massages. literally anywhere that's sore, she'll massage for you with such love and care. her fingertips are a bit calloused and rough, but always so soft with you.

✧.* also runs you warm baths and even tosses in salts and flowers! they help her a lot when she's having period-related pains, so she hopes they'll have the same effect on you. she's happy to leave you to yourself, or sit near the edge of the tub and just talk to you. whatever would make you the most comfortable and happy.

sevika;

✧.* she's also got pretty mild periods, but she is very attuned to you and your senses. sevika can't exactly feel your pain and discomfort, though she knows how to ease it.

✧.* trust me when i say that she's got a good supply of things for you. all the sanitary products you could need, extra-strength pain medications, heated blankets, heat pads, snacks, the whole nine yards. uncomfortable and hurting? not on sevika's watch.

✧.* "just tell me what ya need, darlin'. you know i'll get it." she'd say, spooning you tightly while one hand rests over your lower stomach. you'd mumble light protests, but she wouldn't have it. "i know you're okay, babe. you tell me that enough. but i still wanna help, okay?"

✧.* so touchy and so clingy. sevika doesn't want to let go of you for a second, not if she can help it. whether that be holding you from behind while you move about the kitchen cooking, holding you close to her in bed, keeping an arm around your waist as you saunter around the lanes together, or brushing her lips against your forehead, she relishes that contact. especially when you're vulnerable like this.

✧.* she still has things to do. unfortunately, sevika's job isn't really one that she can take time off from, as much as she'd like to. but the second she gets off work, she's back home, by your side. your girlfriend is so loyal, so doting when it comes to you. a side of the usually gruff woman that's reserved exclusively for you.

✧.* she also won't hinder you from doing anything for yourself, the last thing she needs is for you to feel both excruciating pain and helplessness at the same time. however, sevika makes it clear that she's happy to take over whatever task you need if it gets to be too much.

✧.* you could be in the middle of a task when a cramp suddenly hits you, making you nearly fold in half and clutch at your stomach. "hey, what's wrong?" sevika would ask, cold metal against your shoulder. "cramps? come on, i'll take it from here. you go lay down."

✧.* do not worry about needing to ask for help with sevika. ever. she's more than happy to provide it for you, don't worry about asking for 'too much' or being 'too demanding.' you're her girlfriend, and you're on your period. there's no such thing as either of those with her.

✧.* "come on. you know whatever it is, i'll do it for you. so tell me," she'd pause, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow in that way she typically does, "what do you need, dove?"

✧.* also super attentive during sleep, would probably stay up just so that she can make sure you're okay and sleeping through the night. sevika is used to running on little to no sleep, thank her line of work. she'll try to keep it quiet, not let you know that she's observing, but she just worries. she wants to make sure you aren't suffering any bouts of insomnia. that, and seeing your peaceful expression during slumber is a plus.

caitlyn;

✧.* caitlyn gets it, she really does. one of piltover's strongest enforcers and officials, but struck down once a month by menstruation. something had to take her down a notch.

✧.* she knows exactly what'll help her, and she hopes it'll help you too. though she gives you options, since she knows you probably won't have all the same preferences as her when it comes to sanitary products, snacks, care, etc. cait will take her time so that she gets your routine down pat, before she eventually just has everything stocked in her home for when the time inevitably comes every month.

✧.* caitlyn is constantly checking in on you. she’ll ask you about every little thing, making sure that you’re not straining too hard, not in too much pain. you could be sitting on your bed, folding towels, and caitlyn would ask something like, “are you sure that’s not too much right now? if your back or stomach is hurting, i can take over.”

✧.* she’ll want to keep you at home with her on the days that are the hardest on you. the days where you’re groaning in pain, you can barely think straight from just how uncomfortable you are. when you’re an emotional mess from the mood swings and crying over a puppy you saw on the street. she wants to be there to comfort you and help you get back on your feet.

✧.* “shh… love, it’s fine. i know, that puppy was adorable.” you’d sniffle, looking up at her with pleading eyes. “can we get one, cait? please?” she’d chuckle quietly, letting out a heavy sigh. “maybe when i don’t have so much on my plate.”

✧.* she's on top of your every need. in pain? here's a bottle of painkillers. cravings? she's already got whatever you need. in the case that she doesn't, caitlyn is in the kitchen making something for you herself. she'll be damned if she lets her girlfriend go unsatisfied, especially on her period.

✧.* she'd be so doting especially when it comes to the pain, caitlyn wants to just hold you until all of the cramps are gone. realistically, she knows there's not much she can do besides offer a few over-the-counter methods. she's gonna have to wait until they run their course, but it doesn't make her want to cling to you any less. she wishes she could hold you and you'd feel the rest of the world melt away

✧.* "fuck, cait, it hurts," you'd whimper, clinging tight to the girl with your brows knitted together. she'd softly hush you, her one hand slipping under the fabric of your top to run soothing circles over your lower back. "i know, darling. i'm here, it'll be alright."

✧.* cait would run you warm baths as well, she's at your side the entire times. she'll throw in flower petals and salts, maybe even a bath bomb if it'll make you happy. not only will it help ease the pain, but making you feel cared for in this time is of the upmost importance to her. yes, you feel gross, but you don't have to! look at the nice bath she drew you! she'll even help wash you off if you need it, or she's happy to just stay by your side and talk to you as you soak.

maddie;

✧.* maddie's own are pretty moderate, but she has a cut-and-dry routine she's stuck to as a teenager. works like a charm every time her period rolls around, so she hopes those methods will work for you. though, if they don't, maddie will immediately stop and regroup.

✧.* maddie i don't think would be super in tune with everything.. i apologize. she'll connect the dots after she sees you hunched over in pain or with a bottle of painkillers in one hand and a tub of ice cream in the other, but she won't be able to pick up on it right away like some others might.

✧.* but that doesn't make her any less good at comforting you, let's make that abundantly clear. as soon as she catches onto what's happening, she's basically waiting on you hand and foot. maddie is devoted!

✧.* now of course, she's a junior officer. maddie can't be by your side as often as she'd like to, unfortunately. she likes her job, but sometimes she curses it for holding her back from her girlfriend in times of need.

✧.* so she second she's allowed off the job, she's swinging the door open with a bag full of snacks to make her presence known. "i'm home, darlin'! where are ya?" she'd announce, glancing around the empty space before her eyes land on you. "oh, there you are. here, i brought these back! sorry, i know i was gone for a while, but i'm here now, yeah?"

✧.* however, you'll have to ask for a lot of what you need. maddie knows that you're independent and capable of helping yourself, so she doesn't want to assume unless she knows for sure that you're incapable of it because of pain or discomfort. that's one of the things she doesn't really budge on. if you're able to voice what's bothering you, she'll be more than happy to be of help!

✧.* also really, really good at distracting you. she'll put on movies, plug in cassettes of your favorite albums, talk to you for hours on end about nothing and everything simultaneously. maddie figures that if she can take your mind off of it, that's better than just waiting out the discomfort.

✧.* she kinda sucks at cooking. sorry.. but! she'd still make sure any cravings of yours are filled. freezer is packed to the brim with ice cream, and she's got lots of sugary treats for you in her cupboards. i also would imagine she lives basically smack in the middle of piltover, next to a lot of vendors and convenience stores. so on the off-chance she doesn't have something you need, she's already on her way to grab it for you.

✧.* "i'll be right back, okay? just running around the corner. rest assured."

✧.* also so cuddly especially when it comes to being in bed with you. she's already clingy, but you might have to pry her off of you when you're on your period. she hopes you wouldn't want to, though, not when she's got her legs wrapped around your waist and her head nestled into the warmth of your neck.

[hemlock-dreams]

HEMLOCK!!! Have you been playing Dragon Age? You said you'd be MIA because if it. And. Bro. I'm so fucking obsessed with DA. My two biggest obsessions: Dragon Age and Spiderman. If YOU love DA you GOTTA tell me who your favorite character is. And your thoughts on Solas. And Veilguard. And Rook. And Varric. And have you finished the game. And-

I'm sorry I'm so obsessed with this.

Anyway, I want to take your Spidey to freaky town. (What would his reaction be to another Spider popping up? Like Miles or Miguel?)

Yes! Played Veilguard! Been a long time Dragon Age fan, but I don't think that game was quite for me!

In the meantime:

Peter and Miguel would actually make a really good team up.

And because I'm a degenerate at heart: SPICY

[rotationalsymmetry]

People keep wanting a narrative of everything's rosy and getting better or things are bad and getting worse, and it's always a mix of things going on.

There are some things that have been getting worse (people who thought the Nazis were kind of cool actually in the 90's and 00's weren't nonexistent, but there were a lot fewer of them, in the US, college used to be something you could put yourself through, police have been getting more militarized, climate change has very much shifted from a thing that might happen if we don't change to a thing that is happening, and we still need to change.) There are some things that have been getting better. Both coexist.

Anyways, on the cool stuff front -- you're always going to end up with a negativity bias from the news, that's just how following the news is -- I remember the first time I saw a poster intended to combat homophobic bullying in an elementary school. It was this utterly sappy thing, they'd held a contest for kids to make the art for it, it was two men holding hands and one of them was holding a baby, it just. You didn't. You just didn't.

Sorry. Words. For a long time there was this association that you know, being gay and being a pedophile were probably related, you know, that it wasn't safe to let gay men be around kids. There were teachers and stuff who lost their jobs. Anyways, I grew up in San Francisco, so, pretty queer-friendly, but there was still this idea that it wasn't quite appropriate to talk to kids about gay people, that it was too much like talking to kids about sex, it wasn't appropriate. There were some movies and stuff for adults with queer characters, but no mention at all in movies and TV shows and comics and so on aimed at younger kids, and if there was any mention in like PG movies it'd be homophobic or transphobic jokes. I mean, you could have Bugs Bunny crossdress, but it'd have to be played off as a joke, you know? (And I'm talking about homophobia against men mostly, but it's not like you saw lesbians in family media either.) So it just, it moved me in ways I have trouble putting into words, this completely wholesome and positive portrayal of Two Dads in an elementary school.

Has anything actually gotten better, for all the work you talk about doing? Or is it just treading water in misery forever?

Anon, ten years ago gay people couldn't get married in large parts of the US. AIDS was an almost certain death sentence when I was in high school. I was looking at job boards the other day and found a part time gas station job that had health insurance as a benefit, which NEVER would have happened 15 years ago. When I was a kid, hitting your child was extremely normalized in the US and my parents were the weird ones for not doing it. There is a vaccine for chicken pox. I didn't meet anyone who had transitioned until my 20s because it was so uncommon to transition in the aughts, and now there are some states that protect your right to have gender affirming care provided by your health insurance. It's not all states, but it's better than the number of states that had it in 2010, which was zero. THERE ARE TENANTS UNIONS NOW. WE HAVE A VACCINE AGAINST CERVICAL CANCER.

And all of that has been the work of a lot of individuals and organizations and research teams and activists.

[namjooningera]

Yandere JJK! With accepting/yandere reader

Characters: Gojo, Nanami, Toji

AN: god I love these sm. I love when the reader is just insane as the characters but I literally never seen these written 😭 if y’all see stuff like this pls tag me 🤺 anyway sorry for the long wait. Also lmk if you want pt2 with Geto, Sukuna, and Choso.

TW: kil*ing, stalking, yandere acts (duh), kidnapped/kidnapping, drugging, slight sexual themes

Gojo:

You met the strongest person on the planet, the most powerful, the Satoru Gojo.

Good looking, smart, funny, powerful. The whole package! And he acknowledged you.

You normally kept to yourself, introverted and alone. It was mostly due to shame. You were born with a cursed power, and became a sorcerer. An average, bottom of the food chain sorcerer. A third grade. You almost made it to second grade- key word: almost. You decided you’d rather just be the principals assistant at jujutsu high, and a backup sorcerer for emergencies. Dragging yourself along doing stupid tasks by the principle Yagas orders, somewhat interacting with other students and teachers, overall achieving nothing.

You were rather ashamed of your abilities. You always knew you had somewhat potential, you could definitely climb the ranks, but you were exhausted. Fighting day and night, your mental health deteriorating- you had no motivation.

Your life was basically empty. No goals, no motivation, a life barely worth living.

Until you met him.

The strongest. You hadn’t realized it until you were called for backup. Some fight the first years got caught up with by accident, with dangerous curses above their grades. You fought them off until you felt an energy breeze into your skin, your skull, in your blood. His energy. His domain.

You were caught in his domain, your body frozen as you felt his aura in your blood, and your body filled with adrenaline.

Ever since you were born you felt something was missing. You felt empty. Like a puzzle missing its most important piece, you were alone in the world and isolated, even while you were surrounded by others.

But the feeling you felt? While his domain surrounded you and caressed you and you felt his energy in your lungs, your eyes, your brain filled with him him him. You knew who was going to give you that last puzzle peice, the person who is that last puzzle piece, the piece to make you feel whole, to make you happy, to make you full.

You hadn’t realized his domain had let go, you were back on your feet, and the threat was gone. You snapped out of it (barely) to check on the students.

You felt it. That motivation you’ve never felt before. You know now what your goal is, to fly up the ranks, to grab his attention, to bring back that feeling and keep it in your grasp, to have the will to live again.

What you didn’t know, was he felt it too.

He felt your cute little heartbeat in his domain.

He felt your energy, an energy that felt… different. There was something different about you.

He breathed in your breathes, he felt your touch, he accepted your gaze, he wanted more. The thought of gently opening your belly to suffocate himself in your small ribs, to hide himself like a cocoon in your small body to be hidden from the world as the “strongest.”

Satoru gojo, was, intrigued.

A feeling he was unfamiliar with.

He was a clingy man for sure- you knew that as he whined at your side for attention as you talked to Shoko. You couldn’t believe one of the strongest and a teacher at this school was acting so.. blunt.

But even as he continued to act clingy, you couldn’t help but notice he acted that way towards everyone. Of course what you didn’t notice was a different glint in his eye with the way he looked at you then others.

Even with his clinginess, you felt the way he was also detached. You wanted to open his brain, pick apart the pieces and understand why he acted the way he does, why he’s so close but so far, does he even like you?

This went on for several weeks- his clinginess towards you, and yet you felt his distance. You couldn’t stalk him well, knowing with his power he’d most definitely catch you immediately. You instead took a more relaxed approach, something subtle and less.. noticeable.

You were able to get info about him from the other teachers, it wasn’t that hard. Plus, most of the time he yapped it out himself.

You were quite smart with your tactics, subtly using the info about him for your own good. Oh, you just happened to buy kikufuku and just happened to have extra for him. Oh you just happened to wear his favorite colors and put your hair up the way he likes it.

It’s just a coincidence!

You got quite tired though, not seeing any changes. With all the info you put to work and trying to be a better sorcerer while still having assistant duties- you were exhausted.

And then you noticed small trinkets in your home starting to disappear. It wasn’t much; things disappearing as simple as a simple piece of jewelry, a lounging shirt, chapstick, etc…

And of course you didn’t think much of it, you probably misplaced it somewhere anyway.

And then you found a little white hair on your pillow.

“Yeah it’s just down the hall from here.”

You somehow convinced Gojo Satoru to come over to your home (it was incredibly easy), and you led him inside your apartment. He was as excited as always, picking at things, making comments, being his overall cheery happy self.

“Tea?”

“Oh yeah sure.” He answered, following you into the kitchen.

“Grab the tea packets for me?” You’re putting the kettle on the stove, heating up the water. Gojo skips to one of the higher cabinets, opening it and grabbing Jasmine tea packets.

“Hm that’s weird.” You giggle.

“Hm?” He smiled back at you.

“You knew exactly where the tea packets are.”

“…” However he just played it off with nervous laughter and using the excuse that ‘your home is just so organized of course the tea is in this cabinet’ and you just smile sinisterly because you know he’s lying and you know he doesn’t know that you know.

It funny to catch him off guard like that, where he almost trips in himself because you catch something he does, something that could expose him.

You make the tea however as he yaps off about his day, and all you could think about was I can’t let him get away. The more you felt his distance even as his physical body clung to you, the more you felt the motivation he gave you start to drain away.

“So what was the big news you wanted me to come over for?” He giggled, kicking his feet as he sat at the kitchen island with his tea you prepared for him.

“Well… I’m a second grade now!” You squealed, finally accomplishing something you felt worth mentioning.

And of course Gojo is proud of you, why wouldn’t he be?

“That’s amazing sweet cheeks I know you could!” His god awful pet names for you- but you know he’s proud. He stands up to try and give you a hug or pat your head since you stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island but- what the?

His feet are wobbly, and his vision almost instantly goes black the second he gets up, the room spinning as darkness started to consume him.

“I know! Isn’t it just so great? I’ve been working really hard Gojo-sama.” You smile, skipping to him as he starts to fade away. “And it’s all ‘cause of you. I should be thanking you.”

His body finds its way unconscious in your arms, “I can’t thank you enough” you embrace him tednerly, sighing as his entire body rests in your hold, your eyes glancing over at his half drunk laced cup of tea.

It’s weird- he’s never felt this weak.

His body is tied, he’s bound and gagged. As his vision started to clear, he noticed he was in what looked like a basement, a very dimly lit and dull basement. As he started to struggle against his restraints, the tighter it got. He noticed the cursed tags on them, hundreds even. He could break through them, he just needed a bit of time to gather some strength, he was still dizzy after all.

However a familiar figure emerged from the darker parts of the basement, where his sweet beloved crush stood in front of him. His heart raced as he recognized you, in all your gorgeous glory.

“You’re awake, good.” You sigh, lips that curve into that sweet familiar smile he’s loved ever since he first acknowledged you.

“Y/n.” Gojo whispers, his voice muffled by the cloth gagging him, his mind boggled at the idea the sweet innocent weak you could pull something off like this.

“I know this isn’t ideal, Gojo. I’m aware, but I just couldn’t help it. You saved me.” And how come he just noticed the way your eyes glare into hearts, a smile so sinister and cute he couldn’t help but melt.

“Saved?” Drool covering the gagged cloth, trying not to whine against the gag.

“Yes, saved. It’s all you. You know they’ve been talking about making me a teacher? A teacher. I won’t just be.. a nobody.”

And you don’t notice the way his eyes droop onto your face, eyeing your body up and down and dragging his gaze back up to your face. A pink blush covering his cheeks and extra drool leaving his mouth.. even an extra body component that was.. throbbing.

He muffled something against the cloth, whining almost. You rip the gag out his mouth.

“You were never a nobody.” He gasps out.

You sigh. “Always so supportive. I hope you can continue being supportive while your stuck down here. Don’t worry, it’ll only be for a while..” which is a lie, your sure you want to keep him down here for as long as possible. You know it’ll be difficult, having to use your own cursed energy and heavy tags to keep him down and submissive to you, but it’s worth it.

“Y/n.”

“You don’t have to hide anymore- were the same gojo. I know your secrets, I know how you feel about me. You’re stuck with me.”

His eyes are wide and scary now, a gaze your sure will haunt you. You turn your eyes away from him, deciding it would be better to give him some time to settle, to let him relax. But as soon as you turn your body, you hear a loud rip, and your body is slammed onto the floor.

However you realize you aren’t in pain, which is abnormal, until you see he had his infinity around your body to make sure it wasn’t hurt in the way he slammed you down.

Your chest squished against the floor, body firmly planted as Gojos body held you down tightly, his lips pressed closely into the side of your face as he breathed heavily.

“Sweet cheeks- this? All for me?” His lips were in a wide grin, eyes crescents and crazy.

You whine in his grip, trying to struggle out of it. Shit. Your supposed to have the power in this situation not him. He’ll run away now- he thinks your crazy, he’s gonna hurt you, he hates you-

“I’m not stuck with you- you’re stuck with me.” He sighs lustfully against your lips, his hand gripping your jaw into your face, the other holding your smaller body down.

“Your perfect f’me” and his lips finally press against yours, a sweet harmony in crazy.

Nanami:

You’ve always been fond of the house wife ways. You’d watch those mothers with loving husbands walk past you, a little child in their cradle and they giggle and hold each others hands. You know it’s not all giddy and fun and games, a family is a huge deal. A huge deal you’ve never been able to have.

A loving and accepting family? Unconditional love? Yes, you’ve never had that. And you think at this point, you probably never will.

You’re a jujutsu sorcerer. You don’t have time to start a family or even meet a man. But god do you crave it. That domesticity, that life of love and safety. You think this as you kill curses and watch the stinky blood ooze out their green skin, it’s bodies littering the floor.

You’re sick of it. Sick of being a sorcerer. You used to love this. It gave you a thrill to kill curses and save humans, you felt like a hero. But then was when you were a teenager. When you were free and happy. But things change and now you would just like to settle. Settle down, enough work and fighting. You’d like to enjoy your life, being thrown into battle as soon as you hit the ripe age of fifteen.

But alas, as you come back to jujutsu high, nodding at the sorcerers who brush past you. You smell disgusting, the blood and guck had seeped into your clothes and dampened your skin. You feel gross and just need a shower.

But your stoped by a certain teacher and sorcerer, a very annoying man that you grew up with.

“Hey! Y/n!” It’s Gojo, in your face. “You smell gross, you finished them off though right?”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes.

You really have lost the glint in your eyes. That special excitement after you kill a curse, the way you’d brag and jump around after saving people. You don’t really care anymore. It’s a repeat everyday. Just with new curses and different people to save. Yet the same scenario and same situation. And you’re sick. Sick of all of it.

“Anyways, Nanami wanted to talk to you~ hmm let me guess, maybe he finally grew the balls to ask you out?” She smirks at you, glasses down at his nose as he teases you.

You jab him in the rib with your elbow as you walk past him. “Whatever just tell me where he is.”

You’ve always had quite a thing for Nanami. Perhaps he was the reason your craving for such a domestic life. The way he held himself up, responsible and serious. You just knew he’d be an amazing husband. You’ve seen the way he takes care of other people, ever since high school, and you watch as he takes care of his student now.

You sometimes wonder if he’d be a good father. You definitely think he would be. He’s a sweet man and he’s always been. You’ve never seen him raise his voice (except towards Gojo, but that’s normal), he’s always caring and it touches you everytime.

But you know he’s never going to be yours. Your on and off crush on him, you brush it off as just looking up to him. He’s smart, muscular, responsible and very handsome. What’s not to look up to?

But sometimes the love sickness bubbles up in your throat. As you watch him be himself. That one time you had to go on a mission with him, where the children were the victims, and after, he had taken his time to take care of the kids and check up on them one by one. They weren’t hurt, just scared, but he made sure to reassure them check them for wounds. Your heart swelled at that, especially when he came to check on you, too.

Sometimes he makes you angry however. Whenever you see some sorcerer or office worker throw themselves at him, and he doesn’t even notice. Their slutty ways in trying to get his attention, caressing his back with their ugly done nails, whispering things you can’t hear into his ear.

Every time he brushes them off.

And your happy, but then you feel dejected, because you remember doesn’t want a relationship. He’s said it before, you overheard. He does dream of being married and having children, but being a sorcerer would take up too much time and he couldn’t.

So why did he become an office worker and still brush everyone off?

Your short heels click against the floor as you walk the floorboards. Getting to where Gojo told you to meet Nanami.

You bite your lip at the hurt in your leg as you walk. A few weeks ago, you had a terrible accident on a mission. A curse caught you off guard, (you didn’t tell anyone it was because you were in your feels, deep in thought) but you got insanely hurt.

Ribs bruised, ankle shattered, cervical spinal cord bruised. You’re insanely lucky for Shoko, and her ability to heal you. However you can still feel the after shocks of it, your body tired after being forced to heal after such heart quenching injuries.

You smile though, remembering the heart break look in Nanami’s eyes. You don’t mean to feel happiness from his pain of seeing his close friend injured so terribly, but god was it satisfying to see how much he cared.

“Kento?” You open the door to the empty teachers lounge where he was apparently supposed to be.

“How was your mission, y/n?” He’s sitting on the sofa of the lounge, dipping a tea packet into a cup of hot water.

“Oh fine. Got it done, I guess.” You sit on the table in front of him, stretching and yawning. “So what’s up?”

God you remember the adorable way his brows clenched and eyes widened in pain as he looked down at you on Shoko’s gurney. The way he cared so much. I need to make him mine. You thought, but maybe that was the delusion talking. The blood that seeped from your head and body. But he held your hand the entire night. Whispered reassuring words of love into your ears and even kissed your hand and forehead when he thought you were sleeping.

That wasn’t delusion right? He did that. He cares for you. More than he’s shown care for the others. But alas, you know the perfected blonde headed man is too busy for a relationship, plus you don’t even think he’d want you like that.

“I was told by Shoko to check up on you.” He hands you a coffee. You smile as you take it, knowing he always knows exactly how to make your coffee just right.

“What? Why did she send you? Why didn’t she ask for me, herself.”

He shrugs. “You know how she is.”

You laugh at that, and nod, taking a sip of your coffee. “Oh thanks Ken, I needed this.” You sip some more. And he eyes you, watching you drink the coffee he made specially for you.

“You as a matter of a fact.. I am feeling quite.. drowsy.” For some reason, a sort of fog hits your brain. You believe it to be from fighting those curses. But it wasn’t that bad, so why do you feel so tired all of a sudden?

“That’s okay. Just let it happen.”

What? You look up at your close friend, the blonde man, eyeing him weirdly. “Ken? Kento I think you should call Shoko.”

“No need,” he catches you as you stumble off from sitting on the table, his arms engulfing your smaller figure. “I can take care of you just fine.”

You blush at that, but can’t focus on his sweet words because your body has just gone limp in his arms, and your barely conscious. The coffee slips out your hand and falls to the floor, the plastic seal breaking and making the contents of the cup spill onto the ground.

He sighs at that, but puts his hands under your arms and picks you up, one hand under your bottom and the other around your back, making you lean all of you onto him.

“Ken…”

“Shh, my dear. It’ll all feel better soon. I’m here.”

You wake up in a familiar room. Not too familiar, but you know it to be the guest bedroom in Nanami’s home. But then you notice yourself wearing one of his white button ups, with nothing else on except the same pair of panties you were wearing when you passed out. Your hair is down and cascading your shoulders, your body is limp and tired.

“Sweetheart? Oh you’re up.” Nanamis head pops into the room from the bedroom door.

You try to get up and greet him but you find your weak body is tied by a chain to the bedpost of the bed. A chain that is made of pure curse power, making it so you stay put and unable to use your cursed energy to break it.

“Ken?” You whine, reaching out to him.

He looks so domestic. His shirt is off, (which you realize, is the one your wearing), he’s in sweatpants and his hair is down, not gelled back.

“Good morning.” He sits next to you on the bed, and it makes you aware that you can’t use any of your power. “Sleep well?”

It almost makes you cry. This kind of domesticity, is what you wanted. A loving and very handsome husband, doting on his lovely wife, something as simple as greeting you in the morning makes your heart pop.

“F-fine. What is this? Why am I here, Kento?”

He frowned, looking at down before looking back at you. “I.. have made some arrangements.”

“Arrangements?”

“Yes. Y/n. You are to stay with me and live here. As my partner of course. It’s all for your own safety. Of course I’ll make sure your provided with and supported every step along the way. All the things you need are here, including me.”

He gulps in the way you stare at him wide eyed. His hands are shaking and his voice is trembling. It’s obvious that he wants your validation, that he knows you’ll hate him that your scared-

But you’re not. You pinch yourself. This has to be a dream. It doesn’t matter that your tied to the bed post, that you’ve been taken here against your will, that you definitely think he must’ve put something your coffee to make you all drowsy- he wants you. He needs you. He’s basically begging with his eyes for you to forgive and accept him.

“As your.. partner?” You gulp. You hope, you beg, in your mind, that he means what you think he means. Please. You beg in your head.

“My.. my lover. My girlfriend, and hopefully future wife.”

Your jaw is basically to the floor, your eyes wide as you stare at the man who bunches his eyebrows and squints his eyes, biting his lips in pure nervousness.

He’s adorable. Absolutely adorable. You think.

You reveled in the way he felt so incredibly intense for you that he just had to take you. That instead of any other way he needed you so bad he just stole you away. He doesn’t just want you, he needs you. You shiver looking at your cuffed ankle, there’s no escape for you. Even if you tried. That’s how much he needs you. That even against your will, he’ll have you. Your thighs rub together and you can feel a certain piece of fabric under you dampen. A redness makes its way onto your cheeks and a hazy feeling on pure lust clouds your brain.

Before he can react, you pounce on him. He’s under you, your hands on his shoulders as you hold him down. He gasps, afraid you were going to attack him. He just knew this would happen- he knew you’d be angry- that you’d hate him with all and every bone in your body- wait what?

If you hate him so much, why are you squishing his cheeks and coeing at him?

“Aww Ken I’ve never seen you this nervous before you’re so adorable.”

Wait what? He just stares up at you, wide eyed. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah. All twitchy and scared as if I was gonna yell at you. Ken I’ve never seen you like that!” You giggle, and he just stares up at you.

“I’ve hurt people for you. I’ve.. I’ve been close to killing them just because they’ve laid eyes on you-“

It’s like he’s trying to show how cruel he is, how he’s a bad man. But you just laugh.

“Aww Ken I didn’t know you had a jealous side!”

He just furrows his brows. “I kidnapped you, my dear y/n.”

“You sure did, it’s kind of an upgrade from my apartment though.”

“Y/n I-“ “Stop Ken.” It’s obvious what he’s doing, he doesn’t believe you to be okay with his messy obsessive love.

“How many kids do you want Ken? You want a big wedding, right? Black or white choir- or are we gonna have a DJ? Oh my god can I get a pet-“

“Y/N.”

You freeze, getting of him and sitting down on the bed, crossing your legs, a pout on your lips from being interrupted.

“You.. you.. your okay with this? This arrangement?”

“You drugging me, kidnapping me, then tying me up to a bedpost? All so I can be yours? Yeah I guess so.”

“.. You’re serious?”

“Kento..” You whine, watching him sit up. “I’ve always liked you, silly. I don’t mind your weird little quirks.”

His eyes soften, his gaze almost bleeding through your face. You all of a sudden feel hot and heavy.

“What, Ken?”

“You accept me? For everything I am?”

You nod eagerly. “I can stay home and be your lil’ house wife Ken~”

Blush spreads through his cheeks, he coughs, rubbing his face awkwardly, as if he was some shy school boy, aroused.

“I’ll take as many kids as you give me, a wedding with only close friends and family, black choir, and yes, you may have a pet.” He answers all your questions from before.

Your eyes widen and you squeal, but that’s quickly caught off by Nanami throwing you up in the air, the cursed chain breaking from his consent, as he catches you back in his arms and spins you around, laughing and smothering the sides of your face with kisses. You wrap your legs around his waist and kiss his cheek.

“This.. this calls for a celebration.” He slyly smirks at you, looking up at you cradled in his arms, wearing his button up. You know what he means, and you don’t fight against it.

“Ken.. so about having those kids..” You giggle, your feet unwrapping around his waist so they can push his pants down.

Toji-

You’ve been a maid at several different locations, your resume is quite lengthy. You needed a side job while you attended nursing school, after all those tuitions are a bitch. One of the first places you worked was in the Zenins clan property, after all, free housing and good pay? What more can a nursing student ask for?

It was quite large, and you weren’t the only maid, but probably the youngest. You found yourself getting to know everybody there; the maids, the clan leaders (who you’d only nod at), the younger clan members and- wait who’s that? There’s a gorgeous hunk of a man, tall, muscular, and oh so many scars.

You’ve never been interested in boring business men, the boys in your classes, every immature guy who’s ever asked you out- no. But who was he? You barely ever saw him around and yet he’s gorgeous, even with the plentiful of scars that covered his face and the badly done bandages around his arms. He didn’t even spare you a glance as he walked past you- and a shiver of cold went down your spine as he did so. You needed to find out asap who this man was.

And you did. A young man, around 18, a disgrace, and you know now where those scars must have came from. The curses he’s forced to fight. You found out from other clan members, it wasn’t hard. They all talked harshly about him, like he was an abomination to the Zenin clan and you couldn’t help but feel bad.

And finally after trying to bump into him several times, trying to make eye contact with him, get even a peep out of him- you find him passed out on the floors of the corridors of the Zenin members dorms.

He was bleeding out, shaking and twitching, and you could see the large gashes in chest, the deep bruises on his muscular arms as he tried to pull himself up, the blood that drips from his lips. You thought he looked gorgeous like this.

But you were slightly worried, after all he was bleeding out fast, and it was a matter of time before his body would be in a critical state- so you acted fast. You slipped him into your room, hiding him away from the world. You grabbed supplies from the nursing station; gauze, bandages, iv bag, overall tools you thought you might need.

This was your chance to make him notice you. After all, you overheard that he’d be punished if he needed taking care of at the nurses station- so what better solution is you, a nursing student, to help him secretly! You’re doing him a favor.

What you don’t understand is why he freaks out the first time he wakes up. You’re sure it’s some trauma response, but he’s ripping his iv out and breaking things in his way and almost tackling you down- he’s scared. So of course you sedate him, luckily you kept that needle on you. And there was just something so powerful in the way that with just a small needle pressed into his skin, this big hunk of a man would slump against you- at your very mercy.

The second time he awakes is a lot better. He’s calmer and he takes a good look at his surroundings, realizing he is in fact still in the zenins property, just in a different room then his. You explain how you found him and that took him in to take care of his wounds. The only reaction you get from him is a weird furrow in his brows and a twinkle in his eyes- a facial reaction you can’t pinpoint or read.

After that you’re quite disappointed. Once he’s out your room you two go back to never talking or interacting, and you deem your plan a failure.

But what you don’t know is that you caught a little someone’s eye.

What you believe is him avoiding you is Toji actually watching you from where you can’t see. What you believe is him ignoring you- refusing to make eye contact with you, is him knowing he’ll break and pounce on you once you do. What you believe is him not liking you, not having an inch of interest in you, is him watching you sleep from the window in your maid dorm.

He just can’t understand. Toji has never thought of himself as a real person with real feelings. His feelings- buried. Empathy and livelihood? Buried. He was never allowed to be human. And he’s never seen himself as one. So why did you treat him like one? Why were you kind? Sweet? Your adorable smile and silky hair, glossy eyes and this cute facial expressions. Nobodies ever given Toji a second thought. Not an ounce of love or empathy has ever been shown to him- but you. With all your generosity and kind hearted actions- you took care of him personally because you didn’t want him to get punished in the nursing station.

With your tender eyes and your soft hands, when you caught him two days aftwr he left your room so you could re-do his bandages, cleaning his wounds and reapplying new cleaner gauze around his old injuries.

He didn’t say a word, he couldn’t- his little breaths hitching every time your soft hands glazed him or your face was just a little to close to his.

He had to learn everything about you. Your childhood, the way you loved, the foods you ate and all your friends- he needed to know everything. He’d even purposely let a curse or two bite at him- just so he could stand at your door bloody and bruised, waiting for your soft touches.

He was utterly obsessed.

But then you up and left.

Those little interactions didn’t grow to anything, and you left after graduating your school, you didn’t have to be a maid anymore.

And that’s when he became incredibly desperate.

Present day, he finds himself at your door, at your apartment. It’s been a while- but he found you. He knows he needs to plan this perfectly, some way to make you swoon and fall for him, a way that won’t make you question how the hell he found you.

But then he notices you inside your apartment, you’re sitting eating a candle-lit dinner, you look so beautiful- wait who’s that? A man sits in front of you, eating the food Tojis sure you made for him. You know he’d cook for you right? You wouldn’t have to move a muscle. But Tojis angry, he’s upset, his blood is boiling at the thought of you with a lover. That’s supposed to be him! Giggling and eating across from you, talking and- did he just hold your hand? He’s holding your hand.

And that’s when Toji breaks.

You barely even process what happened, all you see is blood and your date is no longer in his chair, his body isn’t even in the room. But there is another man in the room, a tall muscular man, with that familiar glaze in his eyes you remember so well.

You immediately get up out of reflex, to run to hide to do something. And he’s caught off guard as you run off into your apartment, hiding in your closet. He sighs. He knows he shouldn’t have done what he just did, he could have at least waited. Waited till the man left your apartment where he could kill him in peace, without scaring you. But now, he has to do this the tough way. He has to force you into his arms. Fine. That’ll do, too.

He stomps into your room, glancing around your bedroom and taking it all in. He’s already been in here once when you weren’t home. Climbing into your bed, stealing a few hairs off your hairbrush, organizing the plushies on your bed and taking notice of every little thing in your home. That’s also how he knew every small hiding place you could possibly be in.

“Come on, you know I won’t hurt you. I just came to visit you..”

He finally speaks, and his voice his deep and almost slurred, it’s obvious he’s excited. He’s always had to hide his devastating obsession with you, the only person who’d ever glance his way, the only person who’s ever smiled at him or clean his wounds, even comfort him. You were there. The only person there. An Angel, his sweet Angel, he had to have you. After all, you had to be his soulmate. Why else would you care the way you did, when nobody else could?

“I promise I’ll be good to ya.”

He says as he actively touches your things, pocketing small items like your chapstick or hair band- even your panties.

“I’ll treat ya well. You won’t have to worry your little head off about nothin’. Chores, cooking, shopping, working, I can take care of it all for ya. Just come out kay’?”

The way he talks actually seems genuine, as you peer at him from the small crack in the closet.

He thinks you’re svared, probably shaking and terrified. Like a little bunny being hunted by wolf, or a small gazelle being preyed on by a lion. He’s sure your svared, dizzy, traumatized.

Oh, but you’re not.

You’re shivering and shaking yes. But from fear? No, excitement. This was.. exhilarating. You’ve never felt anything like this. The way he killed for you- the way his fingers glide against your things like he’s saving them in his memory-remembering what you like.

It’s exactly what you did.

You remember- back when you worked for the Zenin clan. He was set on missions, to kill curses- it was more of a humiliation ritual then anything. You knew he’d come to you silently asking for help with his wounds, you helped him everytime. But while he was gone?

Well, you were quite sneaky.

Picking the lock or climbing through his open window. Then you’d snoop around. He didn’t have much, it’s obvious he wasn’t loved or cared for at all. That’s okay, you’d provide more then enough love and care for the both of you. You’d snoop and document every little finding, whatever hints you could get from what he liked and used.

That is, until you found your used panties hidden in his pillow case.

And that’s when you knew, you had a little stalker on your tail.

But everytime you tried your hardest to interact with him other then a silent nod in the hallway as you walked past him, or a twitch of his lips as an answer when you nursed him- you got nothing. Like a stone wall you couldn’t break, couldn’t crack, and you just wanted your yandere to snap. You wanted to have him in your arms, where you could coo at him and tell him that he didn’t need his family, or any friends or anyone- because your love could overcome all. That he only needed you.

So you decided that you’d take a risk. A risk to finally make his facade crack, so that he’d finally break loose and show his true colors. You knew it was possible- seeing that he also had an alter of you under his bed, in a shoe box. A collection of things- a few candid photos of you, a used tissue, an old bracelet, nail clippings, a receipt, and.. your used tampons? Okay. He did love you, obsessed even, you could make him break.

And so you took the risk of leaving him completely.

You left- moved into a nice but small apartment on the other side of the city. You prayed he’d find you, hoping that this wasn’t just a fluke- that you finally met your match- your soulmate.

So finally, when you came home to a few small things missing, your plushies organized in jus the way you like them, and the smell of him lingered in the air- you knew he was yours. All yours. Your soulmate, your man, yours yours yours.

So you shake with excitement and glee and his hunky body makes its way closer to your closet, where you hide. You know your panties are soaked, and there’s a big smile on your face that definitely gives away how happy you are. You’re sure if you had a tail like a puppy, it would be wagging like crazy out of pure excitement.

“Doll. I’m getting angry. If you get out now, I won’t have to drag ya out okay?”

Your silent though, your eyes full of hearts as you cover your mouth, trying not to breathe so loud.

“I swear to fucking god. This is my last warning, if you don’t get out I’ll-“

“I’m here!” You whine softly, kicking the closet door open just a crack, wide glossy eyes looking up at the hunky man.

He hadn’t expected you to actually be complaint and do what he asked, he expected he’d have to force you out. Tojis eyes were wide as he looked down at you, watching you shuffle out the closet, on your knees, your tiny body shaking.

“Oh doll.”

He picks you up, cradling you into his strong arms, and you immediately wrap your arms and legs around him and your face finds solace in his neck, nuzzling into him.

“Did I scare you too hard? You know I hurt him for your own good, I promise he was bad. I’ll take care of ya.” His arms are heavy around you, tight and unforgiving. He can’t let you go, not now, not after he finally has you plaint in his arms.

But you also want to see how far he’d go, now that he’s in your arms.

“Let go of me! You’re insane! I-I hate you!” You acted, shoving him and scratching at his neck and chest, trying to shove him away.

He grunted, his eyes wide again as you started to fight back. He thought this might happen- it’s why he wanted to go the easy way first, to just softly ease you into his arms- until he ended up breaking.

But he was angry, shoving you down onto your own plush bed, his hands pinning you down by your shoulders.

“Stop fighting!” He yelled- almost whining. He was angry, but it all came from a place of insecurity- and you knew that. So you played into that.

“I don’t wanna be with you- you’re disgusting!”

And things went dark after that.

You awoke in a dark environment, cold, and your ankle chained to a wall, and your laid on a clean futon. Your dress clothes are still on from your “date” but your shoes are off and your light makeup was cleaned off your face. You could tell your hair had been brushed, your favorite skincare serum applied to your skin, chapstick on your lips, as if you were preened after being knocked out.

Your ears perk up as you hear a door swing open, and your see your lover walk into the dark room your in. Your confused, you hadn’t expected him to go as far as to knock you out and take you away- to wherever this is.

“Ah. Your awake. If you’re wondering where you are, it’s the basement of the Zenin clans property- a dungeon if you will.”

You look at him confused. You didn’t think he’d take you back to his origins, a place you were sure he hated.

“They’re all dead, if you’re wondering. You’re my family now.”

All dead? He… killed his family? Your sure now the estate must be his, his to make new memories in, his to have you in, his to make a new family in.

“T-Toji, this place is scary.” A cell you were basically in, you were lucky he had placed a clean futon in there.

“Scary huh? Well I can’t bring you up if you aren’t good.” His tone was almost condensing, but god were you into it. He has rules for you doesn’t he? You have to be good for him. And that was enough to get you excited again.

“I-I’ll be good! I promise!” You tried to crawl to him, but the chain withheld you. His eyes were wide and curious at what you said, the way you reached out to grab him, your sweet eyes he’s seen before, the innocent glance and pouty lips.

“I promise.” You pouted, an innocent act for how you truly felt, wanting to pounce on him, to confess all your petty sins and show him all your love.

“Prove it, doll.”

[slumbrr-r]

QnA

------------------------------------ It's a bit long, and sorry to those I mention.

Humans are a weird thing, I was originally going to have them in the AU; but decided against it.

Comic making is fun when you try to do things you like; if you're stuck on it being perfect, you'll never get to enjoy what you make.

I took inspiration from a lot of things.

Freedom. If you want to make a cool character design; start with things you like from media. Everyone can make a cool character!

@fizzyboy's Wasteland AU is such a nice treat to see. I like the way the characters are portrayed and the ichor creatures. Specially the blobs. @chocobje's Field Research AU is also one I like because it feels so OG dandy's world while still being so unique. The colors are nice and the designs too. @modcroissant 's tamed twisteds au? One of the first ones I ever saw when I first started the game. I liked the idea cause I kind of got attached to the twisteds lmao. Also, it's funny to imagine Boxten and Poppy's army jumping you.

...never drag me back to those days.

I like everyone's oc they make though. Specially Modcroissant's designs, so eye-pleasing. Seriously, if I could I would've drawn every single oc I've seen back to the creators cause they're so cool.

But um, I think my body would give out.

...yeah. I'm in trouble...

Seriously, some of these other applications give me trouble.

Thanks for participating in this little QNA :) I hope to continue making cool things for you all to enjoy.

[ahappydnp]

so sorry but ive seen two different things about this now and im very lost, why did people think they were breaking up/broke up in 2012??? pls help me understand, wise keeper of the lore. thank u so much

response under the cut for general 2012 discussion/too long

basically 2012/2013 used to get (and sometimes still is) generalized as this dark and awful time period where dnp "hated" each other and us, when in actuality it was two very young very scared closeted queer people who were in the process of several major life changes at once while also dealing with a new exploding fan base

there's a few big things from that "era" that people talk about:

deleting old posts- around this era dnp deleted a ton of old tweets/formsprings/dailybooths that could read as them being in a relationship. they were blowing up online and had more eyes on them than ever before, not to mention had just starting working with the BBC (where being queer would have greatly affected their careers). also keep in mind dan was still in the closet to EVERYONE, and now he's got tons of fans going through his accounts and sending shit to HIS LITTLE BROTHER on tumblr asking if dan's gay. anyway people decided them deleting early tweets meant they had broken up

dan's customerservice tumblr blog- in the middle of them blowing up and people finding all these old posts, dan in an effort to control the narrative, makes a new blog for people to anonymously ask him questions (: which went about as well as you can imagine for an extremely defensive closeted 20 year old with undiagnosed depression. basically he said some unfortunately things out of fear

the video leaked again- won't get too much into that because of the subject matter, but the yeah the video leaked for the second time except this time way more people saw it/shared it and dnp actually had to respond to it this time. which is. just fucking awful and heartbreaking all around.

phil persona- basically this was the birth of the amazingphil persona that'd follow phil to the quiff era. he became more sanitized and less personable than original phil fans were used to (which got romanticized into uwu he's sad because he and dan broke up and now he's shutting down)

"no homo"- pretty self explanatory...people asked if they were gay (every single day constantly on every platform) and they would say no because what else are they going to say. this one particular vyou where dan's actually trying to make people think kills me (x) god he was so young. but they'd also started doing the "omg i don't want to see you naked/ew people want us to kiss" and the infamous "you need a girlfriend" "my future wife" etc etc.

the breakup rumors mostly stemmed from and became popular/ treated as fact by younger fans who kind of saw them as these fictionalized characters (which i mean not to blame them because they were literal children and youtubers were still so new that people did treat them like tv show characters you could be friends with). it also got turned into more sinister theories like the "dan is abusing phil" ones and "phil is actually gay but dan isn't and just used phil for attention and fame in 2009"

there was also factors like them moving to london in 2012 (and people were CONVINCED they'd stop being friends in london??), people thinking them getting popular would mean they'd get girlfriends like other popular youtubers (shoutout danrific shippers), and most importantly just them sharing less about their personal lives with their audience. like of course they're not going to live tweet their day/location anymore when people are showing up at their house and trying to find their families.

basically, dnp were putting boundaries between themselves and their fans, but the fans interpreted it as putting distance between each other. in actuality the 2012/2013 era was full of some really amazing memories and content and things people loved (literally the photobooth challenge is from 2013!! sleeping phil saying i hate you is from 2012!!!)

in conclusion, imagine building a forever home with your ex lmao

[balrogballs]

This! (OP im so sorry in advance for writing an essay on your post)

I always say, as someone who writes a ton about the intersections of grief and ‘madness’, that the most compelling, interesting and devastating part of the Oath to me is the way Tolkien himself described it, according to TolkienGateway: an oath that should never have been taken.

And I think that is what adds such a tragic richness to that entire sequence, because a Fëanor who likes his fancy stones and made his children swear a dooming oath and led his people into a long, drawn out war because he wanted them back, is frankly insulting to the outstanding way said sequence is laid out:

“Then Feanor ran from the Ring of Doom, and fled into the night; for his father was dearer to him than the Fight of Valinor or the peerless works of his hands; and who among sons, of Elves or of Men, have held their fathers of greater worth? …Many there grieved for the anguish of Feanor…”

The guy went fucking insane, because the first person to have been killed in Valinor was his fucking dad. All his bullshit before was, certainly, annoying as fuck, and his decisions after were the cause of terrible violence — and tbh he’s frankly ridiculous a lot of the time, but at that moment he was clearly out of his fucking mind. The way the speech was written, the frantic, rabbit-thump prose of that entire section, you can almost see the trance state he’s in.

And that isn’t to say anything he did as a result of that was justifiable or good, this isn’t an “insanity defence” but I just think the whole Fëanor cinammon roll vs serial killer debate is so flat because, to me, someone going utterly insane with grief and doing something that dooms his own sons, is the kind of tragedy that defines the Silmarillion to me!

The entire legendarium features instance after instance (of varying severity) of desperate, impossible choices made in moments of complete mindlessness by characters rendered utterly inarticulate by grief and fear — Elwing, Isildur, Frodo, Denethor — and the long, terrible shadows of those devastating decisions none of these people should have been in the position to make.

Denethor, driven mad by grief and paranoia, walked into his son’s funeral pyre, and Fëanor walked into his father’s, leading all seven of his sons to walk into his own. The damage these choices caused are at completely different degrees, but a thing doesn’t have to cause the same amount of damage to be a similar circumstance.

It doesn’t mean the choice was good, mind you, the whole thing was an utter disaster, the Oath was the worst thing that could have happened to both ME and Valinor because there are literally zero situations in which having seven sons swear a blood oath would ever work out. Because none of the seven really seem to give a fuck about the stones and they’re all doing it for their dad, so the oath would bind them with that love, rather than their love for the Silmarils, etc.

But to acknowledge the circumstances the speech was made under does not negate the damage it caused. In fact it only makes it worse, the knowledge that a split-second choice caused All of That, the knowledge that a choice made in the wake of his father’s death would one day lead to all seven of his sons’ deaths. If he’d done it for memes and jewels, the following events just would not have had the same literary impact!

But yeah. It’s the worst yet most compellingly and devastatingly written part of the Silmarillion, and yet I so often see it flattened out as either “Fëanor made a great strategic choice and he was right” or “he did it because he’s a greedy fuck” and it’s just 😭😭😭

TL/DR: I was thinking about this ficlet someone requested from me a couple months back about Fëanor finding Finwë and how writing that provided such an insight into the wild place his mind must have been, and this word vomit is the result of that.

We all know Fëanor as “the guy obsessed with his Silmarils” but it’s quite something to remember that when he first discovered Morgoth had broken into his house, he wasn’t even thinking about how the Silmarils were most likely stolen. He immediately burst into tears not over the jewels, but over his dad.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Ghost Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: You were trying to move on with your life and clear your head about Spencer from a safe distance, but the whole plan goes out the window when you hear his screams.

Words: 5,8k (I went crazy).

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. mention of jail, gun, violence, alcohol. the reader is wearing a dress, and is slightly injured (nothing serious, just a bruise). nightmares. hurt/comfort. so bittersweet. painter!reader. post prison reid. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I'm finally back! This chapter cost me quite a bit due to lack of time (I'm now officially a university student) and my obsession with making it raw, emotional, and coherent with everything that has happened to Spencer. Really, one of my biggest fears is falling into caricature and making it all seem very out of character, so again, I hope this makes sense to you.

You weren’t the type to go out partying. Nights spent under the haze of neon lights and thumping bass didn’t appeal to you—especially in a city like this one, where shadows stretched long and secrets whispered from every corner. You had your reasons, too. Spending time with an FBI agent who was far too eager to spill the sordid details of his cases left you carrying a permanent thread of suspicion, the kind that made you eye even the janitor’s mop bucket a little too long. But, despite all that, you knew there were moments when you had to relent. When your best friend practically dragged you from your own isolation, insisting on a night out, you could dust off an old dress, slip into heels that pinched just enough to remind you you were still human, and survive the night.

Tonight had been one of those moments.

As you stepped into your apartment, you closed the door carefully behind you, mindful not to wake your cat. The faint jingle of your keys hitting the small table near the door sounded unusually loud in the early morning stillness. The clock on the wall read half past three, and a wave of exhaustion began to creep in, though your mind was too restless to fully embrace it. You glanced toward the worn armchair in the corner, where your cat lay curled in a contented ball. She stirred briefly, opened one green eye, and then decided you weren’t worth the effort of waking up in that moment.

You let out a soft breath and looked around the room. Memories of the night played back in your head as you took off your shoes and went to the kitchen for a glass of water to make you feel a little alive again.

It had all started as an attempt by your friend to pull you out of the orbit of your own misery. “You need this,” she’d said earlier that evening, tugging you out of your chair and into the kind of outfit that made you glance at yourself twice in the mirror, unsure if you still recognized the person staring back.

“Just this time,” you’d agreed.

But, surprisingly, all the dancing and drinking in the bar had been weak against the power of your emotions. Maybe that was because you barely paid attention to the songs they played or the fact that you hadn't even touched the drinks the bartender served you. You had spent most of the night with your chin in your palm, staring into your glass and telling your friend how much you missed Spencer, how the silence in the hallway felt heavier now. And she listened to you patiently, even as the music boomed around you, offering soft, soothing words that you only half heard.

Now, in the stillness of your home, it felt a little foolish and even pathetic. You leaned against the counter, the cold granite grounding you. The sudden and soft shuffle of Mittens broke the silence, and you glanced down to see your cat staring up at you, her green eyes luminous in the dim light. She yawned, then rubbed against your leg, as if to remind you that you weren’t entirely alone. A pretty nice gesture.

You leaned down to scratch her behind the ears, and your thoughts went back to your neighbor. You thought about how he used to smile at you, just barely. You thought about the low timbre of his voice when he greeted you in the hallway, as if he wasn't used to never being heard. He always seemed to carry the weight of something unsaid, something you were afraid to ask. Maybe that's why you were so fascinated by him since the first day. Or maybe it's just because he never looked at you like you were trying too hard, not even on the rare nights you went out in a dress and heels.

As you straightened and turned toward the living room, your eyes caught the faint outline of his window through your own. The blinds were down, but the light was on. It was late, much later than usual for him. It tugged at something inside you, a curiosity laced with longing.

Your cat leapt onto the couch, curling into a soft ball of fur, and you sat beside her. Pulling a blanket over your legs, you let your gaze linger on his window. Was he pacing again, restless like you? He was thinking about what happened between you two yesterday? Could he be regretting everything?

You certainly didn’t know what possessed you, but your phone was in your hand before you could stop yourself and think more than a second about it.

Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was just the weight of wanting someone you couldn’t seem to reach, no matter how close you were. Maybe it was because he was supposed to be your nice and honest Spencer after all. But whatever it was, the message was already halfway typed before you could stop it.

“Are you awake?”

You stared at the screen for a moment, the question hanging there like a fragile thread, one tug away from unraveling everything. You could feel your pulse in your fingertips, the weight of the message sinking into your chest. With a shaky exhale, you pressed send and regretted it instantly.

But he didn’t respond. Not instantly.

You leaned back against the couch, letting your head tip against the cushion. The blanket pooled around your waist, your cat purring softly beside you, oblivious to your unease. You told yourself to stop looking, to let it go. Maybe he wasn’t near his phone. Maybe he’d seen it and didn’t know what to say. Or maybe—your stomach tightened—maybe he didn’t want to talk to you at all.

But the light in his room was still on. It has to mean something. Please let it mean something.

It felt completely ridiculous to fixate on that tiny detail, but you couldn’t help it. You kept wondering what he was doing in there. Was he working on something, hunched over a desk with his brows furrowed in concentration? Was he pacing the room, thinking of everything, just like you? Or was he simply lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, as lost in his thoughts as you were now?

The longer you stared, the more you started to imagine him there and wishing to be there like you used to do, running your fingers through his hair and just enjoying the silence. Now, you could almost see him, the faint silhouette of his figure moving behind the blinds, like a ghost that refused to stay hidden.

Your phone suddenly buzzed in your hand, and your breath caught, but it wasn’t him. Just a notification from some app you’d forgotten to turn off, and in that moment you hate it completely. You let out a shaky laugh, half at your own foolishness and half to fill the silence.

Outside, the city was starting to move and advance again. A car passed by, and its headlights cut through the darkness. In the distance, a siren wailed, high and short. It was a reminder of how small you were in the big picture, of how trivial your problems might seem compared to everyone else's. But still, your eyes drifted back to his window, making that the biggest problem in the world.

The light hadn’t flickered again, but it was steady, constant. You told yourself to stop watching, to turn off your own light, and just continue your way to your bed. But something rooted you there, some stubborn hope that he’d notice you watching, or that he’d respond to your message, even with something small.

But yet, nothing came, and all your hope started to disappear slowly.

Maybe it was time to let him go, to stop acting like a lovesick puppy following in his footsteps, and most of all, to stop trying to give him a coherent reason for being distant. Maybe you weren't welcome in his life anymore. Maybe the gun incident was just what he would do for any neighbor he thought was in danger. Maybe you weren't as important as you thought you were.

After a moment, you decided it was best to go to bed, so you pulled the blanket up to your chin, the weight of the day slowly slipping away. But then it began. At first it was so faint you might have thought it was part of your imagination, just a murmur, a low sound carried by the stillness of the night. But it didn't fade. It grew louder, sharp, jagged, and unmistakable. A choked scream broke the silence of your apartment, raw and desperate, like someone drowning in their own breath.

Your heart jolted in your chest. The sound was different this time—familiar, but more frantic. It was a chorus of broken sobs and harsh, muffled shouts, followed by a sound you couldn’t quite place but which churned something so dark in your stomach.

And then, the scream.

It wasn’t just a noise. It was a cry born of suffering, guttural and aching, twisting in ways that made your blood run cold. Your eyes snapped open, wide and alert, and your body froze in place. The world around you seemed to fade, the hum of the city outside distant, irrelevant. There was only that sound. That scream.

It came again. Another strangled, desperate cry echoed through the walls. And this time, you knew.

Spencer.

Without thinking, you grabbed your keys from the bedside table and moved quickly toward the door. You weren’t sure why you were doing it, why you were stepping into the unknown at this hour, but it felt like the only thing to do to make sure he was okay. You’d heard him through the tiny walls before—quiet murmurs, little things, but nothing like this. This felt like he was caught in something bigger, something that worried you immensely.

The hallway was dark, empty, and your footsteps echoed too loudly in the silence to wake up all the neighbors. Every sound felt amplified, like the whole apartment was holding its breath with you. You didn’t knock. You didn’t stop to think. You just shoved the key into the lock, the cold metal pressing into your palm as you twisted it, your breath caught in your throat.

You stepped inside.

The apartment was bathed in the pale glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds, casting long, distorted shadows across the floor. Everything felt unnervingly still, too still, the silence almost suffocating in its weight, amplifying every sound that dared break it. His door was slightly ajar, the sliver of light spilling out like a silent invitation, beckoning you in. Drawn by the echoes of his suffering, you moved toward his bedroom, your body moving almost on instinct. The door opened just wide enough to allow you a glimpse.

What you saw made your heart stutter in your chest.

Spencer was tangled in his sheets, his body thrashing violently beneath them, his movements frantic and desperate as if he were trying to escape some invisible force. His face was contorted in agony, his brow furrowed so tightly it seemed the pain had etched itself into his very skin. His chest rose and fell in shallow, jagged breaths, the effort so intense it seemed to burn through him, his body quivering with every painful inhalation. He was caught in the grip of some terrible nightmare, one so vicious it stole his ability to breathe, to think, to fight.

You could see the whiteness of his knuckles, his fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the bed, the skin stretched taut and trembling with the strain. His whole body was rigid, muscles locked in a battle against the unseen terrors his mind had conjured. Tears streaked down his face, mingling with the sweat that had gathered along his brow, the rawness of his cries reverberating in the stillness, thickening the air around you.

“Spencer?” You whispered, barely recognizing your own voice as it trembled in the room. You reached toward him, your heart pounding in your chest, but he didn’t respond. He was lost—completely lost—in whatever dark place his mind had pulled him into, and you didn’t know what to do. “Spencer, wake up,” you tried again, your voice desperate, thick with the urgency of the situation.

His eyes were squeezed shut, the lines of his face tight with tension, his lips trembling with the words that came next, words broken and heavy with pain.

“Please…don’t do it…” he gasped, his voice breaking on the words, filled with so much pain that it made your chest tighten. His hands reached out, grasping at the empty air in frantic, helpless motions. Like he was trying to hold onto something—anything—that could pull him out of the darkness.

You felt the heaviness of his plea in your bones. The torment in his voice was unbearable.

“No, no, no…” he whispered, the words barely audible, but they hit you with the weight of something deep, something far beyond just a nightmare. He was begging, pleading for something that you couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. His body jerked, still trying to pull away from something that wasn’t really there. “Leave me, please, leave me.”

“Spencer!” You called again, louder this time, your hand on his shoulder, your voice trembling with urgency. You shook him, trying to pull him back from wherever his mind had taken him.

In the heat of your panic, you thought it was the right thing to do, thought you could snap him out of it. You thought you could reach him.

But then, in an instant, everything went wrong.

The second your hand touched his shoulder, his body jerked violently, more forceful than before, and without warning, his fist shot out. It connected with your left cheek with such brutal force that your head snapped back, the sting of the blow exploding across your face. For a moment, everything went dark, the pain so sudden and sharp that it left you breathless and disoriented, your body instinctively reeling from the shock. A whimper escaped your throat involuntarily, as the world around you tilted, your vision blurring as you pressed your hand to your cheek, the sting still radiating across your skin.

But he didn’t seem to notice. He continued to thrash beneath the sheets, his body trembling violently, his cries still trapped in that nightmare. You gasped for air, trying to steady yourself, trying to make sense of what had just happened. You’d been trying to help, trying to pull him from his terror—and instead, you’d been struck.

For a heartbeat, there was only the harsh rhythm of your breathing. And then, Spencer’s eyes snapped open, wide and wild, and it was as if the world around him collapsed into focus. His breath hitched in his throat, still shallow, but the frantic terror began to give way to confusion. His eyes flickered across the room, distant and unfocused, and then they landed on you.

In that instant, everything seemed to slow. He blinked, his eyes glazing over in disbelief as they locked on your face, lingering for a moment on the red mark blooming on your cheek. His lips parted, his voice catching in his throat, his expression morphing from confusion to something far worse—horror.

“Oh my God…” He whispered, his voice trembling with fear and guilt, his whole body shaking. “Oh my God—did I—?”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t find the words to reassure him, not in that moment.

He pushed himself up from the bed, his body unsteady, shaky with the tremors of both fear and guilt. His eyes never left your face, locked onto the evidence of his panic etched across your skin. “No. No, no, no,” he stammered, his words coming faster, more frantic, as if trying to deny the reality of what had just happened. “I hit you—I—”

“Spencer,” you started, but your voice was soft, almost hesitant, the lingering sting in your cheek making it hard to speak.

He didn’t hear you. He was already out of bed, nearly tripping over himself as he scrambled toward you. His hands hovered in the air, trembling with the weight of his guilt. “I didn’t mean to! I swear! I—I didn’t know—” His voice cracked, and his hands hovered near your face, but he didn’t touch you, not yet, too afraid that his very presence would cause you more harm. His eyes were glassy, filled with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

“Spencer, stop,” you said, your voice firmer now, despite the ache in your chest. “It’s okay. It was an accident.”

But he wasn’t listening. He backed away from you, running a shaky hand through his hair, pacing in agitation, his whole body wracked with guilt. “No, it’s not okay. I—” His voice broke, the words dying in his throat.

You stepped closer to him, ignoring the throbbing in your cheek, reaching out to take his hand, hoping that this simple touch might anchor him in the midst of his storm. At first, he flinched, his body reacting to the contact as though it burned, but then he froze, and his gaze locked with yours.

“Listen to me, please,” you said softly, gently forcing him to meet your eyes, to hold your gaze. His bloodshot eyes were filled with shame, his face a mask of regret. “Look at me. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

His brow furrowed, his gaze flicking to your cheek once more, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re not okay. I can see it—I did that.” His hands trembled as he pointed to the mark on your skin. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You were having a nightmare,” you interrupted gently, your voice tender, yet firm. “You didn’t know what you were doing. It wasn’t your fault…I shouldn’t have touched you like that when you were in that state.”

“No, it’s all in me…I’m the one who did this.” He choked on his own words, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding back the sobs that threatened to break free. “I’m the reason you’re hurting.”

You felt the weight of his guilt like a crushing force. It felt suffocating, like the walls around him were closing in, and you couldn’t stand seeing him like this—lost in his own self-loathing. You wanted to reach him, to show him that it wasn’t his fault, that his nightmare had taken hold of him, not his own hands.

But it wasn’t just the nightmare that had gripped him; it was the way he saw himself now. A man who hurt others without meaning to, a man who couldn’t escape the damage he had caused. You had been there before, watching him battle his inner demons, and you knew how much this guilt could eat away at him if left unchecked.

You watched him struggle, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his head bowed like he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer. The weight of his guilt was tangible, suffocating, and you had to do something—anything—to stop it from consuming him.

“If it were me,” you murmured, searching his face, “if I had been the one thrashing, if I had been the one to hit you, would you be standing here telling me I was a terrible person?”

Spencer blinked. His lips parted, his breath shaky, and you could see the internal war waging behind his eyes.

“I—” He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching in yours. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Because I know what’s inside my head. I know what I’ve seen, and I—” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply, his entire body shuddering. “I don’t trust myself not to hurt people.”

That was the most honest thing he'd said to you in three months, and he instantly regretted it. The look in your eyes says too much, and almost all was pity.

“That’s not fair,” you told him, voice steady. “And you know it.”

He didn’t respond. He can’t because you were right.

Instead, he turned abruptly, running a shaking hand through his hair, muttering, “Wait here. Just—just stay.”

Before you could respond, he was gone, disappearing into the kitchen. You heard the faint sound of running water, the clink of something being opened, and then the hurried shuffle of his footsteps as he returned, a small hand towel in one hand and a plastic bag filled with ice in the other.

Without a word, Spencer knelt in front of you, his movements careful, deliberate, as if afraid you might flinch. He gently wrapped the ice in the towel, his hands trembling slightly, and looked up at you, his expression unreadable.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice soft but heavy with emotion.

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Slowly, he raised the makeshift ice pack to your cheek, his movements tender, almost hesitant, as though he feared he might hurt you again. The coolness of the ice was a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand, which hovered just beneath your jaw, steadying you.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

“No,” you whispered. “Not anymore.”

He exhaled shakily, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction, but his gaze remained fixed on your face. His thumb brushed against your skin absentmindedly, just below where the ice rested, and the gentleness of the touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“God,” he said, his voice breaking, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s really not that bad.” You spoke softly, trying to cut through his panic. “If I’m being honest, Mittens has scratched me more times than I can count.” You lifted your arm, showing the faint, nearly invisible white lines crisscrossing your skin. “She’s a little terror sometimes, but I love her anyway.”

His eyes flickered to the marks, but the tension in his expression didn’t ease. His brows furrowed, the crease between them deepening with uncertainty. “But that’s different,” he murmured, his voice hesitant, like he was afraid to argue but couldn’t stop himself. “A cat scratching you isn’t the same as—” He swallowed hard. “As hitting you.”

You smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried more weight than it should—small, knowing, resigned. “It is the same,” you said, so quiet it was almost a whisper. “Because I love her no matter what she does by accident. And I…”

The words got stuck in your throat. I love you.

But you couldn’t say them. Not now. Not when he was looking at you like he was the monster under your bed, the thing you should fear, when all you could see was the boy who had once held your hand in the dark just to make sure you weren’t afraid.

You just watched him.

Watched the way his jaw was clenched so tightly it could shatter. Watched the way his hands still trembled, despite his best efforts. Watched the way his brows furrowed in that deep, pained way that made your chest ache.

And then, in the silence, you spoke.

“You do realize that when we used to sleep together, I kicked you, like…constantly, right?”

That startled him. His eyes widened, his brows pulling together in confusion. “What?”

A small, tired smile ghosted across your lips. “You don’t complain much, but I know I do. I kick in my sleep. I shift around. I always end up tangled in the blankets, stealing all the covers.” You let out a soft, almost self-conscious chuckle. “There was one night you woke up because I kneed you in the ribs. Hard.”

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, and you saw it—the moment he obviously remembered.

His lips parted, his breath hitching slightly. “You—yeah.” His voice was barely audible, but it had lost some of its sharp edges. “You kicked me so hard I nearly fell off the bed.”

You nodded. “And did you get mad at me?”

His brows furrowed. “Of course not. You were asleep.”

“Exactly.” You tilted your head, ignoring the way the ice sent another sharp pulse of cold through your skin. “I never meant to hurt you, but I still did. Just like you never meant to hurt me.”

He inhaled sharply, his eyes flicking between yours, something raw and hesitant creeping into his expression.

“It’s different,” he said, but the conviction in his voice was weaker now.

“Is it?” you challenged softly. “I know you, Spencer. I know who you are.”

Oh no, you didn’t know him. Not really. Not anymore.

His breath shuddered, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, his eyes searching your face like he was looking for something—proof, maybe, or forgiveness. Maybe both.

Slowly, carefully, you reached for him again, this time taking his hand in both of yours. He let you. He didn’t pull away.

“You’re not a violent person,” you whispered. “You are not the things that have happened to you years ago. You are not the things you’ve had to do to see in your work. You are not the nightmares that try to tell you otherwise.”

His fingers twitched beneath yours, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly.

For the first time since he had woken up, his shoulders sagged—just slightly, but enough for you to see the weight of his guilt beginning to lift, piece by piece. Even though he knew that if you knew what had happened in the last three months, those words would not have come out of your mouth.

“I would never hurt you,” he whispered, like a prayer.

“I know,” you whispered back. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them.

Without thinking, your fingers lifted, brushing against the sharp line of his jaw. The warmth of his skin seeped into your fingertips, grounding you both. You had done this before—when the weight of the world had pressed too heavily on his shoulders, when the ghosts in his mind grew too loud to ignore. You had kissed his tears away in the past, stolen moments of comfort from the chaos.

And so, you did it again.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips gently against the corner of his eye, where a fresh tear lingered. The warmth of his skin felt almost feverish beneath your touch, as though his entire body was caught in the grip of a storm. Your lips brushed the salty trail of his tear, and another followed almost instantly. Without thinking, you kissed it too, your lips lingering a moment longer, offering a tenderness that neither of you had allowed yourselves in so long. The sweetness of the moment almost made you forget the ache in your chest and the bruise on your cheek.

He shuddered beneath your touch, a sharp breath catching in his throat. You felt the tension ripple through him, the way he stiffened for just a second—caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to collapse into you.

And then, as if it were inevitable, your lips brushed against his, just a breath away. You could feel the heat of his skin, the pulse of his heartbeat under your fingers. You were so close, closer than you’d been in so long, closer than you’d dared to let yourself believe was possible.

Your heart pounded. His did too.

His lashes fluttered, his gaze locked onto yours, searching, hesitant.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. The words were barely audible, spoken like they might break if said any louder. “Tell me to get away from you.”

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

And for a fleeting second, he was just a boy, and you were just the girl next door. No past, no pain, no history—just this.

Or maybe not.

The reality crashed back in, and all the things you didn’t know came back to his mind.

The ice pack in his hand had started to burn from how tightly he was gripping it, and the cold sting jolted him back to the truth he was trying so hard to ignore. His gaze darted to the bruise on your cheek, and in an instant, everything shifted.

He wasn’t just a boy.

He was an ex-convict. Someone dangerous. Someone broken. A liar.

And the only thing he could give the girl next door was more pain.

Spencer flinched as though struck, his entire body going rigid as he ripped himself away from you. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his chest rising and falling too fast, as if he were surfacing from deep water. The ice pack slipped slightly in his grip, like it had suddenly become too heavy to hold.

“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice trembling, the words choked with anguish. His eyes darted to the mark on your cheek, his expression twisted with guilt. “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have even—God, what am I doing?”

“Wait—” You reached for him again, but he was already retreating, shaking his head in frantic, jerky motions.

“No,” he muttered, his voice fraying at the edges. “No, I can’t—I shouldn’t even be near you.” His fingers tightened around the ice pack like it was a lifeline, like it could somehow build a wall between you. “You shouldn’t let me touch you. Not after what I just did. What I did yesterday. What I might do.”

“You were dreaming,” you tried again, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, but there was no anger in it. Just raw, unfiltered pain. His whole body seemed to sag under the weight of it. He turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer. “It doesn’t matter why it happened. What matters is that it did. I hurt you.”

He did it even when he was so afraid that someone else would do it.

“It was an accident.”

“But it was me.” His voice rose in despair, his hands clenching at his sides. “I did it. My hands. I can’t—” He gestured wildly at your cheek, his breath hitching. “I can’t undo that.”

You didn't say anything.

The room felt impossibly small, as if the walls were closing in with every passing second. The silence between you stretched taut, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of something neither of you had the strength to name. The air was thick with the faint scent of coffee—bitter, stale, clinging to the space around you. Your gaze drifted past him, landing on the nightstand beside his bed.

Coffee cups. So many of them.

You didn’t count them, but the number didn’t matter. It was the stains at the bottom that told the real story—the dark rings of dried coffee, layer upon layer, marking the passage of sleepless nights. Some of the cups were only half-empty, abandoned mid-drink, as if exhaustion had finally won for a brief moment before panic dragged him back into consciousness. Others were drained completely, the last dregs of caffeine clinging stubbornly, as if trying to hold on to something already lost.

It wasn’t just coffee, though.

Books stacked haphazardly, some opened and left facedown, pages creased from where his shaking hands had clutched them too tightly. Papers covered in his cramped, hurried handwriting, words scrawled over and over as though writing them down might keep the memories from slipping through the cracks. A pen, its tip snapped, the ink dried into a small, angry blotch on a forgotten page.

And then, at the edge of it all, the only thing untouched—the single glass of water, still full, still waiting. Like it had been set aside with the intention of being drunk but never was. Because he hadn’t stopped long enough to remember he needed it, even with his wonderful memory.

He had been trying not to sleep.

The realization struck like a blade slipping between your ribs, slow and deliberate, the pain blooming in your chest before you had time to brace for it. You inhaled sharply, the sound barely audible over the steady hum of your own heartbeat. When you looked back at him, you saw it—the exhaustion carved into his features like cracks in porcelain, the dark circles beneath his eyes deep enough to tell their own stories. His hands were trembling, his fingers curled into fists at his sides as if he were trying to hold himself together, piece by piece, before he shattered completely.

This wasn’t just sleeplessness. This was obsession. This was someone running from something, from himself.

And you hadn’t even noticed until now.

“Spencer…” You hesitated, searching for the right words, but everything felt too small, too inadequate for the storm raging inside him. “What’s going on with you?”

He flinched, like you’d struck him, but didn’t answer. His fingers curled around the ice pack again, knuckles white with tension. His jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt.

You stepped closer, your heart hammering in your chest, but you didn’t move to touch him. Not yet. Not until he let you in. “This isn’t just about tonight, is it?”

Still, nothing. No answer, no hint of recognition. His eyes remained fixed somewhere just beyond you, a million miles away, a stranger in his own skin.

You tried again, your voice softer this time, as though the gentleness might coax him out of his silence. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

That got a reaction. His gaze flickered to you, but only for a second, before he tore it away, staring somewhere over your shoulder like he could pretend he wasn’t here at all. His silence spoke volumes.

Your chest ached. “Spence.”

“I can handle it,” he murmured, but there was no conviction in his voice.

“You’re not handling it,” you countered softly. “You’re barely holding yourself together.”

His lips twisted into something bitter, the words tasting like acid as they spilled out. “That’s nothing new.”

The bitterness in his tone made your stomach twist. You took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “Talk to me,” you pleaded, voice gentle but firm. “Please. Whatever it is—whatever’s been keeping you up at night, whatever’s making you pull away—I want to know.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t.”

“I do.”

“No, you really don’t.” His voice cracked, and when he finally looked at you, his eyes were haunted. “Because if you knew—if you really knew—you wouldn’t be standing here.”

Your heart stopped.

“What does that mean?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He didn't answer, he just kept looking at you like you were made of glass, as if one wrong word would break you entirely. But that wasn’t it, was it? No—there was something deeper, something raw and frayed at the edges, something desperate.

He wasn’t looking at you like you might break.

He was looking at you like he might.

Then you understand something: Spencer Reid wasn’t someone to be afraid of, because he was afraid.

Just like you had been since he left you in his bed three months ago, with a promise that felt more like a lie with every passing day.

Tag list ❤︎ ︎: I finally made this! So send me an ask or comment here if you would like to be added or removed!

[aspenmissing]

Hello!! Would u be able to write the arcane characters with a partner with short-term memory loss and them being patient with them? Thanks in advance!! 🤗

ᴜɴꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 5167 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ-ᴛᴇʀᴍ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ʟᴏꜱꜱ (ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ). ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴏɴ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm golden glow over the bedroom. The air was still, save for the soft rustling of sheets as Jayce stirred awake. His body moved on instinct, his arm reaching out across the bed for the familiar warmth of Y/N beside him. But instead of feeling her nestled against him, he found only cold sheets.

Jayce blinked away the sleep, his heart giving a small but familiar pang of worry as he turned his head to look at her. She was already sitting up, legs tucked beneath her, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, her breathing shallow. Even before she spoke, Jayce knew. He had seen this before.

He sat up slowly, careful not to startle her. "Good morning, sweetheart," he said softly, voice warm and steady.

Y/N tensed at the sound, her body going rigid. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching his with a distant, unfocused gaze.

"Who… are you?" Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if the words themselves felt foreign on her tongue.

Jayce felt the breath leave his lungs. His smile faltered, the ache in his chest twisting into something deeper, something unbearable.

"It's me," he said, almost a whisper. "Jayce."

But there was no recognition in her eyes.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she looked down at the sheets, gripping them as if they were the only thing anchoring her to reality. She inhaled sharply, her frustration evident. "I... I don't remember." Her voice wavered, breaking at the edges. "I'm sorry."

Jayce reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, squeezing gently. "You don’t have to apologise, love. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll always be here."

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes scanning his face, searching for something familiar. Jayce had gotten used to this—waking up to the same heartbreak, the same fragile moment where she tried to piece together who he was, who they were. It never got easier. But he had never once wavered.

"Do you trust me?" he asked gently, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of her hand.

She hesitated. Then, after a moment, she nodded. "I... I think so."

A soft chuckle left his lips. "That’s a start." He leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of her hand before reluctantly letting go. He stood up, walking to the bedside table where a small, well-worn leather journal sat waiting. He had made sure it was always within reach. Just in case.

He returned to her side, handing it to her carefully. "This is yours. You write in it every night before bed."

Y/N took the journal hesitantly, running her fingers over the soft, worn leather. She opened it, flipping through the pages filled with words in her own handwriting. Little notes, memories, moments she had tried to preserve for herself. And at the top of the very first page, written in bold, unwavering letters:

"Jayce loves you. And you love him."

Her breath hitched. Her fingers ghosted over the ink, as if tracing the letters would somehow make them feel real, tangible.

"I wrote this?" she asked, her voice small.

Jayce nodded. "You did."

She swallowed, her grip on the journal tightening. "I... I want to remember."

Jayce exhaled softly, his heart aching at the longing in her voice. He reached out, cupping her cheek with gentle fingers, brushing away the tear that had slipped down her face.

"Then we'll make new memories," he whispered. "Every day. As many times as you need."

Y/N leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment as if savouring the warmth of his hand. "You must be tired of this." The words were barely above a whisper, fragile and laced with guilt. "Of me."

Jayce's brows drew together, and his hold on her face grew firmer—not in restraint, but in reassurance. "Never," he said, the word carrying all the weight of his love for her. "I love you, Y/N. Even if you forget a thousand times, I’ll remind you a thousand and one."

A small, watery smile trembled on her lips. "You're really patient."

He let out a soft chuckle, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Only for you."

She rested her forehead against his chest, inhaling deeply as his arms wrapped around her, holding her as if he could physically keep her memories safe.

And as the morning sun bathed them in light, Jayce made a silent promise—to remind her, to love her, to never give up on her, no matter how many times he had to start again.

VIKTOR

Viktor sat at his workbench, the soft glow of the hextech crystal casting a gentle, flickering light over the room. The air smelled faintly of oil and parchment, the familiar scent of ink mixing with the faint metallic tang of machinery. His hands moved with practiced ease, sketching new designs across a weathered notebook, but his mind was elsewhere—on her.

He heard the familiar sound of hesitant footsteps padding cautiously into the workshop, slow and uncertain. His heart ached in anticipation, though he kept his expression warm and welcoming as he turned in his chair, his golden-brown eyes softening the moment they landed on her.

"Ah, good evening, my dear," he greeted, his voice laced with gentle affection.

Y/N stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway beyond. She hesitated, her fingers brushing against the wooden frame as if she were trying to ground herself. Her eyes, wide with confusion, flickered around the room, searching for something familiar.

“I—I don’t know where I am,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know if I should be here.”

Viktor inhaled softly, keeping his movements slow and deliberate as he set down his pen. He shifted, gripping his cane before pushing himself up to stand with practiced care. There was no frustration in his gaze, no flicker of impatience—only boundless patience and unwavering devotion.

"You are exactly where you are meant to be," he assured her gently. "You are home, Y/N. With me."

She blinked at him, her brows knitting together in thought. Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came. She studied his face, tracing his features with uncertainty, as if searching for something hidden just beyond the reach of her memory.

“Do I… know you?” she finally asked, her voice so fragile it made Viktor’s chest tighten.

The words were a dagger to his heart, but he bore them with the quiet grace of a man who had learned to endure this pain a thousand times before. It would be easy to despair, to crumble beneath the weight of losing her over and over again—but he never would. Not when she was still here, still breathing, still standing before him with a flicker of recognition buried deep within her eyes.

But he loved her. And love, he believed, was not just in memories—it was in moments. In the way her hand felt in his, in the sound of her voice, in the quiet evenings spent together, even if she did not always remember them.

“You do,” he said softly. “But it is alright if you do not remember yet. We have time.”

Her hesitation lingered, but when he reached out, she let him take her hands in his. They were familiar, warm, and despite the veil of uncertainty clouding her mind, she did not pull away.

She looked down at their intertwined fingers, running her thumb along his knuckles as if trying to understand why this touch felt so right.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her gaze flicking back to his, searching for an answer.

"Viktor," he murmured, giving her fingers a light squeeze. "I am your Viktor."

A flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—passed through her eyes, and for the briefest moment, she smiled. It was small, tentative, but it was enough to make Viktor’s breath catch in his throat.

"I think I like that name," she whispered, as if the words were a secret meant only for him.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his grip on her hands tightened just slightly, grounding himself in the moment. “That is good to hear. You tell me so every time.”

She blinked, tilting her head. “I do?”

He nodded, a quiet hum of amusement escaping his lips. “Yes. And then you always let me hold you like this.” He carefully guided her hands to rest against his chest, just over the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat. “And sometimes, if I am lucky, you let me kiss you, too.”

A faint blush dusted her cheeks, the colour blooming softly against her skin. Despite the uncertainty still lingering in her gaze, she let out a quiet laugh—light and airy, a sound Viktor wished he could bottle and keep forever.

“I think… I think I like that, too.”

His heart ached, full and heavy with love as he leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to her forehead. He lingered there, his lips against her skin, letting the warmth of the moment sink into his very being.

Carefully shifting his weight onto his cane, he whispered, "Then, perhaps, we should fall in love all over again."

And so, they did. Every single day.

JAYVIK

The marketplace in Piltover bustled with life, the air filled with the scent of fresh bread, spiced tea, and the occasional hint of metalwork from the nearby forges. Merchants called out their wares, bartering voices rising above the murmur of the crowd. The streets were alive with a tapestry of colours—vivid fabrics draped over wooden stalls, glistening jewels reflecting the golden light of the afternoon sun, and baskets of fresh produce adding splashes of green and orange to the scene.

Y/N had been out with Viktor and Jayce, the three of them enjoying a rare break from their work, wandering through the stalls, taking in the sights and sounds, indulging in the simple pleasure of being together. It was a fleeting escape from the pressures of Piltover’s politics and technology, a moment where they could simply be. Jayce had been enthusiastically explaining a new hextech prototype, gesturing animatedly while Viktor listened with an amused yet interested expression, always ready to ground Jayce’s ambitions in practicality.

But in the flurry of movement, she had wandered off.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, not that she could remember. One moment, she had been holding Viktor’s hand, listening to Jayce ramble about some new hextech idea he was excited about. And the next, she was standing in a completely different part of the market, arms full of random goods. A roll of fabric, a small pouch of herbs, a beautifully carved wooden figurine of a Vastaya, and even a loaf of bread. The weight of them in her hands felt unfamiliar, as though they had simply appeared there without her noticing.

She blinked down at the assortment, confusion bubbling in her chest. When had she picked these up? Had she paid for them? Did someone give them to her? The thought sent a ripple of anxiety through her—what if she had taken them without realising?

A voice, warm but laced with concern, cut through the fog.

“There you are!” Jayce sighed in relief as he jogged up to her, his broad shoulders slightly tense from the worry that had clearly been eating at him. Viktor was only a step behind, leaning slightly on his cane, his golden eyes sweeping over her with the same concern Jayce wore openly.

“Where did you go, dove?” Viktor asked softly, his voice steady and soothing, searching her face for any sign of distress.

Y/N looked between them, her expression blank before morphing into something puzzled. “I… I don’t know.” She furrowed her brows, looking down at the items in her arms as if they might offer an explanation. “I don’t remember where I got these.”

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, the familiar ache of worry settling between them. They had learned to navigate these moments with her, moments where time slipped through her fingers like sand, where memories faded as quickly as they were made. It hurt, but they never let her see that. They had promised to be patient, to guide her back whenever she lost herself, to anchor her in their presence.

Instead, Jayce offered her his easy smile, reaching out to steady the bundle in her arms. “Well, that’s quite the collection you’ve got there. Mind if we retrace your steps and figure it out?”

Y/N bit her lip, nodding hesitantly. “I… I didn’t steal, did I?” The fear in her voice was small but present, and it made Viktor’s heart ache. The idea of her feeling lost, unsure of her own actions, tore at him in ways he couldn’t put into words.

“No, Lásko,” Viktor reassured her immediately, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing slow, reassuring circles against the fabric of her sleeve. “We’ll sort it out, don’t worry.” (Love)

Jayce, ever the optimist, gave her a wink. “If anything, you might have just been too charming, and people couldn’t help but give you things.”

That made her smile, if only a little. The tension in her shoulders eased, and Viktor reached for her free hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, grounding her in something solid. Jayce did the same on her other side, his grip warm and steady, always there to catch her when she faltered.

Together, they walked back through the marketplace, patient, understanding. They stopped at a fabric stall where the vendor instantly recognised Y/N, smiling warmly and assuring her that she had paid. At the herbalist’s stand, the elderly shopkeeper chuckled, recalling how Y/N had been fascinated by a rare herb she hadn’t seen before. Each stop helped piece the mystery together, each kind word and understanding smile from the merchants easing the anxiety that had settled in her chest.

It wasn’t always easy, but neither of them would ever dream of leaving her lost—not when she was their home, memory or not. And as they walked, hands linked, Y/N found comfort in knowing that no matter how much she forgot, they would always remember for her.

VANDER

The Last Drop was bustling, the scent of ale and smoke hanging thick in the air. The low hum of chatter mixed with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Vander stood behind the bar, wiping down a mug as he cast a concerned glance towards Y/N. She was seated at one of the tables, fingers idly tracing the wood grain. Her brows were slightly furrowed, her lips pursed as if she was trying to recall something just out of reach.

He sighed, setting the mug down with a quiet clink. "Alright, love, we need a few things from the market," he said, walking over to her. He pulled out a chair and sat beside her, his large hand covering hers in a comforting gesture. "You up for it?"

Y/N blinked, looking up at him. Her eyes held a flicker of uncertainty before she nodded. "Of course. What do we need?" she asked, voice light but hesitant.

Vander smiled, pressing a warm kiss to her forehead. "I've made a list," he reassured her, reaching into his pocket. "And you're not going alone this time."

Y/N frowned. "Why not?"

Vi, standing nearby with her arms crossed, snorted. "Because last time, you forgot everything, and we ended up with three loaves of bread and no ale."

Claggor chuckled, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. "Yeah, and you told the vendor you needed... what was it? Oh right, 'that thing Vander wanted'—which could mean anything."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip. "Oh. Right."

Vander chuckled, his calloused fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It’s alright, sweetheart. That’s why I’m sending you with Powder. And she's got the list."

He gestured towards Powder, who was holding a folded piece of parchment like it was the most important thing in the world. Her small fingers gripped it tightly, her blue eyes sparkling with determination. "I got it! I won’t let her forget a thing!" she chirped, bouncing on her heels.

Y/N gave a soft smile, ruffling Powder’s hair. "Alright, alright. Let’s do this then."

=

As they left The Last Drop, the streets of the Undercity greeted them with a familiar mix of noise and movement. Powder held Y/N’s hand tightly, occasionally glancing up at her. "You feeling okay today?" she asked gently.

Y/N squeezed her hand in return, offering a small but appreciative smile. "I think so. Just... my mind feels a little foggy. Like I know what I’m supposed to do, but it keeps slipping away."

"That’s okay!" Powder said brightly. "That’s why I’ve got the list. Vander thought of everything. We’ll get everything and be back in no time!"

=

They made their way through the market, the air filled with the shouts of vendors calling out their wares and the scent of fresh bread mingling with the oil and grime of the Undercity. Powder kept a steady stream of conversation to keep Y/N focused, pointing out interesting trinkets or people she recognised. Each time they bought something, Powder carefully checked it off the list with a piece of charcoal she had found in her pocket.

"Alright, next is—" Powder paused, then frowned. "Wait, where did the list go?"

Y/N blinked, looking around, her heart skipping a beat. "Didn’t you just have it?"

Powder frantically checked her pockets, patting herself down as if the list might materialise out of thin air. "I did! I swear!"

Y/N giggled, shaking her head. "It’s alright. We’ll figure it out. Let’s retrace our steps."

=

They went back to each stall they had stopped at, Powder chattering as she tried to remember where she might have dropped it. "I had it right here!" she insisted, patting her pockets frantically. "It couldn’t have just vanished!"

Y/N watched her for a moment before something clicked. She reached out and tugged at the edge of Powder’s sleeve. "Powder… what’s this?"

Powder blinked as Y/N pulled the missing parchment free. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "No way! I put it in my sleeve?!"

Y/N burst into laughter, doubling over as she held up the list. "Looks like it’s not just me who forgets things!"

=

By the time they returned to The Last Drop, Powder was carrying a bag nearly twice her size, her small frame nearly swallowed by the bulk of their purchases. Y/N was still giggling, shaking her head at the whole situation as she held up the list triumphantly.

Vander smirked, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. "And here I was worried."

Vi rolled her eyes, flicking Powder on the forehead playfully. "You should've been. Turns out it's a family trait."

Y/N chuckled, setting the goods down on the counter. "At least we got everything, right?"

Powder huffed dramatically, plopping onto a stool with a tired sigh. "Barely. But we did!"

Vander pulled Y/N into a gentle embrace, his strong arms wrapping around her securely. He pressed another kiss to her forehead, lingering just a little longer this time. "You did good, love."

She melted into his touch, her fingers curling into his shirt as she exhaled softly. "Couldn’t have done it without Powder."

"And the list!" Powder added proudly, holding up the crumpled piece of parchment like a trophy.

Vander chuckled, his voice full of warmth. "And next time, maybe we write two of them—just in case."

SILCO

The low hum of the Undercity seeped into the walls of Silco’s office, the faint sound of dripping water echoing through the cracks. His space was dim, lit only by the harsh glow of a single lamp that cast long, stark shadows across the room. The scent of old books, tobacco, and leather lingered in the air, a mixture that felt almost familiar to Y/N. Still, even in the comfort of this space, the world outside her mind felt distant—blurred like an image through fog.

She sat across from Silco, the heavy chair creaking under her as she fiddled with the edge of the glass on the desk in front of her. The intricate patterns of the wood seemed to shift in her gaze, like the shifting of memories she couldn’t quite catch.

Silco sat, as always, calm, his posture imposing yet somehow at ease. His sharp eyes flickered to her, and for a moment, she could feel his steady gaze anchoring her—reminding her that she wasn’t as lost as she sometimes felt.

She hesitated before speaking, her voice quiet. “I… I think you’ve told me this story before,” she said, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass, the motion almost like a reflex. “But I can’t remember the ending.”

A flicker of amusement played across Silco’s lips, but his expression remained steady. There was no irritation in his eyes—only understanding. “I have told you,” he replied, his voice deep and smooth, as if each word was deliberate, calming. “But I don’t mind telling it again. Perhaps it will stick this time.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her gaze drifting to the flickering candle on the desk. “I don’t know how you can be so patient with me,” she said, her voice carrying a trace of self-consciousness. “It must get exhausting repeating yourself all the time.”

Silco’s eyes softened as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface of his desk. “It doesn’t exhaust me,” he replied, his tone unwavering, yet there was a quiet warmth to it. “I find the repetition comforting. It’s you. And you… you are worth every second.”

Her gaze flickered up to meet his, and something in her chest tightened. There was a tenderness in his words that wasn’t often displayed, a rare softness that only she seemed to evoke. She took a slow breath, trying to steady herself. “But what if I forget again? What if one day… I don’t even remember you?”

Silco’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, but his voice remained steady, unwavering. “Even then, Y/N,” he said, his gaze locking with hers, “I would still be here. I would wait for you to remember, or for you to find your way back to me. Whatever it took.”

The vulnerability in her chest pulled tighter. She had become accustomed to forgetting pieces of herself, of her world. But hearing him speak like this, with such confidence, with such certainty… it did something to her. It made her want to believe, to trust in the idea that not everything could slip away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice small, fragile. She immediately regretted it. Sorry for forgetting, for not being the person she once was. Sorry for the uncertainty she brought into every conversation.

Silco leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering, his eyes piercing into hers. “There is nothing to apologise for,” he said, his voice a quiet strength. “Not with me. You never need to apologise for forgetting, Y/N. Not with me.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. His sharp features, his cold, calculated exterior—none of it mattered in these moments. The softness in his eyes, the gentleness in his voice, was all she needed to see.

“But… I do forget things,” she said, a small, almost helpless laugh escaping her lips. “Little things, big things, important things.”

Silco’s expression softened even further, and for a long moment, he said nothing. He just looked at her, his gaze never leaving hers, as if to say everything with a silent understanding.

"Then I’ll remind you," he said simply, leaning forward and reaching out to gently take her hand in his. "And I will never stop."

Y/N’s breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking into her like an anchor. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling his warmth seep through her fingers. In that touch, she felt the steady beat of something real, something that even the fog of her memory couldn’t quite erase.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze again, the vulnerability still there but softened by the unwavering certainty in his eyes. "What if I forget everything?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Silco’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand, a slow, deliberate motion that felt like a promise in itself. “Then we’ll build new memories together. Ones you won’t forget.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with warmth, a swell of emotion she couldn’t quite articulate. "You really mean that, don’t you?" she asked, her voice small but steady, searching for the reassurance that she hadn’t been abandoned in the pieces of herself that were slipping away.

"I do," Silco replied, his voice firm but tender. "And I will be here, Y/N. Every day. For as long as it takes."

She smiled softly, a sense of peace settling in her chest. In the silence that followed, there was no pressure, no rush. Just the two of them in the moment, and for once, that was enough.

Time passed slowly, but with Silco by her side, Y/N didn’t feel so lost anymore. Even if the memories she cherished slipped away, there was something timeless between them—a bond that not even time itself could erase. And that, more than anything, was enough for her.

JINX/POWDER

The room was quiet except for the soft sound of paper turning. Y/N sat on the worn couch, holding a cup of tea in her hands, her eyes gliding over the pages in front of her. Jinx, sitting cross-legged on the floor, watched her with a quiet intensity, her usual wild energy subdued in the face of the delicate task she had undertaken.

Y/N’s brows furrowed as she flipped another page of the scrapbook. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she had learned that patience would be her guide. The short-term memory loss was something new, and it came in waves—some days, she could remember everything, and others... it was as if entire chunks of her life had simply faded away.

"Do you... do you remember this one?" Jinx’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. Her usual mischievous spark was replaced by something deeper, a tender concern that radiated from her like warmth.

Y/N looked at the page, her fingers brushing over the photo of the two of them, laughing in the sunlight, her hair tied in the long plait that Jinx loved to twirl. For a moment, she felt a tug of recognition, but then it slipped away, the feeling fading like water through her fingers.

"I... I don’t," Y/N murmured, a frown tugging at her lips. "But it’s nice, isn’t it? We look happy."

"Yeah, you and me, like we always are," Jinx replied, her voice uncharacteristically soft. There was no teasing, no sarcasm—only a raw, quiet warmth that seemed to anchor the space between them. "It’s okay, though. It’s just... memory stuff, right? You’ll get it back. You always do."

Y/N nodded slowly, trying to find comfort in Jinx’s words. She could see how hard the other girl was trying to stay patient. She had always been the one to keep things light, to crack jokes and stir trouble, but now, she was more still, more grounded. The change was subtle, but it was there.

Her eyes flicked to the next page, and there, to her surprise, was a picture of Jinx with her younger self, a wild, chaotic expression on her face. The photo caught a side of Jinx Y/N had never seen, one of the many layers she had peeled back over the years, revealing her deeper vulnerabilities.

"Is this... you?" Y/N asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and worry. She didn’t want to upset Jinx by forgetting important things, especially those that were tied so closely to the girl’s heart.

Jinx tilted her head, her lips curling into a small, bittersweet smile. "Yep, that’s me. Before, you know... things got a little... complicated." Her tone wavered, the weight of unspoken memories hanging in the air.

Y/N’s gaze softened as she studied the picture. "I see. So, you’ve always had that spark, huh?"

"Yup, always." Jinx’s eyes twinkled, her smile spreading wider. "I was a little more... explode-y back then, though." She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the connection between them flickering to life despite the gap in memory. "I bet. You’ve always had a way with things. Explosions, pranks... and me, apparently."

Jinx gave a little shrug, but the affection in her eyes was unmistakable. "Well, I’ve got to take care of my bestie, right?"

"You always do," Y/N whispered, her heart swelling with the familiar warmth of maternal affection. "You always do."

Jinx’s fingers continued to turn the pages, and Y/N watched her with a quiet gaze as the girl shared more of the scrapbook. There were photos, trinkets, scraps of paper—all carefully placed to help jog Y/N’s memory of the times they’d shared, the moments they had cherished. It was as if Jinx had poured herself into every page, filling the gaps that Y/N couldn’t quite grasp.

=

After a while, Y/N turned to the last page, where a series of sketches Jinx had drawn herself filled the space—images of them together, sitting on the roof of a building, running through the streets, laughing and wild, their bond unspoken but palpable.

"These... these are from you?" Y/N asked quietly, her fingers tracing the outlines of the drawings. "You made these for me?"

Jinx, who usually radiated an untamed energy, seemed to shrink a little. Her usual cocky grin softened, replaced with something vulnerable. "Yeah. I... I wanted to make sure you'd always remember. Even if I gotta keep doing this for a while."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, her heart squeezing. Jinx had always been unpredictable, a whirlwind of emotions and impulsive decisions, but this... this was something different. This was care. This was love. Jinx had become her child, in a way—a chaotic, beautiful, complicated child who needed protection and care as much as she needed to be free.

"I’ll remember, Jinx," Y/N said, her voice steady despite the fluttering uncertainty. "Even if it takes time, I will. And I’ll be right here with you. Always."

Jinx’s smile softened, her eyes welling with gratitude, a flicker of that old wild spark returning in the depth of her gaze. "I know, Y/N. I know."

And for the first time in a while, Y/N felt like maybe, just maybe, she’d remember everything important—and, if not, she’d always have Jinx, her fiercely loyal, loving daughter in her own way, right there with her.

[exilethegame]

i apologize in advance if this is too long and rambling lol. i just need to make you aware of the moral quandary i’ve found swimming around in my head all day. firstly, your book is amazing. i don’t think ive seen a writer capture my attention and also rip my heart into pieces so throughly (although, I, the Forgotten One is maybe tied with yours in my mind).

so, trystan and syfyn.

IRL i consider anyone who sits by as atrocities happen to be completely complicit and (sometimes) as equally as guilty as the perpetrator. your story makes my head spin as this is a stance i take very strongly and i struggle with hating syfyn and trystan. on one hand, my MC does hate them for things they’ve done (breaking his arm, holding him down while people essentially experiment on him, and even not really doing anything after finding out what happened to MC and learning that the queen is working with the “enemy”). other times, my MC can’t hate them for being a victim of circumstance, just as MC himself was (and is). my MC sees them for who they used to be, how their circumstances have shaped them, and how they may be punished for defying the crown but also can’t help but feel a personal and… maybe political betrayal? my MC, and me by extension, have been grappling with a couple questions: at what point does being a victim of circumstance no longer absolve someone of guilt? how many horrible things must someone do before their allies see that something must change? at what point does someone become just as guilty as the perpetrator because they refused to lift a finger either way? is it wrong to hate someone as a whole because of circumstances that, up to a certain point, were beyond their control? is it wrong to hate someone that follows a tyrant because they fear for their safety? what if it’s all they’ve ever known and they have no clear path forward without their leader?

i hope all of that made sense and don’t seem like the ramblings of a lunatic lol. i’m not very intellectual but these are just some things i’ve been thinking about as i gave your story another read last night and i was bursting at the seams to share my thoughts. like i said before, your story is beautiful. tragically beautiful, perhaps? i’m wishing you the best of luck in your work and personal life! and thank you so much for sharing this story with us; we don’t deserve it, but we will try to.

(also sorry if i misspelled trystan lol)

Ah no don't apologize!! I love discussions like this re. the characters, especially because pretty much all of them are morally questionable to one degree or another. It always makes me happy to hear when the game has made people start to think and worry about bigger moral questions like this :)

I think both Syfyn and Trystan definitely are intended to make that question be asked. And the game won't push a particular agenda either way re. if the Commander forgives/doesn't forgive, blames them/finds them to be victims, etc.

Of course, something I do think is fun that plenty of characters are wondering this very same question about MC, and the role they used to fulfill for Plaithus vs. what they are now, post-exile... 👀

Thank you so much for the kind words :)

[corviiids]

hello! how do you find consistent friends in fandom? as in, how do you find people who stick with you through different fandoms and listen and read your work. also, how long have you been writing for and how long did it take you to get so good at writing and character analysis.... your work is such an inspiration to me, genuinely one of my top 3 authors across ao3. i hope the writing goes well!

hey! this is really sweet, thank you very much for your lovely kind words. 💖

re: friendship: i don't mean to be a downer about this so i hope it doesn't come across this way, but i do think the concept of friends where you follow each other through all your fandoms and continue to read each other's work etc kind of... either doesn't exist or is just a rare phenomenon and not a 'type' of friend per se more than it is something that just happens out of luck. i am lucky enough to have friendships which have persisted through all of us changing fandoms, but the reason those friendships last is actually because we found connections that went beyond common interests. i think sharing a fandom/interest is great as an initial point of connection and a way to meet, but for a relationship to last, you need to have a deeper bond than both being into the same thing--so contrary to what you've asked about (oops sorry) those friendships im speaking of only last because we didn't follow each other into different fandoms, really. we didn't have to. along the same vein, i'd respectfully argue that it wouldn't be productive or fair of me to group 'reading my work' in as an element of friendship, so to speak--i definitely don't expect my friends to read my fic and vice versa, we all understand that we can support each other in our creative pursuits and lives in general / in the abstract without needing to be a fan of the same things or even necessarily being fans of each other's work (although of course it's always nice). i know this doesn't really answer your specific question but i hope it doesn't come across as pessimistic as it might sound. i truly and genuinely believe it's a positive thing that the idealised friendgroup traipsing through fandoms together doesn't really exist (or if it does exist, it's luck and not something to shoot for in itself), because this just tells me to look out for these great opportunities to form bonds that last beyond superficial interests.

in terms of how to make those friendships to begin with, im honestly even less help. my friendships kind of just happened to me. im actually quite terrible at reaching out to people and i am notoriously difficult to reach myself hahaha so honestly all the credit for my friendships goes to my friends for being patient and sticking with me despite that. i am honestly just very lucky in that i've been able to talk out loud into the void and have had wonderful people reach out to me because of it, but that's hardly a reliable strategy... i guess i'd encourage you to be more like my friends, who are the anime protagonists wielding the power of friendship to my prickly antagonist, or whatever. oh another thing to remember i guess is that some friendships just don't last this way and will stay within fandoms and may peter out, and that's ok. i don't consider those relationships less real or valuable for being less lasting.

re: writing: i want to caveat that i don't think i'm fairly able to say (or comfortable saying) that i'm particularly good at writing or character analysis, certainly not to an extent that i'd be willing to hold myself up as an example of it, but i really appreciate that you feel that way about my work and am incredibly honoured to be considered an inspiration in any capacity!!

with that disclaimer made, i'll do my best to answer for whatever it's worth. i've liked writing ever since i was a very little kid, but i will credit any actual progress i've made in developing the skill to writing fanfic because i think that being able to focus on building character and logical flow in plot progression over other things like creating characters, worldbuilding, inventing plots wholesale, etc--which has allowed me to sort of expedite those skills in particular and which i think are helpful in writing more broadly. (this also answers the 'character analysis' part specifically--when you don't have to/get to invent a character, you have to spend more time taking them apart.) anyway, i started writing fic about twelve or thirteen years ago, and there have been periods within that where i've progressed faster or slower depending what's going on in my life haha. i do think time played a massive role in any skill developments i've made, but i also know people take less time or more time to make similar progress (caveat again: progression is subjective, this is very approximate), so i think the other key ingredient besides time is engagement. if it's helpful, i went into that a little bit more here, but as stated i have a lot more to learn and would never present myself as an expert lol