Left Unsaid

A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader where she takes a bullet for him. Spencer is broken because he’s afraid he won’t be able to tell her how he’s always felt about her. @coveofmemories


She looked on as the unsub held the gun to Spencer’s head. There had to be a way to get Spencer away from him. “Take me,” she said without thinking. “Take me instead.” She would paint herself as a weak woman. Given the unsub’s misogynistic and narcissistic nature, he’d likely take her instead. He’d inherently believe that Spencer had more strength than she did, although the opposite was true.

When she repeated herself, a look of abject terror washed across Spencer’s face. “What are you doing?” he mouthed. 

But she paid him no mind. Her only thought was about getting him to let go of Spencer. “Take me,” she repeated.

“Why would I do that?” The unsub pointed his gun toward her, but he seemed intrigued by the possibility of a female hostage, so she took the opportunity. 

As Y/N told the unsub that a female hostage was inherently more valuable to him, that she’d be easier to control and easier to move around than a man, all Spencer could think of was that if something happened to either of them, he’d never get the change to tell her how he felt. For years, he’d harbored feelings for her, but had always been too afraid to confess; if he made it out of this, he would. No more holding back. “I would be easier for you to handle than him…take me.”

“Walk toward me,” he said, and she did, allowing him to reach for her belt and throw her gun to the ground. A wash of relief and a subsequent wave of terror cascaded over her when he pushed Spencer to the side and grabbed her around the neck by his arm. “You’re with me now,” he said into her neck, his heated breath sending shivers down her spine. As he spoke, she could see that he was making eye contact with Spencer, trying to get under his skin, and she knew it was working. 

He backed away with her; Y/N could tell that the team was running through every possibility they had. Could they take a shot and hit him? But what if they hit her? She knew they wouldn’t take the shot - it was too risky and they cared too much. They’d rely on her ability to get herself away from him and follow behind as best they could. “Get in the car,” the man growled. “And stay down low.”

The screech of car tires rattled through her ears as he drove off, leaving the rest of her team behind. “Hotch!” Spencer panicked. “What do we do? We have to get her back.” In this moment, anyone could tell what he felt for Y/N - if they didn’t already know before. “He didn’t take her cellphone, can we track it?”

“Garcia,” Hotch said. “Track Y/N’s cellphone. She was taken by the unsub.”

“Oh my god,” she cried, her fingers hitting the keyboard at light speed. “Pinging her location now. And sending it to you. Go get her.” Anytime one of her babies was in trouble, Garcia immediately started to panic. “Bring her back.”


“I need out of here,” the man said, searching the streets for a way out. She could suggest a road to take. But even if she told him the truth, he undoubtedly wouldn’t take her word for it. 

“You’re not going to get away with this,” she said softly, clenching onto the arm rest of the man’s hijacked car. “My team is going to find you.” His mouth dropped open and another shock rolled through her. It looked as though the lightbulb had just done off in his head. Like he knew exactly what he needed to do to make it out of this mess.

He jerked the wheel to the left and went down a particular straight she knew would lead them toward a local precinct. “You know where you’re going?” she asked. 

“I know exactly where I’m going,” he said coolly. 

The beads of sweat began to fall down the length of her spine as they got closer and closer to the police station. Should she just bail out and roll out on the side of the road? It might be her only way out of this. But as soon as she made the decision to open the car door, he pulled up to the police station, ripped out his gun and shot her in the stomach, pushing her out of the car and onto the ground as he sped away.


Spencer, JJ and Emily had been sent in one direction, while Rossi, Hotch and Derek went in another. Nearly every member of the nearby precinct was sent off in other directions to track this man down, but no one was having any luck. That was until JJ saw someone lying in the middle of the road. “That’s her!” she screamed, pulling to the side and running out of the car. 

His breath was knocked out of his lungs as he saw a small pool of blood forming under Y/N’s body. “Oh my god,” he said, turning her over and putting pressure on the wound.”What happened?”

“He drove off,” she sputtered, her vision going in and out as she tried to speak. But as he’d sped away, she took note of where he was going and what his license plate was. “He went left.” She grimaced, looking down at her wound with tears in her eyes. Her stomach was on fire. “License plate was Charlie, Bravo, 4, 2, 7 , 8…I’m sorry.”

Spencer swallowed hard and pushed down on her stomach just as the ambulance showed up. “I’m coming with you,” he called to the EMTs. “Why are you sorry?”

“I couldn’t stop him,” she whispered. She was starting to get cold. “Spence, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” he said as the tears streamed from his normally shining eyes. 

She knew him. She knew him inside and out, and there was no way he wouldn’t blame himself for whatever happened next. As the heat slowly left her body, she  sensed that she was about to die; she wasn’t scared for herself, but she was for him. “Don’t blame yourself,” she said. In the distance, she could hear him saying no, to not let go, but her body wasn’t cooperating no matter how hard she tried. “This wasn’t your fault…It was my choice…even now…I’d do it again. I love you, Spence.”

“Y/N don’t go,” he sobbed, his voice cracking as he grabbed tighter onto her hand. “Don’t go. I have so much I need to say. Please, don’t leave me.” 

Was it raining outside? She felt a drop of water on her face and didn’t know where it was coming from. 

Then another. 

And another. 

It was him. 

She wanted to tell him to say what he needed to say now, because she wasn’t going to make it much longer, but she couldn’t make the words go from her brain to her mouth. As she drifted off into the cold abyss, she saw a faint light in front of her. Maybe there was something else out there. 

“Y/N,” he wept. “Please hang on. We’re so close.” When he looked down, he saw her squeeze his hand gently, her touch barely perceptible if he hadn’t been looking. 

And then there was nothing. 

“No!” he screamed. “Y/N! Stay with me! Stay with me!” The flatline sound wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. There was too much left unsaid. The words spilled out of him. He cried how much he loved her, how much he’d always loved her, how he never wanted for her to give his life for his. He would’ve died for her a thousand times over. But there was no response. She was gone - his words had been said, but were left unheard.

Wanna park and act like an a**hole? Enjoy paying thousands.

Years ago, I worked as a security officer in a high-traffic tourist area (graveyard shift).

One of my responsibilities was to make sure my building’s loading/unloading zone is kept clear because at all hours of the day we’ve got vehicles coming and going for people going to meetings, visitors, tourists, cabs, etc. The curb is painted white and marked in big bold letters ✶ LOADING AND UNLOADING ONLY ✶ NO PARKING ✶. At the end of the zone there was a single handicap parking stall painted bright blue.

Now the building I worked at was nearby a few large night clubs, so every Friday and Saturday the area would be crazy busy with drunken fighting, vomiting, occasional alleyway sex, etc. All night long there’d be cute girls milling around in skimpy outfits, so the job had its perks too.

Clubbers would take advantage of my building’s valet parking service and pay to park in our garage before heading out to one of the clubs across the street.

Some clubbers would think they could get away with parking in our loading zone all night. My coworkers and I would aggressively patrol the area in the earlier evening hours and advise as many people as we could so they’d leave and avoid getting a ticket. It was also better for us if they left, because when there were too many vehicles parked out front, traffic would become a complete clusterf*ck regardless of the time of day.

Most people would be grateful for the information and leave. Occasionally, some douche would laugh in our faces, say something about pigs or rent-a-cops or whatever and leave their car anyway. In those cases, we’d call our city’s parking enforcement and they’d get a $90 ticket for their troubles.

One Saturday night, after finished a round of patrols, I went to take a leak. On my way back out, I walked past Dispatch and my buddy calls me over to the surveillance bank.

“Hey bro, you got one out front.”

I turned to the grainy feed just in time to see a piece-of-junk ‘97 BMW sloppily parking in front of our building. I murmured that I’d go out and advise the driver, but before I could leave, the driver exited his vehicle.

My buddy and I watched in silence as the driver, a young black male adorned with flashy cheap bling, hiked his pants up at the crotch and blocked the path of a couple girls walking by. He started hitting on them in the slimiest way possible, even trying to grab their hands and asses at one point, staring shamelessly at their tits while he was schmoozing them. He took out his phone and shoved it at them, presumably asking for their numbers.

Eventually the girls were able to dodge his grabbers and ran off toward the club across the street. He repeated this routine several more times with various groups of girls walking by, even taking out a small bottle of vodka from his back pocket and offering swigs. With each rejection, he’d get angry and presumably cuss out the girls as they hurried off (our cameras didn’t pick up audio but this seemed a reasonable assumption).

I sighed and looked at my buddy.

“Well, I guess I’ll go talk to him.”

I made my way out to the front and approached him just as another group of girls ducked away from him. I called out to him. He turned and stared at me blankly.

“Hey, man, just wanted to let you know that this zone is for loading and unloading. Normally it’s not a big deal to park for a bit but if everyone does it on the weekends, traffic gets backed up pretty bad here.”

The douche looked at his vehicle, then at my badge.


I looked at my watch. It was about 10:30PM. I continued my spiel.

“Parking enforcement here is pretty strict. You should move your vehicle or you might get ticketed–”


“Have a good night sir.”

He flipped me off and went across the street, where he was promptly denied entry for dress code violations. He cussed out the bouncer and wandered off down the block. I walked over to his vehicle and saw that it was parked crooked, the rear of the vehicle partially blocking the lane of traffic. Half of his vehicle was in the white zone, the other in the blue zone. I key’d up my radio.

“8million to dispatch.”

“8million, go ahead.”

“Can you call parking enforcement for this vehicle? Lemme know when you’re ready for the plate.”

Fifteen minutes later, the parking officer arrived. He looked at the vehicle and promptly issued a $90 ticket for parking in the white zone and a $900 ticket for parking in the blue zone without a permit.

I thanked the officer and went back inside to have a snack.

A couple hours later, two of the local cops stopped by to say hi. As Officer Morris and his partner walked over, Dispatch radio’d me.

“Hey 8million, is that Jones and Morris?”

“Sure is.”

“You gonna do what I think you’re gonna do?”


Officer Jones and I lit up our cigarettes as Officer Morris looked on disapprovingly. We all smoked and chatted for a bit, then I casually motioned over my shoulder at the BMW.

“Hey, Jones, check out the parking job on that piece of shit.”

We all walked over to the corner and looked at the vehicle, the two tickets stuck on the windshield flapping in the wind. Officer Morris grabbed one of the tickets, read it over and looked at me.

“What’s the story here?”

I told them what happened and the driver’s response. Officer Jones and Morris looked at each other.

“8million, you got the time?”

“Yeah, it’s… 12:27AM.”

“Well it’s a whole new day now isn’t it?”

Officer Morris proceeded to write another $90 ticket for the white zone, then another $900 ticket for the blue zone. He paused for a moment after finishing the second one.

“Hey Jones, looks like this vehicle is parked more than twelve inches from the curb. What do you think?”

“Sounds about right.”

Officer Morris wrote another ticket for $120 and slapped it on the pile of tickets on the windshield. I shook both officer’s hands and they left to continue their patrols.

The next few hours of my shift went by fairly quickly. Around 5AM, Dispatch scared the hell out of me.


“Negative, I just finished clearing it.”


I ran down to the surveillance bank, where my coworkers were all gathered and laughing their asses off. Sunday was street cleaning day and the BMW was getting ticketed again by parking enforcement.

After that, we all stopped by Dispatch every 5-10 minutes to see if the owner had returned. Finally, at about 6AM, douchebag came stumbling up the block, looking completely worn out. His formerly-white t-shirt was stained and dirty and it looked like he’d lost at least one fight.

We watched in suspense as he looked at the pile of tickets crammed together on his windshield and slowly removed them. He stood there, pants sagging below his knees, shuffling through each ticket as if he were a toddler with a handful of Pokémon cards.

With a look of abject defeat on his face, he got into his vehicle and drove off. The whole room erupted in laughter and high-fives.

As the laughter died down, I picked up the office phone and started dialing. My coworkers eyed me curiously. I put the call on speaker just as the call connected.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

“Yeah, hi, I’d like to report a possible drunk driver. I have the vehicle and driver description when you’re ready.”

(triggering content below the cut)


I don’t know where to begin with this, so I’ll just jump right into it. Below the cut is a screenshot of a fic posted today in the Voltron tag. 

[Image description: Screenshot from the mobile ao3 page, taken on my phone. It includes the title of the fic, the author, the added tags, and the author’s summary of the fic.]

(Trigger warnings: Pedophilia, sh@ladin content, unhealthy relationships, sexual content (described in the fic’s tags), underage sex, statutory rape of a toddler)

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Types as Disney Villains

NOTE: Continuation to Types as Disney Heroines where I showcased the strengths of each type. This time, I’m focusing on the downsides and what the types may look like when unhealthy or looping.

ISTP - Aloof. Vulgar. Aggressive. Cold-hearted.

Originally posted by southernretardation

“I tire of your arrogance, old man. Bow to me!”

ESTP - Possessive. Boastful. Disrespectful. Immature.

Originally posted by all-things-disney-gifs

“Were you in love with her, Beast? Did you honestly think she’d want you, when she had someone like me?”

INTP - Lazy. Untrustworthy. Awkward. Cynical.

Originally posted by disneydeviants

“He’s gotta have a weakness, because everybody’s got a weakness. I mean, for what? Pandora, it was the box thing. For the Trojans, hey, they bet on the wrong horse, okay?”

ENTP - Facetious. Moody. Noisy. Obnoxious.

Originally posted by idlestrology

“Ah, how shall I do it? Oh, I know. I’ll turn him into a flea, a harmless, little flea, and then I’ll put that flea in a box, and then I’ll put that box inside of another box, and then I’ll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives, I’ll smash it with a hammer!”

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Things I can’t deal with: “aces aren’t oppressed because not being sexual is considered pure and good”

Yeah, if you’re a white woman. I am sick and tired of people dismissing the complicated relationships POC have to sexuality (in the “being sexual” sense, not the orientation sense, though that’s it’s own maze of complexity). And when we do talk about, it’s solely about hypersexualization, which is only half of the puzzle.

Brown and black people of all genders are also desexualized. That’s true overall, but I can only speak in detail about the experience of being a south asian brown woman. Me being non-sexual is NOT seen as pure and good. It’s seen as my default state. Even more so because I am not thin by any definition (fat people, and fat POC in particular, have that extra layer of desexualization to deal with). I am not “pure” when I don’t have sex and “dirty” when I do. Non-sexual is seen as my “natural” state of being. Having sexual desire/being sexual, for a brown fat girl, speeds right on past “dirty” and into “repulsive”. It’s not naughty or scandalous, it’s unnatural, gross, the abject.

Asexuality as an identity is already so much to try to grapple with when you have this history of colonialism and white supremacy defining what it means to be sexual. I don’t fucking need white lgbt people preaching to me about how society ~values~ lack of sexuality/sexual desire, when imposing that lack upon us has been one of the historical tools of white supremacy.

On a separate but related note - it also smacks very much to me of the whole “society’s ideal woman is bisexual”! Which again a) completely misunderstands the definition of the identity and b) imposes a ridiculously narrow white-centric understanding of sexuality onto the whole goddamn world.

When Genji first comes to Overwatch, he does not want to talk about what happened.  He wants to think about it as little as possible.  There is a very select group of people that are even vaguely aware of the events that lead to Genji’s recruitment, and possibly only Angela knows anything close to the full story.

Everyone, however, knows that Genji would have died if he hadn’t been picked up by Overwatch and made into the cyborg that now walks among them.

So, naturally, everyone is a curious motherfucker who feels the need to poke their nose into everyone else’s business.

The first couple times people try to ask him “what happened” Genji either stubbornly ignores them or flat out tells them “I don’t want to talk about it”.  But after a couple months when it keeps happening he just… starts making up stories.  Stupid, over-the-top, straight-up ridiculous stories that no one would ever believe.  He tells people he had tried jumping out of a plane with a parachute made of hundreds of flying squirrels tethered together.  He tells them he been dared to drink a cup of molten steel and it hadn’t agreed with his digestion.  He tells them he’d made a deal with the devil and had fallen back on his loan payments.  At first it’s out of exasperation, with the hope that people will finally take the hint.  People don’t take a hint though, mostly because they think it’s hilarious.  Over time, Genji agrees.

Years to come, whenever he meets someone new who tentatively works up the courage to ask “so… what happened?” while gesturing to his cyborg body, Genji will, without fail, tell the biggest, most ridiculous whopper of a lie he can think of (and all his teammates will be sniggering the the background at the new guy’s poor, confused face).

Time passes, Overwatch falls, Genji leaves, winds up in Nepal, and for the first time in years he tells someone – Zenyatta – what actually happened (after spending the first few weeks lying through his teeth about it).  Then Recall happens, and with Genji comes Hanzo into Overwatch’s fold.

It’s not an easy thing to talk to strangers about, but Hanzo figures it’s better to be up front about things and he admits that, yes, he had tried to murder his brother to appease the elders of the crime syndicate family.

Ho ho ho, says the rest of the squad, pull the other one it’s got bells on.

And Hanzo just???? doesn’t get it????

They’re supposed to be old friends of Genji?  He’s very blatantly and honestly tells them I nearly murdered him, it’s my fault he is how he is now but whoever he’s talking to just laughs.  Laughs!  “Yeah, sure mate, whatever you say, I’ll bet, haven’t heard that one before.”

Literally everyone just assumes Hanzo’s in on the joke and is playing along with Genji’s tall tales.  Angela just listens with a sort of abject horror, Zenyatta’s amused, and Genji doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry because the slack-jawed expression Hanzo made the first time McCree laughed in his face after being told “I killed Genji” was priceless.

my beautiful list of klance fic recs

this one goes out to @ah-fae who was complaining about me texting her links to fics. now my favorite fics are all in one convenient place for your enjoyment, along with my thoughts on them!

nothing’s quite as sweet by dimpleforyourthoughts and thebrotherswinchester

“Keith is a barista who hates his job. Lance works at the cat shelter across the street.” [i cried. i don’t cry often when reading fics, but this one fucking got me. it’s fantastic, in both the concept and the (VERY well-written) execution. there are kitties. please read.]

i bet you look good on the dancefloor by xShieru

“‘So like in ‘Step Up’?’ // Allura shrugs. ‘Now that you put it like that - yes. I guess it’s just like in ‘Step Up.’’ // The smile that she sends Shiro’s way - followed by a shy wave, eugh - is sickening to say the least, and Lance still doesn’t believe in dance camps.” [i started this one while it was still in progress because i’d heard so many good things about it and i’m so glad i did. 7 chapters, lots of dancing, and very good writing]

Your Love Has Shown Me Proof by freshia

“‘This situation is a bit more complicated than we initially realized.’ // Lance raises an eyebrow, but Pidge is the one to question that. “Define complicated.” // Allura takes no more time beating around the bush, ‘Well, I received a transmission. Keith and Lance–from the future, that is–would like to have their daughter back.’” [keith and lance meet their daughter from the future– which is just as adorable as it sounds– but they’re not even dating?? shenanigans ensue. it’s so sweet and heart-warming. i love this so much]

tropical drink melting in your hand; we’ll be falling in love by jojotxt

“Keith just wanted a summer job to help pay for college. He didn’t expect to be coworkers with a complete asshole who hated his guts. He didn’t expect to fall for him, either.” [this fic is refreshing as fuck and full of all the pining you could ever want, with a side of beach-related fun and team voltron bonding over their summer jobs. it is so good.]

Costumed Identities by Trashness

“Lance and Keith are rival cosplayers, who only know each other by their online usernames. They are fiercely competitive, but are also desperately attracted to each other. You’d think they would just get together already, but there’s a couple of problems: // 1. Keith crossplays, so Lance has absolutely no idea that Keith is a boy. // 2. Both of them are idiots, and can’t seem to figure out that that hot cosplayer they like, is also that hot guy that they drool over every day at school.” [3 chapters, hidden identities, nerdy references, and so. much. cosplay. what more could you ask for? plus it’s hella fucking cute, if you weren’t already sold.]

i can’t help but want by aknightley

“Lance deals with the aftermath of being sucked into a black hole and stranded on an alien planet. // When Lance wakes up, all he can see is blue.” [this fic has a permanent tab open on my phone so that i never lose it. that’s how much this one means to me. this was written before season 2, so technically it’s an au where lance and keith are stranded on separate planets after the wormhole, and the only paladins they can contact are each other. it’s full of emotional bonding and poignancy and damn, the writing is so fucking good.]

you’re so sweet; will you be mine? by jojotxt

“A new bakery pops up right across the street from Lance’s bakery. // In which Lance is an idiot, Keith is an asshole, and Pidge is the next Dr. Phil.” [have you ever wanted lance and keith to send each other passive-aggressive baked goods as their rivalry blooms into friendship? look no further. seriously, stop looking and read this fic. please. i’m in love with it.]

Where The Lions Roam by Mytay

“‘ … tell me why Blue is making the moves on Keith.’ // Pidge stared at him, a touch incredulous. ‘You really haven’t figured it out?’ // ‘Pidge. I am very intelligent, but I am not a genius,’ Lance said patiently. ‘Spell it out for me.’ // ‘Well, you just sort of answered your own question,’ Pidge said, snorting. ‘Your Lion is making the moves on Keith — and by ‘moves’ I mean responding to your abject terror whenever Keith is in danger.’” [this author’s dialogue is so spot on, like i will automatically hear it in the character’s voice, and that doesn’t come to me easily. and just. lance. he deserves so much love, and this fic gives it to him.]

First Impressions Are Overrated

Stiles/Derek, 15K words, Teen, Stiles POV, Single Dad Derek Hale, Werewolf Reveal (on AO3)

AKA: what @rubyredhoodling won for @fandomtrumpshate!

In Stiles’ defense, he didn’t deliberately ram his grocery cart into the (evidently precarious) pyramid of oranges.

In fact, he would challenge anyone to maintain full control of any kind of vehicle after encountering the guy he just saw. Tall, broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, and a baby strapped to his chest, some adorable little thing with the guy’s dark hair and light eyes. And holy fuck, Stiles never really knew that babies did it for him—maybe that was a byproduct of getting older?—but he was ready to swear on his multiple gaming consoles that this vision was the sexiest thing he’d actually ever seen.

So honestly, no one could blame Stiles for twisting his head to get as long of a look as possible, produce pyramids be damned. But based on the murderous glare of the aproned guy who was coming over to help him corral the oranges, Stiles guessed that he wasn’t going to accept “but, stubble!” as a valid excuse for his clumsiness.

With a mournful sigh, Stiles said a mental goodbye to Hot Dad and crouched down to reach for as many oranges as he could. Thankfully, not very many people were around to witness his abject humiliation—Stiles grocery-shopped at 9 p.m. on weekdays for this exact reason—so he was hoping that he could get out of this without any awkward stares.

Stiles assumed that everyone had quickly fled from the ankle-twisting deluge of fruit now littering the linoleum floor of the produce section, so he was startled beyond belief when someone squatted down next to him. It was the guy, and it was only an act of god, probably, that kept Stiles from falling straight back onto his ass in shock.

Read the rest on AO3!

I was born and raised in Kentucky, near the foothills of appalachia. I could drive twenty minutes in any direction and find myself square in the middle of abject poverty. Every spring, winter-hardened homeless men reappear to beg for change by the end of most interstate off-ramps.

The people here don’t love me. I’ve been glared out of nearly any kind of establishment you can think of. The south is a place where there are crosses in sight nearly everywhere you go and Mitch McConnell has been voted repeatedly back into office since 1984. They play country music in the Dairy Queen and everyone has a Ford pickup (“because they’re made in the USA!”). It’s a place where speaking in tongues isn’t crazy but being transgender sure is.

Everyone I know wants to leave. They set their sights on Colorado, California, Washington, Oregon. Out in the west where everything is bigger, more open, more open-minded. A place where they might feel safe.

But Kentucky is my home. I love it from deep within my bones. The hills nestle you into them, lovingly, nurturing. In the summer, the air presses into your lungs like it has something burning to say. The forests here are more alive than any other place I have seen; the cicadas sing nonstop and the greenery is so lush that it holds you. A teacher once dubbed it “the sacred yoni” and I have since longed for nothing but mother earth’s embrace. I feel her magic everywhere.

Y'all. I can’t leave. I love these people the way you can only love the people where you come from. I love all of the brave queer kids and the scared queer adults and everyone in between. I love the homeless men begging for the kind of change that you can’t pull out of a wallet. I love the hills and the rivers and the trees.

Someone has to stay. Someone has to make it a better place.

You wanna talk representation? Wanna talk diversity?

Let’s talk, Sense8 style

1) Nomi Marks: Trans female hacker/activist who has the coolest girlfriend on the block. Born with the name Michael, so, I assume she had a sex change operation. Lives in San Francisco, USA.

2) Will Gorski: Average, American police officer, following in his father’s footsteps. Has ‘Saviour behaviour’/Messiah complex and thinks he’s responsible for the other sensates’ well-being, and the death of his childhood friend. A cop who doesn’t shoot black kids from the ghetto and instead, saves one. Lives in Chicago, USA.

3) Bak Sun: Korean businesswoman, VP of her father’s company and burdened with the responsibility of protecting her cheap/immature younger brother due to a promise made to her dying mother. Ignored by her father and a star of the underworld kick-boxing scene. Just amazing in general. Lives in Seoul, South Korea.

4) Kala Dandekar: Indian pharmacist, being forced into an arranged marriage with a guy she doesn’t love. Virgin, religious, has strong morals and is witness to religious extremism. Lives in Mumbai, India.

5) Capheus ‘Van Damme’ Onyango: Kenyan bus-driver who worships the action superstar Jean-Claude Van Damme. Comes from abject poverty and fiercely loves his ailing mother. He’s desperate to save his mother by using almost all of the money he earns to buy her AIDS medicine. Had to give up his younger sister to an orphanage because his mother could not afford to keep both children. Lives in Nairobi, Kenya

6) Lito Rodriguez: Mexican superstar and action hero. He is gay and in a relationship with a professor of art, Hernando. Closeted, and afraid to come out, his career is on the line as he is scared of being exposed to extreme homophobia. Has a beard called Daniela, who is supportive of their relationship and becomes their closest friend. Lives in Mexico City, Mexico

7) Wolfgang Bogdanow: German thief and safecracker, he participates in gang wars and is part of the underworld scene. He is of Russian descent and is a German citizen. After the fall of the Berlin wall, he was bullied by those in West Berlin due to being Russian. Hates his father and was raised by an uncle who never really loved him, he’s had to fight it out on the streets with his best friend Felix. Lives in Berlin, Germany.

8) Riley Gunnarsdóttir: Icelandic DJ settled in London, she’s a drug addict who thinks she’s hexed due to the deaths of those closest to her. She unintentionally becomes part of the dangerous London underground drug dealing scene. She loves classical music and loves EDM. Lived in London, UK. Lives in Reykjavik, Iceland. 

There you have it:

An American Trans woman who’s a hacker

An American cop who saves a kid from the ghetto

A tough, powerful South Korean (her fighting skils….ugh <3 )

A virgin Indian

A Kenyan with a mother with AIDS.

A Mexican homosexual

A German racism victim

An Icelandic drug addict who’s actually a bundle of joy and listens to Bach and Beethoven.

The Wachowski’s win again.