#miracle i didn't kill her

[xena-wolfgang]

this really makes me wish that there were more products available for lefties. like, we should replace the randomly gendered stuff to handedness. much more practical.

and my personal favorite:

i love getting validation as a lefty but also learning about new fun ways it continues to suck

[catsharky]

Ember please you're gonna kill him

Rewinding back to the Last Light Inn cause I haven't tormented Rolan enough. Ember's got zero shame and no interest in getting dressed before breakfast (she's worked nights for 2 decades so the fact she's awake before noon is a miracle, honestly)

If Rolan didn't owe her big time she would be getting the dressing down (hah) of her life.

The Rolan Comic Part 1 • Latest part

[the-faceless-bride]

More Ideas for KNY (demon slayer) different characters ♡ (SOME NSFW CONTENT FOR SANEMI AND MUZAN AND MENTIONS OF GORE IN SANEMI AND LIGHT NSFW IN GYOMEI)

<- Part 1

Imagine being dangerously in love.

Imagine being a demon, obsessed with the brash, and blood thirst Wind Hashira. the first time ever being in battle with him is what leads you down a path of want and lust for the cruel hashira.

Imagine going out of your way to always be where he is, always catching his attention and being attacked by him. He believes you're mocking him, following him just to show off that he hasn't been able to kill you. But that isn't true at all. When you fight, you never actively try and gut him, only blocking your neck and leaving the rest of your limbs exposed to be lashed in this masochism tango.

Imagine struggling to hide your enjoyment and ecstacy each time his sword ripped, teard, and scar your body. He had to have known how me made you feel. He must. The darkness of your cheeks must've been a giveaway. Right? His eyes bewitching you in how intense he glares into your soul. It sets a fire under your cold skin, a burning desire.

Imagine one time when you and Sanemi are fighting. Other slayers show up. But they don't instantly jump into the fight. 1. from looking at the fight, you hadn't landed a single strike and seemed to be a greater deal slower than the hashira, and 2. Tanjiro made an odd comment. "Huh, it's like she's avoiding striking him on purpose."

Imagine how Shinobu decided the fight was long enough and tried to sneak in and end the fight. Only for a switch to set off and catch her off guard and spin at the speed of light, leaving a large gash across her body from her left founder to her hip. And Sanemi instantly tried to help her. Only to be stopped by your own weapon pressed so close to his neck that even swallowing made his Adamsapple scrape against a sharp blade. "Don't you dare. Your attention is meant for me. Are you seriously letting her attempt to get between us work?" And that made Sanemi pause... "us? Wha-" -- "don't play dumb darling. We're soulmates, Sanemi~" you whisper to him. "What the fuck."

Imagine how now you make him feel so conflicted, how he hates you for what you are but loves you for how you make him feel... in his home in his spare time as the sun rises, his windows covered and locked tight as he has you on your knees, leaning forward and his chest pressed to your back. Your head locked between his bicep as his other hand held his sword under you. It nicks you each time he thrusts. If he pushed you forward anymore, his blade would surely cut your chest and stomach open. "I HATE YOU, YOU FILTHY DEMON. I DONT WANT YOU. CURSE YOU FOR DEMONIC TEMPTATION." You softy cry at the harsh words from your love, "I don't care if you don't want me... I'm yours right now..."

Sanemi Shinazugawa × Demon reader Trope: Yandere Lovesick/I hate you so much I love you.

Imagine being with Muzan his entire life... your family were servants to his family. And from a young age, you were assigned to be Muzans personal maid or companion as you were too young to really do any work than cleaning up his room. But since you can remember, you've always been with Muzan.

Imagine being the one he confides with most. His fears, his wishes, and despite his coldness. His shouldering eyes seemed to be less scorching when it came to you. His one and only friend. Even if you didn't have much of a choice in the companionship. It was you who sat in on his doctor's visits about his deteriorating health. When he got the news of how it would be a miracle for him to even make it to his mid 20s...

Imagine how one night after a particularly scary coughing fit, he simply places his head to your mid section as you blush his hair and pull it back into a braid. He softy thanks you as he tilts his head to look up at you, "Of course, I'm always happy to take care of you." But that isn't want he wants. He wanted to take care of you. Not you to him. And without thinking, he pulls you down to him.

Imagine His heat is pounding in his chest. You lay across him as his long and slim fingers tease you between your legs. You try and stay quiet, your face twisted with pleasure and guilt. You felt like you were taking advantage of the sick man who would never find love or feel the love of another in such a romantic and intimate way. You thought maybe that this was him just grasping for a moment where he didn't feel so useless being bedridden. But it was so much more. If this was the last thing he did, pleasing the only one who he cared for most. The one he wished he could've married... he would be happy to die. This surely isn't good for his heart, but he couldn't care less. You hovering yourself above him. As he tried weakly to pull you in to rest your whole weight. This was how he wanted to spend his last days, weeks, and months. However long he had left. He wanted it to be with you.

Imagine as days go by, and he feels more and more guilty. He starts to feel as though you let him do these things because you feel obligated as his personal maid to do so. Nights in the dark ask he fingers you, giving and receiving oral pleasure. But you still won't give him everything. You refuse to fully lay with him. Sometimes, he feels like it's because you don't really love him. Not like he does you. Or maybe you find him... pathetic... he can't actually make love to you. You'd be doing all the work. He doesn't want that, and it seems you don't either... eventually, his thoughts become too much, and he decides to let you go...

Imagine you were relieved of all your maid duties, not just to Muzan but to the family as a whole. You were heartbroken. And the heartbreak only worsened at the news of Muzan and his families and your families deaths. You'd cried more times than you'd ever had before in your life. And you were so very confused when you'd found a Man who looked exactly like Muzan sitting in your bed a few nights later. "Hello dear. I'm home." He invented to truly give you what you wanted, and he was eager to give it too you.

Muzan Kibutsuji × reader Trope: Unrequited/reunited love/soulmates

Imagine being Master Kagaya's faithful slayer, you'd always admired him. You and your Master had created a strong bond. Stronger than others. Moments like this reminded you that you were special. You sat on your knees as you just like you had the first time. Your head pressed to his chest and he dragged his fingers over your head.

Imagine trying not to tear up as you remember the first time you'd kneeled for him. You'd been reckless and impatient leading to a fellow slayer getting extremely hurt. You kneeled before him as you sat in the room alone waiting for him to speak. Doing your best to not make any noise as you silently cry. You'd failed him. Your beloved Master. But he didn't yell. He didn't make you feel like you were a problem. He merely hummed before knealing with you, one hand on atop your head and the other cupping your cheek feeling the wet stream of tears and wiped it away. "It's alright. You didn't mean for this to happen. I know you didn't. I know you're a good girl." And your breath hitched. He noticed. And from then on he gave you positive affrimations which encouraged you to do better. For him.

Imagine how as you sat there listening to his words letting yourself flow away and melt into your master. He thought it was innocent. He was simply your master helping you, if it wasn't him maybe you'd find these soft words from Gyomei or maybe even Kyojuro... but he was wrong. So wrong. It was him. Only him. You'd put yourself on the line so much more than you should've. All to hear those soft praises. His wife must not like you... you do take up more and more of his time as days go on...

Imagine how he softly calls to you. Late that night, he'd heard your footsteps. He sat with you talking. About anything that day. Soft and short conversations. Quiet but not uncomfortable. "You're my favorite you know." He sighed, before he let out a small chuckle "don't tell the others." You know he was teasing. But your heart told you other wise.

Imagine being hurt. In battle you were hurt. But even in your pain you still made your way to your master... your beautiful Kagaya... the married man, the family man, that you had fallen in love with. "My dear, you still come and see me while you're in such pain?" He seemed shocked. But you aren't sure why, you'd walk on hot coles and crawled on your hands and belly to kneel for him. You'd do anything for your master. And you could only hope as his favorite... you wouldn't let him down. Finally you lifted your head from his chest, pulling his hands from your hands, leaving a kiss to his knuckles. One day. One day you'll have him.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki × Slayer reader Trope: unrequited love/lovesick/slow burn

Special Part two of Forbidden love with Gyomei × demon

Imagine how the rest of the slayers flock around Gyomei, asking him so many questions. And he couldn't even answer them all. Too consumed by his disbelief that the person he'd fallen in love with so deeply, had turned out to be a demon.

Imagine how he layed in bed lonely and... missing you. He began to long of your cold touch, your voice, your laugh that was so contagious to him. He missed you. He'd fallen for you. Demon or not. He laid in his bed trying and failing to get even a wink of sleep. But just as he had almost fallen asleep he was awoken by a sound. 'Tap tap' was the sound, 'tap tap' on his window. "Gyomei... my love..."

Imagine how he practically leaped from his bed. Demon or not you had carved yourself a spot in his heart. Slamming open the window and pulling you inside, his hands instantly feeling over your cheeks, your nose, your neck. Kissing the knuckles of your cold hands.

Imagine being the one that made Gyomei for a moment stay from his faiths. Gyomei devoted his life to his beliefs, that includes waiting. Waited all his life for the one. Saving himself and waiting. But you both were in a unique circumstances... so from that point on Gyomei promised himself to you. You would stay with him in his home and he would always come back to you. That night he would kiss you, love you, lay you under him while he whispered for you to be his.

[no-144444]

3 minutes- l.norris

summary: lando overshoots an overtake, and you go off the track. what then ensues is the most stressful and awful 3 hours of his life.

pairing: lando norris x fem! rbdriver! reader

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He overshot it, and you were off the track. 

“Fuck!” he screamed, looking in his mirrors. “Is she ok?” 

“Red flag, red flag! No info yet Lando, keep going-”

“Is she getting out of the fucking car?!” he screamed. Everything was too much, too fast, too difficult. Every single person in the stands was silent, or maybe his brain was just filtering it out. He couldn’t hear anything, just his own voice, his own breath, and the beat of his own heart in his ears. He needed information, he needed to know that you were walking out of the car. He needed to know you weren’t dead. He needed to know if he still had a fiancé. It was bad. He knew it was bad. It was the third lap of the fucking Sprint. 

“No info-”

“Don’t give me that shit! Is she getting out of the car?!” 

“She is exiting the car, yes.”

And fuck, Lando could breathe again. 

“Assisted,” Will added and his heart dropped. “They’re stopping the session, bring it back to the pits.” 

Lando screamed. As he slowly drove towards the pits, he could feel the eyes on him. The drivers, the media, the fans. All of them wondered the same thing as him. Had he really fucked everything in his life up? 

He parked in his own garage and ran out to the RedBull garage, needing more information than anyone was willing to give him. 

“What is going on?” he demanded of your race engineer, Ryan. 

Ryan sighed. “Have you seen the footage yet?” 

“Don’t show it to him!” Christian demanded, crossing the garage to get to him. “You shouldn’t be here, get out of my garage.”

“She’s my fucking fiancé, if I want information, I’m getting it Christian.”

“You’re the one who fucking killed her!” he screamed. 

The garage went quiet. Lando’s heart rate sped up, his eyes glossed over. He couldn’t have lost you. He didn’t lose you. He refused. He became so much more aware of everything around him, the dead silence in the garage, the way everyone else’s eyes were wide, or subdued. The way Max stilled. The way Christian just stared at him. The way everyone stopped breathing. He could feel every inch of his race suit on his skin, he could feel every curl on top of his head, every bead of sweat that fell from his skin. He took a deep breath. 

“She’s gone?” he asked in a broken whisper, looking at Ryan. Ryan looked down. 

“They got her back!” Henry, your lead mechanic screamed, informing the entire garage that you in fact, were alive. “She’s breathing, she’s awake!” 

There was a collective sigh of relief. With the aid of Max, Christian backed off enough to allow Lando to see the footage and hear the whole story. 

He watched in horror as the front left of his McLaren hit the back right of your RB and sent you flying. Somehow, you’d become airborne and flipped 8 times. 8 times. He counted it. The car hit into the barriers, and it split. 

You didn’t move. The cameras turned away. The marshals ran. George ran on, his car had been hit with debris, the same for Franco, Liam, and Alex. They ran over, trying desperately to help you out. George and Liam carried you over to the ambulance. You were limp. Unresponsive.

“She died for 3 minutes,” Ryan explained, a sombre tone in his voice. “She’s on her way to the hospital now.” 

He looked down, the tears flowing freely. You had died. For 3 whole minutes, you were gone. 

“We think it was the impact of the spinning, and then hitting into the barriers. And… her Hans device was faulty. It wasn’t put on properly, and it came off during the first spin.”

“What about the halo?” he asked. 

“It was crushed in the flips. She took the full impact of the last two with no Hans deivce. It was a miracle she didn't break her neck.” 

He felt like he’d been slapped. 

“We’ll get a car ready for you now. She’ll want to see you,” he explained, wrapping an arm around Lando and bringing him out into the paddock. Ryan, Max, and Henry shielded him from the prying eyes of the media, and got him into a car to the hospital. 

What then ensued was the longest car ride of his life. Sao Paulo traffic was awful on a good day, but fuck. This was excruciating. What was worse was the inner turmoil he was dealing with. Would you ever want to see him? Would you leave him after this? Was this the end? Would you ever get back into an F1 car?

When he finally made it to the hospital, he was rushed to the ICU, walking behind a nurse. 

“She’s in a stable condition, and she’s awake. She’s been asking for you,” she explained and a weight was lifted off his shoulders. You wanted to see him. You asked to see him. 

He turned the corner into your room and he met your eyes. Bloodshot, with a burst blood vessel in one of them. You were bruised and broken, too many casts to count. 

“Lando,” you smiled.

You smiled. 

He rushed over to your side, sitting in the seat at the side of your bed. “I’m here.” 

Your eyes were welling up in tears. “I wanted to see you before I left the track but they said I had to go,” you explained. “This isn’t your fault Lan. It was a racing accident. It was a mistake.” 

He stared at you for a moment. How was it that you could sit there, in pain, traumatised, and comfort him? If he was a better man, he probably would’ve told you it was his fault, and not start crying at your kind words. 

He started tearing up, bowing his head as to stop you seeing. “I don't deserve you.” 

“You do,” you whispered, cupping his cheek. “You do, Lan. You’re here. I know you, and I know you’ve been beating yourself up for the last 3 hours. You didn’t kill me. I’m still alive.” 

“I killed you for 3 minutes,” he croaked out. 

“Racing killed me for 3 minutes. My defence killed me for 3 minutes. My ego killed me for 3 minutes. It wasn’t you, Lando. I turned into you, I’ve watched the footage,” you assured him. “Don’t blame yourself. I don’t.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, wrapping his arms around you carefully. 

“I’m ok,” you whispered. “You're ok. It’s ok.” 

You both knew it would take some time to get over this, but you knew you’d do it together. That was the important part.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[inkskinned]

so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.

this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.

somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.

i used betterhelp.

i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.

the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.

they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.

the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.

i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."

i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.

the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.

i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.

in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.

the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.

betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.

i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.

there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.

in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.

i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.

[avelera]

So apparently, Fortiche shared concept art where Jayce's Hexcorization in the cave would extend all the way to his face:

And this is really interesting to me from a narrative perspective, here's why:

Much of S2 Jayce's arc is incredibly... punitive. Like, he is really being punished step by step for everything he did wrong in S1. From Renni terrorizing and almost killing him for the death of her son, to Viktor leaving him "for another woman" (the Hexcore as represented by Sky) much like Jayce left him for politics as represented by Mel, there's really a sense of the narrative not only tearing Jayce down to his bare essentials (something that's very common for TV writing to do, by the way, it's very common that you want to see characters reduced down to who they are for their "long night of the soul" moment before they learn the lessons of what they really stand for before going into the climax armed with those lessons), but Jayce's time in the cave really goes even further than that and not only does S2 take away his political career, his Hextech ambitions, his state as someone able-bodied, much of his strength, and certain other gifts, it looks like in this draft they considered taking away his beauty too.

I think it would have been interesting either way if they had, but I want to dive into the narrative structure of action and punishment in Arcane, why Hexcorizing Jayce's face might have been a step too far and not really addressed a lesson he needed to learn, and my thoughts on punitive character arcs in general in Arcane (or lack thereof), specifically with regards to Jayce and Caitlyn.

I've mentioned elsewhere that I always found it interesting that much of the hate directed towards Jayce by the fans was for his perceived incompetence in difficult moments, rather than at how naturally gifted he seems to be at everything.

When I first watched S1 on my own, I thought Jayce was a bit unbearable because everything comes so easily to him (after Viktor becomes his partner and Hextech takes off as a result, that is). He is naturally beautiful, he's built like a god but doesn't appear to do any sort of exercise routine to maintain this other than working in the forge, he becomes the Man of Progress and rockstar of Piltover pretty much without trying, girls are literally sighing dreamily as he goes by.

He's also naturally a genius, from what we see, revolutionizing multiple industries with one invention. Even his rescue as a child is a literal miracle and it spurs him to create an invention that makes him a rockstar. When he enters politics, he immediately dominates, to the point where he's able to get a unanimous vote to overthrow the founder of the city within weeks of going there. Even in battle he's naturally gifted and naturally lucky during the raid of the Shimmer factory (up until the death of Renni's son), even though he has no prior skills as far as we know. He also wins the love of arguably the most beautiful woman in the series, again, seemingly without trying.

Then, S2 doesn't just take all of this away from him, it seems to go a step further into actually punishing Jayce for how easy and miraculous his life was in S1.

I'm of two minds about the Hexcorization reaching his face, but I have a hypothesis. I think it would have looked fucking rad but, I kinda get why they didn't do it:

Because Jayce's good looks are not something he can control, unlike the other things the narrative punishes him for.

Insofar as he can control his looks, he gives up on the clean-cut, immaculate "Golden Boy" image. Even in the idealized astral plane, he keeps most of the marks of his time in the pit like his hair and beard. I think it's because Jayce likes who he became down there. The clean-cut version of him was always the mask of him trying to please others, Jayce's appearance after he emerges from the cave is him shedding the opinions of others (contrast this with how Viktor idealizes himself in the astral plane, removing all marks of his illness. This isn't a criticism, just an interesting point of contrast).

So basically, my theory is Fortiche may have pulled back on Hexcorizing Jayce's face on the one hand to soften the visuals a bit, but secondly because it keeps the focus on punishing Jayce for things he chose to do, rather than things he doesn't really have control over.

But make no mistake, the narrative comes down hard on Jayce in S2, for every little thing the fans could and often did hate him for in S1. He pays for all of them, arguably in excess of what he maybe deserved, since as he says he didn't ask for any of this. But he did go along with it, and there's where the hammer of consequence (quite literally) comes down on him, tears away all his privileges, drags him down to literally the level of Viktor when he first left the undercity and says, "You have to do it all again but now focused on what really matters, and it's going to be ten times harder than it ever was."

This, in my opinion, is why Jayce is so popular coming out of S2. It is a hell of an arc, it's a hell of a redemption! You gave the man everything any man could want, then you took it all away, and then as his crowning moment of showing he has truly learned these lessons and made up for his mistakes, he makes possibly the most loving gesture possible, puts his weapons down, and reaches out to the person he loves most and literally sacrifices himself on the altar of his mistakes to make things right and show Viktor he is loved, and to protect Viktor from the horrifically lonely fate of his future self. It doesn't get any more noble, loving, or self-sacrificing than that.

Because more than we like to see a character punished we like to see them learn from their mistakes and come back better. Jayce's S2 nobility is earned, perhaps even to excess, no one can question whether he suffered enough to make up for what he did in S1 but even the most uncharitable read of him in S1, his biggest hater, would have to agree his time spent starving to death in agony, alone in that cave for months, has got to be just about the worst punishment a human can face and live.

Which is one reason I must add that I find it a little puzzling that Arcane's creators didn't predict the hate that Caitlyn would get in S2.

Keep in mind, because this is very important, the Arcane creators did not make S2 in response to fan reactions to S1. S2 was already in production and the script was locked in and done before anyone outside their organizations saw S1. So nothing that happens in S2 is as a result of fan response.

But, the creators did understand that Jayce was going to need to suffer narrative punishment for what he did in S1 in order to be redeemed, whether they predicted how hated he would be after S1, they did predict that redemption would be necessary. And boy-howdy, did they give him a hell of a redemption arc!

But Caitlyn's S2 actions are almost in lock-step similar to Jayce's S1 actions, being manipulated (by a Medarda!) into accepting power, but maybe not having a choice in the matter, but still maybe expanding that power on their own because it is useful in its own right. Caitlyn also makes terrible mistakes. A child doesn't die but people in the undercity do get hurt during her rage-fuled raids, even if most of them are mob bosses and their goons. The narrative asks, does that make it right? Caitlyn like Jayce hurts the person closest to her who is from the undercity and uses bigoted language against the people of the undercity to Vi's face in much the same way that Jayce did to Viktor on the bridge, though in Jayce's defense, he apologized immediately after.

So, seeing how hated Jayce was coming out of S1, to the point where there's still barely any merchandise of him, I'm shaking my head rather ruefully that there was so much merch made for Caitlyn this time around. And I get it! Caitlyn and Vi were very popular after S1, they are intentionally THE main romance of the show and it was a very popular romance coming out of the innocence of their meet cute in S1.

But it's a romance that dearly needed a longer third act if you wanted Caitlyn to be as embraced after her mistakes as Jayce was after making up for his all through S2. You need to give her as long or at least as in-depth of a redemption act with as much suffering and acknowledgment of her mistakes if you want Vi and Caitlyn at the end to get celebrated the way Jayce making it up to Viktor is, because as much as I understand the choice to focus on pacing instead of exposition, and I do think Caitlyn's apology and realization of her mistakes are there on the page more than people complain, I do also agree that it is a bit "blink and you'll miss it" even if it's there. Jayce got a whole episode of being thrown into the Torment Nexus for his mistakes, real or imagined, if you didn't like him or his choices, you definitely got the sadistic glee of watching life kick the stuffing out of him for what he did in S1.

But besides her fight with Ambessa, which was a result of a confluence of many events in the story, not just Caitlyn's mistakes, Caitlyn doesn't really suffer much for the mistakes she made to those she loves. Her losing an eye to Ambessa didn't happen because she said bigoted things to Vi or became a short-term puppet dictator of Piltover. It was a result of Ambessa's actions and maneuvering more than it was a result of Caitlyn's personal mistakes to her loved ones.

In contrast, Jayce's time in the pit gave him the chance to reflect on and suffer for the the mistakes he made that led to the Anomaly that led to him being down in this pit, and what he would do to make it up to his loved ones like Viktor when he returned. Caitlyn never got a moment like that and from what I'm seeing of the vitriol directed towards her, so similar to what Jayce got after S1, it seems like she really needed it if we were going to like her to the same extent again, in a way uncomplicated by lingering questions about whether she ever truly learned the lessons her character needed to learn to grow as a person.

And it's just funny to me that a narrative that was so aware that this whole huge punishment arc was needed to rehabilitate Jayce wasn't aware that we'd need one for Caitlyn too, at least if they're going to move all that merch they made for her (please give us Jayce merch, Riot, I'm begging).

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Other Boy Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: Spencer is focused on not hurting you and keeping a healthy distance, but his whole world is turned upside down when he hears a male voice in your apartment.

Words: 3,9k.

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, alzheimer, blood. references to what happened with maeve (no direct mention). painter!reader. post prison reid (with so much trauma). lack of communication. angst. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This chapter was veryyy difficult to write because I really wanted to show both points of view, and I killed myself researching the deeper consequences of three months of confinement to be realistic with Spencer😭 I hope this makes sense to you.

Most days in apartment 23 were lonely and very decadent.

Generally, Spencer Reid woke alone in a bed that felt far too large for one person, the sheets cool and undisturbed on one side. Coffee came first, a dark, bitter brew that filled the air with its sharp aroma. He would stand by the kitchen window, staring out at the skyline, lost in thoughts that circled endlessly but led nowhere. His medical books were always on the table, their spines cracked and pages marked with notes and highlighter strokes. He pored over them not out of passion but desperation, chasing elusive cures for his mother’s Alzheimer’s. The phone rested nearby, a constant reminder of his work, its silence pressing heavier with each passing hour.

When there was no call, which was really weird, he filled the void with repetition. He’d toast bread or fry eggs for a meager breakfast, then venture out to the coffee shop on the corner. The routine was painfully predictable: the same stale donuts, the same barista with the tired smile, the same seat by the window. Thirty-two minutes, start to finish, every time. If the phone didn’t ring even then, he’d wander aimlessly to the library, where the scent of old paper offered fleeting comfort, or return home to let classical music fill the otherwise suffocating quiet. He was always pleased to hear songs without lyrics that could further suffocate his brain. It was a nice way to wait to be needed.

But one day, the loop cracked. Midway through his meticulous routine, something—or rather someone—broke through the fog of his predictability. You moved in next door.

And then, all of a sudden, his quiet time between classical sonatas, coffee, and huge books was interrupted by your cat, and consequently, you. His whole routine changed right away. He no longer woke up alone in his bed because you and Mittens took up all the space that was left and more. He didn't just buy one coffee anymore; now he bought two, with an extra brownie that you loved. He didn't lock himself away to read non-stop because he had you to talk to and give him the support that no book could ever give him. He stopped listening to so much classical music because you liked watching him analyze the lyrics of your favorite songs. He stopped waiting for calls from work to feel useful because you always seemed to need him.

And he welcomed all the changes, because the biggest one was his favorite: you.

Everything about you captivated him from the moment he saw you hauling an absurd number of canvases into your apartment. You were unlike anyone he’d ever met. Your presence turned the once-sterile hallway into a place of possibility, where running into you felt like a small miracle. But what amazed him most was how you transformed his apartment, a place he once thought of as lonely and very decadent, into a home. It wasn’t just the way Mittens treated his space like her second domain or how your art supplies slowly began to infiltrate his coffee table. It was the warmth you brought with you, the way you made him feel seen and understood in a way he never had before.

But since Spencer was used to it, nothing good lasted. But since Spencer was used to it, he'd rather leave than be left behind again.

You two were almost like strangers now. The warmth that had once filled his days was gone, replaced by a hollow silence that lingered in every corner of his apartment. There were no more mornings waking up together, no shared cups of coffee, or lazy conversations about nothing and everything. Even your casual hallway encounters had dwindled into fleeting moments, a rushed “good morning” as you passed each other without meeting his eyes.

Now, his mornings were cold and solitary once again. He sat alone at the small kitchen table, the other chair pushed neatly against the wall as if to erase any memory of you. The second coffee cup he’d grown so used to buying stayed behind at the shop, and the barista didn’t even ask about the brownie anymore. Instead, he carried a single steaming cup back to his apartment, where it joined the growing pile of books that had reclaimed their place as his only companions.

He buried himself in his medical texts with a desperation that bordered on obsession, but even the words on the page couldn’t hold his attention. He visited his mother at the nursing home you had helped him find, but the comfort he once felt from knowing it was close had turned into an aching reminder of how involved you’d been in every part of his life. And to make things worse, the job that had always been his refuge was gone too. Temporarily suspended, he had nothing to distract him, no cases to pour himself into, and no purpose to latch onto. He was adrift, waiting for his boss to negotiate with the bureau, waiting for his life to have some semblance of meaning again.

This morning was no different from the others. A bleak repetition of what his life had been before you. Spencer sat on his couch with a cup of coffee that had already gone lukewarm. His fingers gripped the edges of an open book, but his eyes skimmed the words without processing them. The air in the apartment was heavy, stagnant, broken only by the soft, repetitive scrape of Mittens’ claws against the fabric of a cushion. The sound grated on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to shoo her away. In truth, he was grateful for the small disruption, even if it came from a cat that seemed to sense his turmoil.

But something changed this time. From the corner of his ear, a sound, a voice, pierced the thin walls of the place. It was not so loud, but it was unmistakable. A man's voice. Deep. Low. Tense. And from your apartment.

His body tensed, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His heart stopped for a few seconds. The voice was unfamiliar; he knew it wasn't one of his friends because he knew them all, but there was still something about it that made him uneasy. It was almost...harsh. The words, though distorted by distance, still had a tone that made Spencer catch his breath. It wasn't an argument, he didn't even hear your voice respond or even give the slightest sign that you were okay. It wasn't so loud, but the pressure of the voice, the possibilities behind it, didn't sit well with you. Especially since you were always reluctant to let anyone into your home.

At that moment, a deafening crash shattered the fragile stillness of the apartment. The sound reverberated through the walls, shaking picture frames and sending a cold jolt straight down his spine. It was the kind of noise that demanded attention, the kind that twisted in the pit of your stomach and told you that something was horribly wrong.

Then, silence.

No voices. No footsteps. Nothing.

It was the silence that gutted him most. His mind instantly spiraled into the worst-case scenarios. Blood pooling across the floor. Your voice screaming his name in pain, only to be silenced. The flicker of movement as someone fled the scene. He couldn’t stop the flood of images from invading his mind. They were vivid, visceral, and rooted in the darkest parts of his imagination.

The silence dragged him back to the nightmares. The ones he’d woken up to every night in that tiny, suffocating prison cell, his heart racing and his breath shallow. Nightmares of iron bars and shouts echoing down narrow corridors. Nightmares of blood in the courtyard, spilling from faceless bodies while the sun mocked him with its indifferent light. Nightmares of whispered threats and the press of a blade against his ribs. They had told him they’d hurt everyone he loved, and for months, he’d believed them.

He had learned survival then, how to block out the fear, how to guard his thoughts, how to endure. But the nights were a different story. He’d lie on that hard, narrow cot, willing his body to rest while his mind conjured the only thing that could keep him sane: the image of you. You smiling. Laughing. You safe. It was the only thing that had kept him alive in a place that wanted to devour him whole.

And now, this silence threatened to destroy that fragile illusion of safety.

Without even thinking, his hand went to the drawer where he kept his new pistol, and his fingers brushed the cold steel. He paused, thinking about how he never thought he would need it in a place like this, a safe apartment in a decent neighborhood, where the most dangerous thing that had ever happened was Mittens knocking over a vase or spilling his hot coffee. Yet now, everything felt wrong, the voice he’d heard earlier, the crash, the gnawing dread in his chest that whispered, you’re too late, for the second time.

His breathing quickened as his hand closed around the grip, pulling the gun from the drawer. The weight of the gun in his palm momentarily calmed him and made him feel in control again, but his mind was already racing, imagining the worst. What if something had happened to you? What if that voice was threatening you or, worse, trying to hurt you? What if that man had already hurt you and that's why your voice couldn't be heard? What if he failed you like he failed in the past? Spencer tightened his grip on the gun, his mind racing as his feet moved faster toward the half-open door of your apartment.

With his body paralyzed with fear for you and his mind screaming for him to come in and make sure you were safe, the door creaked open just enough for him to see inside.

You were standing in the middle of the room, disheveled but unharmed. The sight of you, alive and unhurt, should have brought him relief, but instead, it only stirred confusion. The kitten-faced shirt he had given you for Christmas was wrinkled, your hair wild and unkempt, and faint streaks of dust and paint covered your hands. His eyes darted past you to the man beside the sink, leaning casually over the counter, focused on his work. The sink was dripping steadily, water pooling beneath the cracked faucet, and there, next to it, lay a jagged shard of broken glass on a rag. The man, dressed in worn work boots and a faded flannel shirt, was tinkering with a wrench, his brow furrowed in concentration as he replaced the faucet head.

Damn.

For the first time, Spencer Reid realized something. His instincts were wrong. His mind had misfired. His thoughts, clouded by the lingering darkness of his past and the fear, had led him to the wrong conclusion. For the first time.

The man’s voice broke the silence. “Good thing you called me when you did,” he said cheerfully. “Could’ve ended up with water damage if this had gone much longer. Would’ve been a real shame for your paintings.”

At the mention of your paintings, your most cherished works, your soul poured onto each canvas, your body tensed, a chill running through you. Instinctively, you turned toward the wall where they were propped, vibrant colors peeking out from behind the half-open door, but it wasn’t the paintings that caught your attention.

It was Spencer.

Your heart slammed in your chest as your eyes met his. His face was tight with something you couldn’t decipher, but your gaze was drawn inexorably to the thing in his hand. The weapon he was awkwardly attempting to hide beneath his jacket. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut, your pulse spiking with a mix of confusion, disbelief, and raw fear. It was like the world shifted on its axis, everything around you turning to static, muffled noise.

You couldn’t speak. Your mouth went dry, your throat constricting. No words could come, not while your mind raced, trying to make sense of this moment that felt like a nightmare, and yet, it was all too real.

The man, Mike, your neighbor, remained oblivious, still focused on the task at hand. “All set here,” he said with satisfaction, wiping his hands on a towel, his back still to Spencer. “Just keep an eye on it, and let me know if anything else leaks.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay composed. “Yeah…thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Spencer shifted his weight, and you saw his hand, tight on the gun, pressing it awkwardly against his side in an attempt to hide it further. It only made things worse. His actions were clumsy, frantic even, as if he couldn’t decide whether to conceal it or confront you. And you saw it all, the frantic, fearful energy that was pulsing in the air between you. But what stung the most wasn’t just the weapon; it was the confusion in his eyes, the distance that had grown between you, and the unsettling realization that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell you why he was here. Why did he have to carry that gun knowing that you had never even liked to be near the drawer where it was kept?

Mike, noticing a subtle shift in the atmosphere but not understanding its source, glanced at Spencer briefly, his expression faltering slightly as if sensing the subtle change. But he said nothing. He simply gathered his tools and offered an awkward, polite nod. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your day,” he said, too focused on his exit to feel the heaviness that hung in the air. “Always happy to help. Just call me if anything else comes up.”

You didn’t speak. You just moved, stepping forward with a forced smile that felt more like a mask, positioning yourself subtly between them. Your movement was calculated, deliberate, blocking Spencer, hiding the gun, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. “Will do,” you said, the words sounding like a brittle lie in your own ears. The brightness of your tone was a poor attempt to mask the tightness in your chest, the hurt you couldn’t quite articulate.

With a nod, he headed toward the door, giving you a wave as he left. “Have a good day!”

“You too,” you managed to reply, your voice thin and strained. You barely registered the words before you were practically ushering him out, closing the door swiftly behind him, the finality of the click of the latch echoing in the silence that enveloped the room.

After a moment, you turned slowly, your hand slipping from the doorknob. Your eyes met his, and the look on his face stopped you in your tracks. His expression was raw, his brows drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line, his knuckles white where they clutched the gun now tucked awkwardly against his side. There was fear in his eyes, but also something else, something darker, harder that you never saw before.

“What,” you began, your voice shaking, “were you thinking?”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His chest heaved, breaths shallow and erratic. His mind, racing at full speed, tried to make sense of the words he needed to say, the ones that would make everything okay, the ones that would make you understand. But nothing fit. Nothing was enough to explain the panic that had taken hold of him, the fear that had driven him to do something he never would’ve imagined.

His gaze darted between your eyes and the gun still clenched in his hand, and a surge of self-loathing flooded him. He looked like a madman. He felt like a madman. His hand twitched, as if it were trying to pull the gun back, to shove it into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. But it was too late. He had already brought it into your life, into your apartment.

You took a cautious step toward him, each movement deliberate, careful. Like you were walking on glass, afraid that the slightest misstep would shatter everything between you. Your eyes flicked down to the gun, and your throat went dry. You swallowed hard, trying to push down the sick feeling in your stomach. “Put it down, please,” you said, your voice steady but thick with unspoken emotions.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around the grip. Then, as if the weight of your words had finally broken through, he blinked and seemed to snap out of a trance. His gaze dropped to the gun in his hand, and a wave of something, shame, regret, maybe even self-loathing, washed over his face. Slowly, carefully, he moved to the table near the entrance and set the weapon down.

The sound of the metal meeting wood was louder than it should have been, echoing in the oppressive silence of your apartment. The sharp clink made you flinch involuntarily, your body tensing as if bracing for something that, thankfully, didn’t come.

“You brought that into my apartment,” you said finally, your voice low and trembling.

“I thought—” he began, but you didn’t let him finish.

“You thought what?” you interrupted sharply, spinning around to face him. Your eyes were blazing, the fury in them cutting through him like a blade. “That you could just storm in here with a gun? That this—” you gestured toward him, your hand shaking, “—was the right thing to do? Even when you know how I feel about…this stuff?”

He knew, of course he did. He knew how much you hated his work and all that it involved, even though you tried hard not to show it every time he told you about it. Spencer knew that anything to do with violence gave you nightmares that only his company and many cartoons could alleviate.

“I thought you were in danger,” he whispered, his voice quieter now but laced with desperation as he took a tentative step toward you. His hands rose slightly, palms outward, as though to show you he wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you. “I heard a man’s voice, and then I didn’t hear you at all. There was a crash, something breaking…and I—” His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw, trying to stop the panic that clawed at him. “I didn’t know what was happening. I thought—God, I thought you were hurt.”

God.

He didn't usually say that word.

“You didn’t know because you didn’t ask.” The words shot out of you like arrows, and the sting was sharp. You took a step back, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to shield yourself from the wave of emotion crashing over you. “You didn’t call, you didn’t knock, you didn’t think.”

At that moment, Spencer wasn't sure if he was more hurt by your words or the fear that still haunted your gaze. It was almost as if you were afraid of him, his own mind told him. And it hurt, like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and your eyes narrowed as you stood there, fighting to regain control of your emotions. “If you weren’t ignoring me like the plague, you’d know that my apartment flooded a month ago. I’ve been trying to get the plumbing fixed, but I haven’t had the money until now. That’s what I was doing,” you said, your voice trembling but stronger now, the words tumbling out faster than you intended. “That’s why I had someone over today. He was fixing the leak. He’s just—he’s just a plumber, Spencer. He’s our neighbor from the fourth floor.”

His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in, the weight of your words sinking into him like a stone. The irrational fear that had gripped him moments ago now seemed distant, almost laughable in the face of what he had just done.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words were stuck, tangled in the knot of regret and guilt in his throat.

You met his gaze, searching for something, anything, in his eyes that might show you he understood, that he truly realized how wrong he was. But all you saw was the same deep sorrow, the same painful awareness of the damage he had caused.

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but cutting through the silence. “Or what happened these last three months that changed you so much.” You shook your head slowly, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But that wasn’t it. That’s not how you protect someone. That’s not how you show you care.”

The finality in your words hit him like a blow to the chest. Spencer’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, he looked truly broken. He stood there, vulnerable and raw, his lips parting as if to speak, but all that came out was a quiet, defeated whisper. “You’re right.”

His voice was barely above a breath, but it carried the weight of every ounce of regret he felt. “I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to protect you…or anyone.” His gaze dropped, his hand flexing at his side as if he didn’t know what to do with it. “I haven’t learned.” He exhaled sharply, a sound that was half a sigh and half a plea. “I’m sorry.”

And with that, he stepped forward, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he feared any sudden motion might shatter what little remained between you. His hand reached for the gun on the table, the clink of metal against wood echoing in the room like the final note of a requiem. You flinched at the sound, a subtle but unmistakable movement that made Spencer freeze in place. He saw it, the fear in your eyes, the way your body tensed, and it broke him in ways he didn’t know were possible.

Without another word, he tucked the gun securely away and turned toward the door. His steps were heavy, deliberate, like a man walking toward his own execution. He didn’t look back as he opened it, his silence saying more than words ever could. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound reverberating in the room, leaving you in a deafening, suffocating quiet.

You stood there, frozen in place, the weight of his absence crashing over you. Your chest ached, your mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t stop. For the first time, you weren’t sure if he was still the same man who had made you fall in love.

Because your Spencer would never have hidden a gun in his apartment, even when he was supposed to be suspended and without one. He would never have brought it to your home, especially after hearing you say a thousand times how scared you were of arms. And most of all, he wouldn’t have left the way he did now. He would have stayed. He would have held you, kissed your forehead, and asked for forgiveness a thousand times over until you knew, without a doubt, that he regretted every moment of his mistake.

But he hadn’t. And as the silence pressed down on you, you couldn’t help but wonder if the man you had loved was still there…or if he had already disappeared, piece by piece, in the last three months.

You certainly didn't know a lot of things.

[archangeldyke-all]

Consider the following cuz I think it's funny:

Sevika with a gf who's just... Kinda dumb? Just kinda ditzy and airheaded and it's kind of a miracle that she's still in one piece. Just a bit of a bimbo but goddamn does she love Sevika with everything she has.

-🌙

okay as a blonde who definitely has my fair share of Blonde Moments i love this l;askdjflskj

men and minors dni

sevika loves you so much.

so much.

she would kill for you. she would die for you. she would even wear matching pajamas with you-- that's how much she adores you.

that being said... sevika has to admit that sometimes you can be a little... clueless...

you aren't stupid! you're constantly reading and learning, watching documentaries and sharing interesting scientific facts with sevika. you're a whiz in the kitchen, always making delicious meals and treats, and you're incredible with couponing and keeping your grocery bill within budget. in sevika's eyes, you're one of the smartest people she knows...

but... sometimes...

sometimes, you can be a bit of a ditz.

you're horrible with directions. sevika's watched in horror many times while you hook a right, completely confident that you're headed left.

"babe, the bar's this way."

"you said left!"

"use your hands, babe..."

"...oh." you mumble, scratching the back of your neck in embarrassment as you turn around and start headed the correct way. sevika cackles and wraps an arm around you.

"where would you be without me?"

"wandering by the docks, probably."

"the docks are south of here, babe."

"yeah, south." you say, pointing east. sevika groans.

she gifted you a compass keychain for your birthday that year.

you struggle with spelling.

you love to leave sevika little love notes-- and she adores them! but sometimes, your notes have the unintended consequence of making sevika cackle while she tries to interpret your unique spelling. 'sevika, i've never been able to be so intimidate with somebody before...'

she teases you for the rest of the night about how intimidating you are together.

sometimes, sevika really wonders how you made it through life without her there.

like when you're behind the bar at the last drop making change for a twenty, and you hand the customer six fives.

"baby, that's thirty!" sevika squawks, smacking your hand before you can hand the man the money."

"what? no, babe, six times five." you say, scoffing and rolling your eyes.

"six times five is thirty, baby." sevika says slowly.

you groan and bury your face in your hands, embarrassed. sevika giggles and wraps you up in a hug, handing the man four bills and kissing your scalp.

"i'm an idiot." you groan.

"sometimes, yeah." sevika agrees. you gasp and elbow her, glaring at her. sevika giggles. "but the rest of the time you're smart! and i'm usually here to help before you can get yourself into any dumb trouble..."

"whatever. you're dumb too!" you say, pointing at sevika. she laughs.

"i am not!"

"you thought i hated you for months before we started going out." you say. sevika cackles.

"i didn't get why you kept looking at me!"

"'cause you're hot!"

sevika grins. "okay, i'm a little dumb emotionally. good thing i got you to balance me out, huh?" she asks.

you grin and kiss her. "you bet your ass."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

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@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel

[killerpancakeburger]

Scary Dog Privilege 3

You thought your days as Ghost's handler over since he started seeing Soap, but when someone's bold enough to lay hands on what's his, you feel obligated to intervene to prevent a massacre.

Inspired by this post by @shotmrmiller /Soap pic cred goes to @yumethefrostypanda

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, light smut, GuardDog!Ghost x Handler!Reader, Ghoap x Reader, dom!Ghost, dom!Reader, sub!Soap, light degradation towards Soap. Soap gets treated like a mutt, Ghost is Smug™️, what else is new! I can't write smut so they don't go all the way sorry 😔 1.4k words.

Part 1. Part 2.

When Ghost gets progressively murderous, glaring hard, who needs to defuse the situation? You, again. 

Someone is getting brutally murdered tonight, you think to yourself as you coolly take another sip from your glass.

When you joined your colleagues for a drink earlier in the evening, you were not counting on Ghost and Soap's presence. Your butt had barely grazed your seat that the scotsman was enthusiastically waving at you from across the bar, turning himself into the center of attention, while his taciturn companion was looking you up and down, dark stare as intense as ever, sizing you up like you were a potential adversary… or prey.

You had given a half smile and a reserved hand motion in return, before refocusing your attention on the people you came with.

You were still mad at Ghost, after all.

The bastard had been toying with you, letting you believe that, maybe, there could be something more between you two. Then you discovered he was fucking around with his blue-eyed Sergeant too.

Not appreciating being just another conquest, you had been keeping your distance from him. 

Until now.

Until the beauty sliding her way to Johnny catches your eye. She's undeniably attractive, and with the confidence to match. Maybe a bit too confident, you gauge as your eyes follow the motion of her hand informally palpating Soap's bicep.

You glance at Ghost, curious of his reaction.

What you find sends a cold shiver down your spine. If looks could kill… the poor thing would be dead several times over. In very gruesome ways.

It's a miracle she doesn’t feel his deadly stare piercing her skull, like he was trying to headshot her unarmed.

He hasn’t budged an inch, but even from afar, you can read the tension in his muscles— the line of his jaw, the strain of his forearm, the clench of his fist. Even with the mask, you can guess the scowl twisting his features.

You swear you can hear his glass of whisky wince under the pressure of his vice-like grip.

That's when you decide to prevent a carnage.

Finishing your drink, and informing your coworkers that you’d be back soon, you make your way to the bothersome couple and their no-less-bothersome third wheel, quickly plotting a plan of attack. How to get her to give up her target without causing— too much of— a scene?

Walking by Ghost before reaching your goal, you hiss at him under your breath: “Behave.”

Sneaking behind Johnny, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, embracing him from behind with a sickly sweet smile for your mark, fingers crossed that he'll play along, or at least keep his big mouth shut.

Chest pressed against his back, and lips close to his ear, you ask out loud:

“Sweetheart, who's your friend?”

Before the forenamed can reply, the woman snaps back, all her smiles and seductive tone gone out the window.

“No, who do you think you are?”

Outch. And to think you're doing all this to preserve her life. Ungrateful much?

You tighten your grip over Soap's possessively, your cordial expression not faltering.

“You should know not to go after taken men.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't see your name anywhere on him.”

So that's how she wants to play this, uh. Time to show her you can beat her at her own game easily.

“Oh, my bad, forgot to mark him before letting him out.”

Your hand leaves Johnny's chest to grab his jaw between thumb and forefinger, with enough strength to turn his face away from you, but not enough to hurt him, and making good use of the newfound access to his throat, you bite.

A strangled little noise escapes him, but you barely pay it any mind as you look up to stare at your opponent defiantly, and the mix of shock and revulsion in the grimace twisting her features tells you you've won. She gets up and takes off with a scoff. She must certainly take you for a freak, but it's a small sacrifice you’re willing to make.

Releasing Soap, you slump by his free side at the booth with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry. Don't be mad at me, that's all I found to make her leave.”

“I don't think ‘mad’ is what he's feeling now, luv.”

You glare at Ghost, irked by how satisfied he sounds. He half-turned your way, one arm leaning on the backrest, one hand squeezing his Sergeant's thigh.

“L.T.”, hisses the latter through gritted teeth, and it sounds like a plea, while absolutely refusing to meet your eyes.

“This is all your fault, you know,” you groan in the culprit's direction.

“S’that so?”

The smugger he sounds, the hotter your blood runs. It's not until you can feel his warm breath on your skin that you realize that, in your anger, you leaned towards him so much— and he returned the favor— that your faces are inches away. You even reflected him without meaning too, seizing Johnny's other thigh to balance yourself, causing the aforenamed to gulp.

“Sure it's not an excuse to drape yourself all over Johnny?”

You've never wanted to strangle someone so badly.

“You're delirious.”

“Gonna have to take responsibility for the state you've put him in.”

“That's bullshit. Johnny, tell him it's—”

Your mouth abruptly close as you take in the Sergeant's flustered state— half-lidded eyes, flushed face and ears, imploring expression.

“Guess I'll just have to demonstrate, then…”

Turning his words into deeds, Simon grabs your hand and directs it towards Soap.

“Nonono, Simonplease—”

In other circumstances, you would have put a stop to this. Set Ghost straight, shield Soap, embody the voice of reason. But…. Your mouth is dry, your skin ablaze, lust the only thing on your mind. It's like Johnny's beseeching whine caused most of your blood to desert your brain and rush South.

And Simon's actions are not helping— quite the opposite.

He guides your hand to his Sergeant's crotch, and the hard-on you find there sweeps away all the doubts you had about him not being into this, nor into you. The contact wrests a hiss from your target, and you look up to find him biting into his fist— a desperate effort to keep quiet. Glistening blue eyes bore into you, and you forget about anyone else's existence until Ghost speaks up again.

“Believe me now?”

The trip back to the base was a blur. One second you were in the bar, engaged in a staring contest, the next the sound of the lock of Ghost's bedroom rings out in the silence.

You barely find your bearings that Soap gets shoved on his back on the bed, and a warm hand on your back makes you land on him right after.

“Oof, what the fuck,” you complain as you rise on your forearms.

Soap isn’t deterred by the manhandling at all— used to it?—, instead lifting his head to nuzzle against you with a happy sigh. That's only then that you realize you somehow fell with your chest right in his face.

You attempt to get up on all four, but Johnny's grabby hands on your ass pinning you against him make it difficult.

“Bloody hell Soap, let me get up.”

He whines in protest at the command but obeys anyway.

You crawl backwards to meet his eyes. Next thing you know, his hand slips behind your neck to notch your mouth with his.

He's panting when you split up. The view makes you chuckle good-naturedly.

“So worked up already. I barely touched you.”

When he attempts to kiss you again, lips brushing yours, you recoil and perch on his lap.

You tug at his shirt and he sits up straight without needing to be asked twice.

“Let me look at you.”

Cradling his face, you stroke his bottom lip with your thumb as you contemplate him, taking in his dilated pupils and disheveled mohawk.

Enjoying his obedience as much as his eagerness, you let him remove your top, grope your chest and suck at your nipples.

Lost in his ministrations, you would have almost forgotten about his lieutenant's presence until a gloved hand slides from your hip to cup your crotch, and a warm torso presses against your back. You turn your head to get a look at him but he objects to it.

“Don't mind me, love. Focus on Johnny, yeah? Got the poor thing all pent up.”

The above-named openly moans at that, and you make a mental note— “likes when we talk about him like he's not there.”

There's a gap between Ghost's words and actions though, and it becomes incredibly hard to concentrate on Johnny when he slips his hand inside your pants to tease you with his fingers while kissing your neck. Of course he's doing this on purpose, the smug bastard. The night promises to be long.

[artofchoisan]

A BODYGUARD'S PUNISHMENT

Cold!Bodyguard!Seonghwa x Heartbroken!Brat!University!Reader

The Plot: Being heartbroken was a norm for your life especially with your own parents not caring about you and just giving you money to keep you quiet. No matter how much chaos you caused or the one time you almost got yourself killed to which they didn't want their status to be ruined they just assigned you a bodyguard with whom you’ve had a past that only you and him knew of.

TW: Rough Sex.

Words: 2.3k

► ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Causing chaos all around you, drinking until only alcohol flew into your veins, wrecking havoc by organizing parties and sleeping around and not to forget stealing cars and smoking weed, you’ve done everything, yet none seem to care.

Your own parent couldn't give one single fuck about you, never a caring words nor a caring touch, they only threw money at you and wave their hands off and just assigning you a bodyguard so as you don't get yourself killed which they only did mainly for their own name to not get soiled.

Yet, you gave your own bodyguard so many shit to deal with, the countless time you’ve been a brat to him by running off away from him, getting on his nerves and always getting wine onto his suit as you grinned, you didn't hate Park Seonghwa, he was just doing his job but anything associated with your parents you hated, and this man was just another toy in their hands.

So there you were, into another one of your escape, lying into a bathroom floor with a bottle of vodka into your hands as you stared up, what the fuck was your own life? You couldn't even escape this life and just hope that once uni was done you could get out of this fucked up home and lead a life of your own.

“Here you are.” An exasperated sigh reached your ears, as you only look up to find your bodyguard rushing to your side and forcing you up, “Could you stop running out of my sight at least once.”

“No! Fuck off!” Forcingly removing your hand off his hold as you almost tumble down before he catches you again, “Give me a break will you.”

“It’s an order, we’re going.” His voice is tight and cold, not wanting to put up with any of your bullshit, you’ve been getting on his nerves for nearly a year, it’s a miracle he held up for so long, “It’s my job.”

As you struggled against Seonghwa you knew it was of no use, as he was two heads taller than you and much stronger, “I’m not going anywhere.” With that he still managed to drag you outside the bathroom, out of the club and managed to open the door of the car and threw you inside, “Behave now.” Voice lathered in a warning as he glared at you before getting into the driver’s seat and putting on the child’s lock, just to be sure.

“What were you even thinking?” Starting the engine as he drive towards your apartment, your only answer to him was a roll of your eyes, "This disappearing act is getting really damn old," Seonghwa lead on, sharp and deliberate, digging the hurt in your chest deeper, "You need to learn how to grow up before—"

“Shut the fuck up Seonghwa.” Your own voice is colder than ever before.

Then a sob broke through your own voice, your hands over your face as the tears threatened to fall and just like that more anger swirl inside of you, “I know, I’m a fucking mess and fucked up all I do.” Saying more through gritted teeth, “I’m an embarrassment to my own parents and just someone who can't do anything right, just a little pompous bitch who uses her parents money without thinking. I know what everyone thinks and knows what you also think.”

Letting your head lean against the car window, “Just drive me home Park.”

This rendered Seonghw quiet, his eyes glancing at your tired face from time to time, jaw unclenched as for a few seconds he almost felt pity for you, he wasn't blind to the actions or lack of actions of your parents to you.

Once his car reached your apartment’s parking lot, he unlocked your doors and with that you made a dash for the elevators, not wanting to see more of him. Luckily as he locked the car, you managed to catch the elevator and in mere seconds you were gone, leaning against the elevators, you let out a sigh.

Once it reached your floor, you lazily walked towards your door, quickly inserting your keycode and before you could get inside your arms were gripped in an almost deadly one and was thrown inside as you groan, the door slammed shut behind him, “Can you stop acting like a fucking kid? Whining and crying like one.”

Too tired, you only turned your back to him, what have gotten into Seonghwa? Had he finally snapped. And if he did, despite your own tiredness you wanted to test just how riled up you can rile him up.

“I’ll continue to act like a kid as you say.” Saying those words out of your own tongue, as you turned to him, a few meters away as you unzipped your dress right in front of him and despite the few seconds of shock from Seonghwa’s eyes, he said nothing trying to not wanting to let you win.

Your dress dropped down to the floor revealing your black lingerie that hugged your breast well right in front of him, a generous portion of skin all in full view in front of him as you turned before bending down to get your dress.

That’s when you felt it, a deep growl and a strong pair of arms around your waist, “You’re a fucking brat.” A venomous tone into your ear, “You keep getting on my nerves, playing with me.” His hand around your neck, tilting your head up as you felt his breath onto your skin.

“But you didn't leave, you like it just as much but you would never admit that, right Mr Park?” Almost laughing at your own words, “Always handling me and touching me.”

You’ve crossed way too much line in just a few days.

Seonghwa seemed to be releasing all of his pent up anger onto you, feeling his tongue, teeth and lips against your neck, biting and sucking leaving your naked canvas of your neck in a painting of red and purple marks, his tongue licking long stride along your neck, “You need to be taught a lesson brat.”

His fingers traced along your body, his other hand still around your neck as his lips and teeth never leaving the bruising canvas he was creating on your skin, “Going out to get fucked? Huh? Come on princess, you know the dangers of that.” He then pulled hard onto your panties, tearing it up before it slapped against your skin.

The cold air hitting your cunt as you gasped out, “Please Hwa, I want you.” Your hands working behind you as you quickly took off his belt and palm onto his crotch, “Please, please. I’ll be good to you.” This wasn't an unfamiliar situation, fucking with your bodyguard wasn't a new thing.

Seonghwa turned you around, gripping on your shoulders he pushed you on your bed, “Just look at you princess.” His grin turned sinister, “Thinking another man can even fuck you as good as I can. Do you beg for their cock as you do for mine? Do you whine and plead, begging for it as if your life depends on it?”

His anger did all the talking as he looked livid, finally letting his emotions take a hold of him after months of restraining himself, wanting to do his job, only wanting to protect you and burying his own feelings down but jealousy always rear its horns.

“Please Seonghwa, I want you.” Nor you, not being able to deny yourself of him, your feeling blossomed into something more for him, for once, one person truly and sincerely cared, yet his own principles always comes in the way, “Fuck me, I want you to wreck me.”

With that he delved his fingers into you, forcing a gasp, grabbing his arms, digging your nails in as he wrapped one arm around your waist and the other brushed against your clit. "You're soaked, Princess. Only I can make you feel like this, right?" He asked growling slightly as he bit at your ear "Something turning you on?" He asked and you whimpered in response, whining out.

"Hwa, fuck... slow down" You begged as he thrust his fingers in and out, his palm brushing against your clit, his bracelets rubbing against your lower stomach, forcing whines and whimpers from your lips.

"When you mean it, I'll slow down" He grunted out, pressing kisses along the side of your face as you gasped looking down watching his fingers plunge in and out of you, his cock pressing hard against your ass. "Do you want to cum on my fingers, Princess?" He asked softly and you gasped arching your back slightly as he pressed on your lower stomach as his fingers reached deeper inside of you.

"Seonghwa" You cried out, pushing against his arms as your release slammed through you, spasming around his fingers and soft whines leaving your lips as he continued to kiss along your jaw and down your neck. He smirked against your neck and pulled his fingers out.

Without warning he turned you around and forced his cock deep inside you as you cried out in pleasure, “Oh fuck! Yes! More.” His animalistic thrust meets you with so much pleasure, his cock thrusting in and out of you as his mouth comes closer to bite onto your shoulder as his deep grunt drives you even more insane.

Seonghwa was fucking you with no mercy, “Look at you being so desperate for my cock and now taking me in so well, so good, such a good little brat for me.” Chanting his name like a mantra as feeling him so good and so big inside of you and being fucked so dumb made you to lose it as you press yourself more against him chasing your own high, “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“I could just leave you here,” Seonghwa warned yet his hips continue to fuck you even harder than before, his hold on your hips tighter than before, “I could just cum all over your back and leave you just like that, still all wet and horny, but we wouldn't want that, right princess.”

You were so fucked out, the tears in your eyes began dripping down your cheeks, “No please, Hwa. I need you, please don't leave me.”

Seonghwa’s demonic grin crossed his lips, “That’s my good girl, see you can be obedient when you want to.” Still thrusting into you, with no rest “I'm the only one who can make you feel this way. i’m the only person who can fuck you like this. you’re mine. say it, brat.”

“I’m all yours Seonghwa, only yours.”

With that you felt the knot onto your stomach tightened before the both of you came to your orgasm as you cried out in bliss, “Fuck.” Your body landed bonelessly onto the bed as you both were panting out, Seonghwa had removed himself from you as strings of white cum landed onto your back, “That’s my good girl.”

Once both of you had calmed down, Seonghwa helped you to lay more on the bed, his caring nature was what caused you to fall harder then he adjusted your hair and with a tender smile, Seonghwa leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“Love you..” mumbling out those words out of all the emotions into you.

The sweet atmosphere turned cold, Seonghwa froze and you immediately regret it. With a cold expression, he leaned back and stood up, adjusting himself in a robotic manner and his cold expression lying back into him.

“You can't keep doing that Seonghwa, you told it to me yourself before, you can't keep coming back fucking me out of jealousy, touching me and caring for me like that and then acting like that when I say the words you’re too scared to say.”

The secret had been out of the box, a few months ago when alcohol got the best of your system as you drowned into sin, you got quite intimate with your bodyguard who despite your wandering hands all over his body and your pleading eyes and whines, you’ve shared a night you’d never forget.

As the next morning had reached you, your secret was already out of bed and dressed sitting in the living room with eyes darting forward, thinking of a mistake he’d made but as the days went by, the man broke the first rule of being a bodyguard and it almost cost you your life one day, as he got distracted and it almost cost you your life.

After that encounter with death, you’ve found some warmth into the arms of your bodyguard whom this time had the both of you sober and this time he allowed temptation to take hold of his soul, gripping onto the chains of his own restraint, he ripped it out and took your mouth in his as you allowed sin and lust to consumed the both of you in a horrid night of sex.

“You know I can't, my job is to protect you. I can't fail, I can't let you get almost killed.”

Every time, after he allowed temptation to get the best of him, he would grow cold and distant and would only worry about your safety while his icy demeanor brought you some hurt that only caused for you to cry as you’d allow the pain to make you cry as you’ve had confessed to him to which he could only shake his head not wanting to break any more of his own rules.

“Seonghwa.” You sigh, face pinched into a hurt expression, “Listen to me, I love you, I’m not scared to admit that, you’re not careless, you protect me so please, let’s give this a chance, until I finish university, please.”

For a while, he was quiet and then he walked to you and dragged you into his arms, “I’ll trust you. I’ll protect you. For once I’ll be selfish, I won’t let you go so please bear with me for a while.” Then a smile appeared on his lips, “I love you too my little brat, I don't think I can live without you.”

“Neither can I, Mr Bodyguard.”

[sematarygirls]

anxious!reader forcing rafe to watch her shitty rom coms with her? he’s secretly all grumpy but he LOVES it <3

  ⠀⠀♯┆Anxious!Reader &&. Romcoms With Rafe.ㅤ  ۪ ୧

ᰋ. ‎ ‎‎ ‎ rafe would make such a fuss about romcoms and then end up getting so invested / i was going to use 10 things i hate about you, but then, i decided to go with my personal favorite romcom‎‎—the princess bride ‎ ‎ : ‎‎ ‎ ‎WARNINGS . . . none, just fluff.   ̼ ₊

"No way. I'm not watching this chick shit," Rafe protested, making a move for the remote, but you quickly pulled back, refusing to let him take over movie night again.

"You'll like it, I promise," you reassured him, pressing on the movie titled The Princess Bride.

"Fat fuckin' chance," he scoffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. As you pressed play, he rolled his eyes, ready to settle in for a boring night of chick flicks, but deep down, he knew it made you happy so he let it happen, only putting up a fight to maintain his image.

"It's got death and sword fights and adventure," you smiled brightly at him, gushing about your favorite movie in a way that made his expression soften a fraction.

"And kissing," he pointed out, making you laugh at how he sounded exactly like the little boy at the beginning of the movie, protesting the story just because he thought it would be a silly, girly love story.

"i thought you didn't mind kissing," you smiled playfully, giving him a peck on the lips as you snuggled closer to him.

"Smartass," he muttered, but his hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Fine, I'll watch your fuckin' princess movie."

"Shh, it's starting," you smiled, watching as the movie opened with the little boy sick in bed, playing a baseball game when his mother came in to inform him that his grandpa was visiting to check up on him.

The movie started slow with some boring romantic bullshit like Buttercup and Westley saying "as you wish" instead of "I love you" that had Rafe rolling his eyes, but when the presumed love interest was revealed to have died at sea by the Dread Pirate Roberts, Rafe found himself perking up. Only about 10 minutes in, and someone had already died, albeit off screen. Maybe this movie wouldn't completely suck.

He found himself increasingly invested, wishing for Westley back as soon as the guy he assumed was Princess Buttercup's new love interest, Prince Humperdink, was introduced. "This guy seems like a dick," he commented.

"Just wait," you giggled, having inside knowledge as to just how much of a dick he really was. As Princess Buttercup got kidnapped and almost died to the shrieking eels, Rafe found himself stretching out on the couch, his reluctance fading with each passing moment of action unfolding, and by the time the sword fight between the Man in Black and Inigo Montoya started, he was completely and utterly invested.

You glanced up at Rafe, smiling as you saw his brows furrowed, his blue eyes tracking the two men as they darted back and forth, each trying to best the other. The sword fight had always been your favorite scene, ever since you were a kid.

The scenes passed by, the Man in Black temporarily incapacitating Inigo and Fezzick and killing Vizzini by poisoning him before taking Princess Buttercup for himself, saying awful and mean things to her.

Finally, she snapped, shoving him down a steep hill. On the way down, he yelled, "as you wish," which had Rafe's eyes widening as he turned to look at you. "He's alive?" He asked in disbelief, making you grin and nod, loving how invested he was, especially because of his initial vehemence.

"That was completely unnecessary," you rolled your eyes as she threw herself down the hill after him instead of walking down like a normal person.

The movie continued with them venturing through the fire swamp, getting separated by Prince Humperdink and his men, Buttercup's arranged marriage to the prince, Westley being mostly killed but not fully dead and being revived by Miracle Max, and finally, the conclusion where Inigo killed the Six Fingered Man that killed his father and Westley saved Buttercup from being killed by Prince Humperdink on her "wedding" night.

"Westley should've killed him instead of just tying him up," Rafe rolled his eyes as they all rode away on white horses.

"You liked it," you teased him, grinning widely.

"I didn't say that," he protested, but he couldn't hide the smile tugging at his lips. "But it was... not completely terrible. I guess." He glanced at you, noticing how happy you looked. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" You asked innocently, batting your lashes, still wearing that shit-eating grin.

"Like you're so proud of yourself, knowing you were right and I was wrong," he grumbled, rubbing circles on your hip.

"Well, I did say you'd like it," you reminded him, laying your head on his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," he huffed half-heartedly, rolling his eyes, pretending to be annoyed at your gloating. His arm automatically wrapped around you, however, pulling you closer.

"Thank you for watching my movie, baby," you said softly. "It meant a lot to me." And it meant even more to you that he actually liked it.

Hearing you call him "baby" in that soft, sincere voice sent a jolt of warmth through him. "Yeah, well, don't mention it," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Truthfully, he'd do anything for you. He was totally and utterly in love with you. "As you wish, or whatever."

[eskumii]

❝ TROPHY WIFE ❞ — yandere!uzui tengen/wives + you're his first wife

SYNOPSIS: suppose you're uzui tengen's very first wife, the one that slipped through the cracks of your unwanted arranged marriage with him. along with your disappearance went his heart, and now you must bear the consequences of a man who loves his wife far beyond her understanding—so much so that he would kill for her, die for her, and do anything to make her stay. — navi.

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

NOTES: mdni! (cw: non-con) this is an arranged/forced marriage au. it's meant to be one-sided. it took me quite literally forever to finish this lol ,,

PAIRING: yandere!uzui tengen x wife!reader

CHARACTERS: uzui tengen (19-23), reader (18-22), suma (19), makio (20), hinatsuru (21)

I. TO BE WED

imagine being uzui tengen's very first wife.

your hand in marriage was promised to him by your parents, who owned a tax-collecting business that was often the target of hostility from the impoverished people of your hometown. tengen routinely passed through your village on demon slayer business, so your parents could always rest assured knowing he would take care of the violent stragglers that sometimes loitered outside.

ironically being poor themselves, they had little to offer the hashira as payment for his noble duties; well, that "little" didn't exclude you of course, their only daughter who's failed to find a husband far past the age of when other girls were normally wed. you're still young, fertile, and moderately attractive, but your strong disinterest in potential suitors often drove any chances of a wealthy marriage away.

however, after being introduced to tengen, the man you'll be forced to marry out of obligation, you begin to regret being so stubborn after all.

admittedly, tengen found you to be pretty plain at first. you're poor so you can't exactly dress flashy, and you come from a no-name family with little legacy. your parents swore up and down on your domestic efficiency—hardworking, great cook, a tame disposition—and, well, at least you're kind of cute, too. tengen is intrigued by your potential the most.

your parents force you to do whatever you can to get close to him. the truth is, though, you don't really have to do anything with the way he seeks you out himself. he often shows up at your door asking for you, and your parents have no qualms about dragging you out of your room to make you go out with him.

he takes you to the nicer parts of town and pays for dinner or buys you flowers and little trinkets from the shop vendors that line the streets. it doesn't help that the elderly people running the stands egg you on, saying things like "what a lovely young couple" or "your children would be so beautiful!" tengen simply smiles with ease, accepting their praise as if it's second nature. you get rather embarrassed by his shameless indulgence.

there's small talk but you find it incredibly stifling. tengen does a majority of the dialoguing but most of the time your dates get interrupted by his kasugai crow, who squawks at him whenever a demon shows up nearby. he always looks annoyed and promises to make it up to you, leaning down to pat your head like you're his pet dog or something. you hate it and him too, probably.

"i'll be back before you know it, darling," his smile is charming but not to you. "you'll stay right here for me, won't you?"

regardless of your somewhat obvious hesitance to accept his advances, tengen gets attached to you like it was meant to be. the idea of having a pretty little housewife for him to come home to after his draining missions becomes increasingly attractive, and the more time he spends with you, the more he sees the appeal of your being. it must be a miracle that no man has taken you as his wife yet; surely you were saving yourself for a man like him.

unfortunately, though, you don't want to marry tengen.

an arranged marriage? it's simply not the kind of life you envision for yourself. you aren't willing to bet the rest of your days on a man whom you have a slim chance of falling in love with, all for the sake of financial security. but what else can you do? your parents already made it very clear they would disown you if you refuse, and tengen is pressuring you to your death with his sweet words and annoyingly thoughtful presents. you're stuck.

eventually, the incessant nagging from your parents and weeks of endless courting from tengen sway you so sooner. you fold like a cheap hand fan and succumb to your fate, to a future you knew from the very beginning that you would come to despise.

he's the only suitor you have at this point. it's not like you have a choice. and the one choice you do have just so happens to be him, a man who is the nearest thing to a perfect match as you're ever gonna get. you should be happy. thankful. he'll give you the world if you just give him a chance.

at least, that's what he told you.

II. THE SOUND HASHIRA

your parents are so happy to send you off.

they're completely honored that their letdown of an only daughter is finally getting married—to a well-known and wealthy shinobi at that. it's the only time they've shown any pride in you, yet it really only leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

after your brief introduction to the head of tengen's clan, everything moves so quickly. just a couple weeks later, you're already signing a marriage contract in which you and tengen become official newlyweds. and before you know it, you're packing what little belongings you have to your name and moving in with him, begrudgingly and regretfully so.

the day you arrive, he shows you around his overwhelmingly gigantic residence; the courtyard full of cherry blossoms and koi ponds, the huge kitchen, and the bedroom where he'll eventually fully claim you. there's lots of other rooms too, but they're either empty or reserved for his weapons and training gear. he tries to hide it but he's obviously so over the moon that you're his wife now. he doesn't even notice your misery through his elated delusion of love.

in hindsight, you didn't realize how difficult it can be to share a space with someone you hardly know. you find everything awkward but tengen doesn't, like always. to him, you're so obedient and polite— such a good girl. you take whatever he gives you; kisses, hugs, subtle gropes here and there, and all of his sweet compliments and gifts. you don't argue with him or raise your voice, you fret over his injuries and make his favorite foods. you're observant, collected, and mature.

he didn't have a type before he met you—you're all he can ask for in a woman, really.

tengen is unexpectedly romantic. he constantly boasts about his strength and fighting skills in order to impress you, and he never stops mouthing off about how he'll prioritize you over himself. he puts consistent effort in getting to know you: what you like, don't like, your favorite color, and any other inkling of your personality that he can manage to wrestle out of you. he seems to have gotten the impression that you're shy or something.

flowers are a constant and you're spoiled with fancy, expensive kimonos and jewelry. had you married tengen under literally any other circumstance, you'd find his advances on you endearing but, unfortunately, he just comes off as clingy and unbearable. any woman would die to be in your place yet you can't even find it in you to want to be in your own place.

what do you think of him, though? well, he's handsome, you'll give him that. you don't deny the appeal of his good looks and flashy, fitted clothing. he's strong, established, and knows what he wants. despite your obvious distaste towards his gifts and grandiose personality, it's not to say you're ungrateful that the man you're stuck with is exceedingly well-off and capable of protecting you. you can't say he's a bad guy.

however, he's a moron.

he fell for you fast. a couple months have already passed since coming to live in his residence. tengen requests to have picnics whenever you go with him to visit his siblings' graves on his off days. of course you have no reason to refuse; as much as you dislike him, you're not heartless. they're important days, so you swallow your pride and pack a bento spread you know he'll like.

tengen will confide in you about the memories of his late siblings, his parents, and his life before becoming a hashira. it's a depressing and heavy weight to shoulder, but you still play your role of the loving, supportive wife with your lingering touches and comforting words. you use these outings as opportunities to gain his trust by being vulnerable.

except, this time, the effect you seem to have on tengen is magnified to the point of no return.

he pulls you into his lap and you're suddenly flush against his rock hard chest, trapped in a suffocating hug. you don't know what prompted his sudden affection; perhaps it was the warm atmosphere you crafted or the intimacy of the moment, but the way tengen holds you so close is telling. he's about to say something you've been dreading since the day you met him.

"i love you." tengen confesses, nuzzling his face into your neck and sighing as if he'd just released the weight of the world off of his shoulders.

you knew it. it's the first time he's ever said it to you and you'll never forget the wave of nausea that hit you as you glanced up to see him staring back at you expectantly. your heart is pumping out of your chest and your face is flustered—not because you're flattered but because you're ashamed. you feel his hands squeeze your shoulders, almost like a warning, and his grip begins to feel claustrophobic after your prolonged silence.

you have no choice but to reciprocate.

"...I love you too." your voice is quiet, hesitant, and tengen gently teases you about being shy when you refuse to look at him anymore. he's not right but it's true that lying invokes shame.

he almost seems overwhelmed by your response, as if he hadn't just nonverbally threatened it out of you. you don't dare to sneak even a glance at him. he tightens his embrace around you and goes back to burying his face abashedly into your neck, mumbling sweet words against your skin. his body wraps around you like a vice, trapping you in the prison that is his dreadful existence.

you decide, in that very moment, that there was nothing in the world you wanted to do more than run away.

III. A DIRE MISTAKE

one fateful day, you catch wind of the news that tengen is being assigned on a mission quite far away, somewhere down in the southwest. 

you're so lucked out that you thought it was a trap at first—a ploy to catch you in your undying desire to leave your husband for good. but when the day of departure arrives and tengen peppers your face with last minute kisses, you know for sure that there's no chance he's caught on to your resentment towards him, nor the plan of escape you've been devising all along.

your eyes are teary when tengen releases you from the last of his spine-crushing hugs and he cooes at your cute crying face. honestly, you're tearing up out of joy because your one and only chance to escape has literally fallen into your lap in a pleated handbasket, but you'll let him believe otherwise. you at least owe him the courtesy. 

you already know you don't stand a chance against tengen, at least physically. he can overpower you like nothing and he's so tall that he towers over you, constantly caging you between those muscled arms of his. there's almost nothing you could do against a man like him—well, unless you count poisoning, but you were above murder when it came to getting what you wanted. 

as soon as tengen passes through the looming gates of the residence and disappears down the winding road, you scramble to gather a few belongings before making your way out through the back. there's a twinge of fear that grips your gut but you press on, determined to put as much space between you and that wretched place you were expected to call home. 

the moment you escaped, you flipped your identity. chopped your hair off, powdered your face in white make-up, and wore headscarves wherever you went. you fled as far as your feet would take you, only stopping to rest in a small village when your aching body could take you no further. you hardly spoke to anyone and left nothing behind that could possibly be traced back to you or be used to pursue you. 

it's obvious you can't go back to your parents; they hated you when you lived with them, and they'd hate you more if you returned. they'd sell you out to tengen in two seconds flat, then ruthlessly shame you for running away from a marriage you wanted no part in. the only option left for you is to create a new life for yourself somewhere far, far away. 

and that's exactly what you do. you find a little town on the outskirts of the red light district, where business is booming and it's easy to disguise yourself beneath the constant foot traffic. you go undercover as a seamstress, working in a homely tailor shop under the supervision of the owners, who are a kind older couple that are quick to regard of you as one of their own. 

time marches on and the jarring memories of tengen do as well. you makes friends with the regulars that come by the store often. you've learned the valuable trade of mending clothing and sewing traditional patterns. you've even developed a crush on one of the men that come by often to repair his work uniform.

your life is finally the way you've always wanted it to be. 

meanwhile, tengen copes—barely. days pass. weeks. months. you're still yet to be found, even with the help of all the hashira and the shinobi of his clan. it's as if you disappeared off the face of the planet. he's completely devastated. did you run away because he was gone for so long? were you feeling neglected? did you just want his attention? surely you wouldn't just up and leave when he'd been so loving; he truly couldn't think of anything that would prompt such an extreme reaction. 

as expected, he doesn't come up with a justification for your disappearance. how could he? you could be dead by now with the amount of demon uprisings that have been happening lately. or you could even be halfway across the world right now, laughing at how easily you had fooled him. eventually, his sadness melts into anger. you may be gone now, but it won't be for long. 

wherever you are, he'll find you. 

IV. 'TIL DEATH DO HIM PART

in the following years, tengen's next three wives are chosen specifically by the head of his clan.

and, in the head of the clan's words: "the sound hashira's decision-making must be incredibly poor if he chose a wife who would dare flee from him." the statement only fans the flames of his growing wrath for you. 

however, his new wives—suma, makio, and hinatsuru—are all beautiful and talented kunoichi who admire him to their very cores. as ungrateful as it sounds, there isn't a day where tengen wishes one of them were you. they've worked so hard to try and fill the gaping hole in his existence that was left by you, but it hasn't really been working. he needs you.

they're kind, caring, nurturing and most of all, strong. they've trained all their lives to be kunoichi. he knows he shouldn't complain but they just don't cook like you, look like you... aren't you. of course he loves them, but he could never forget the way his heart shattered the day he returned home to find you nowhere in sight. your disappearance left him in utter shambles. did you ever think about that when you left? you're so unbelievably selfish—is that the kind of woman you turned out to be? 

his wives constantly question his lovesick behavior. tengen never hides anything from them; in fact, he'll sometimes go on long, borderline maniacal rambles about "the wife who got away." to suma, makio, and hinatsuru, you're an enigma that's broken the heart of their husband, and they're not sure what it was about you that makes him act this way. jealousy sparks—if there's a way to get you back to make tengen happy, they would do it, but maybe you're better off gone after all. 

and it's not like tengen didn't search for you. oh no, he looked everywhere within reason. his duties as a hashira kept him chained to his missions near the demon slayers' headquarters, but that never stopped him from interrogating people when he got the chance. any woman that looked even remotely similar to you was sure to be stopped in the middle of the street for further investigation. 

master kagaya is exceedingly understanding of the situation, and he bears obvious concern for his beloved sound hashira. while he's sympathetic of the loss of his wife—it's no matter to be taken lightly, of course—tengen must first be loyal to his occupation as a hashira, and that means going on missions in spite of his mourning. 

and his newest missions leads him to the red light district. 

so tengen goes. he knows his place when it comes to master kagaya, so he has no reason or authority to deny orders. regardless, it's a harrowing and tedious task. drunk concubines practically throw themselves into tengen's arms as he strolls past the many underground sex clubs that line the filthy streets. he has zero interest in any of the debauchery that goes on here, and he especially feels nothing when shoving them away from him with excessive force. 

he scours the area for anyplace that looks decent enough to step foot in, as well as a place where he won't get immediately harassed by ran through harlots. turning down a quieter side street where some storefronts have been shuttered, he happens upon a small seamstress shop sandwiched between two restaurants that look as if they've closed early for the evening. 

shrugging, tengen wearily thinks it's as good of a place as any to begin his intel gathering on the upper moons' whereabouts. he saunters towards the front entrance and a young woman dressed in traditional geisha wear passes him on the sparsely populated road, her wooden sandals clacking against the ground. he can't help but think her hair looked similar to yours and his heart twists painfully in his chest. 

tengen seems to be constantly haunted by the thought of you, forming an obsession in his mind that won't go away until he has you back. until he knows your safe, with him, just like you were meant to be. until he sees you. 

no, literally, tengen sees you, right in front of him. 

through the window of the upscale seamstress shop, he sees you conversing with a man at the front counter, laughing heartily at a joke he must have made. tengen quickly crouches beneath the display window to spy on you, his heart pounding out of his chest at the events that are currently unfolding. he must be mistaken. 

he peeks above the lip of the window to catch a glance and, sure enough, it is you. you're alive and well, almost glowing beneath the low, intimate lighting inside the shop. 

he finally found you! he can't believe it. the grin that's stretching across his face is so broad. he'd recognize your face anywhere, even if it's caked in geisha makeup and your hair elaborately styled. you’re beautiful and he’s captivated by your beauty just as he was the day that he met you. 

he's so unbelievably ecstatic with the way his hands are clamming up, his feet shuffling in the dirt and... 

what?

creeping over the ledge of the display window once again, tengen's eyes immediately grow dark. there's a man there. talking to you. his wife. 

in the midst of your conversation, your eyes absently float over to the window. it's there that your gaze clashes with his, and a blood-curdling look of terror overtakes your features. is that… tengen? 

there's a shift in the air. what happens next, tengen doesn't recall, but when he comes to there's blood on his hands and your hair is bundled up in his fist as he drags you past the threshold the of the shop’s entrance. he looks over his shoulder and on the floor, spread eagle, lies the man without his head. the scene is gruesome.

he killed him. 

tengen looks down at you with a solemn gaze. for some reason, he doesn't even care. the emotions running through him are almost too much to bear. do you know how much your disappearance has destroyed him? do you know how much he's suffered because of you? do you even care? 

he doesn't understand why you're crying. it seems like you were happy enough to whore around with other men in his absence. the thought drives him to the brink of insanity. how much longer do you plan on humiliating him? 

there's too much to be said. tengen's mouth is agape and he's so upset at you that he can't find the right words to express himself. instead, he collapses to the floor beside you and embraces you in his longing arms. he smells your hair and feels how your body shrinks against his—it's all exactly how it used to be. it's exactly as he remembered, as he dreamed of. 

and now, as tengen scoops you up into his arms to take you back home, another dream of his will be fulfilled tonight. he knows exactly what kind of punishment is befit for you. 

V. A JUST PUNISHMENT — (NSFW: NON-CON)

"tengen-sama! you're ba-" 

a woman with colored bangs and a ponytail attempts to greet tengen as he enters, but she's cut off by not only the expression on his face but also the strange, disheveled woman he's hauling behind him. 

he drags you across the cold, laminated wood floors into the bedroom by your hair and peels the delicate, silken layers of your yukata back, exposing soft flesh and ample curves. tengen is so starved of your touch—of your voice, your scent, you. he'll make you pay for what you put him through. he'll make you stay this time. 

you can't even fight back. you're so afraid of what's going to happen that your body refuses to move, to speak. and even if you could, there was no way you would win against a hashira, of all people. 

tengen starts by pushing you to your knees. when his hands begin the hasty work of undoing the belt of his kimono, you already know where this is going and it makes your stomach churn in volatile sickness. he eagerly slides his under pants down and from the top of its elastic band springs his semi-hard cock, which nearly hits you in the face. you gasp at the sheer size of it; that is not gonna fit inside of you.

"don't look at me like that, [name]. clearly i was too lenient with you back then. i should've disciplined you..." he trails off as he stares into your pleading eyes. he smiles but, in it, is no mercy.

"c'mon, baby. you'll be a good girl and open your mouth for me, won't you?" 

you refuse. no, you wouldn't even dream of it. you've never done anything sexual with a man before and you certainly aren't going to wi—

tengen suddenly reaches down and grabs ahold of your now tangled hair with one of his large hands. it takes barely any pressure before your mouth is pried open by the force of his fingers alone, and his now engorged cock head is being stuffed into your warm, unyielding mouth. 

you can only let out a choked cry at the vile intrusion. 

"that's it, baby, good girl.." he praises, stroking your head with his thumb as he slowly inches his pulsing cock down your throat. 

your screams are completely muffled. tengen begins to pick up the pace, letting your drool be the lubricant that allows his giant dick to slide in and out of your tight throat. it hurts so bad that you try to bite down and free yourself from this act of vulgarity, but tengen doesn't allow it. he instead tugs your head back by the grip he has on your hair, forces his cock all the way in, and holds you there until you decide to behave yourself. 

you can hardly breath. lewd, wet noises fill the room as tengen gags you almost to the point of unconsciousness. the vibrations from your screaming must have been making him feel good, though, because it takes just a few minutes before he's shuddering in orgasm as he bottoms out and cums, which you have no choice but to swallow. 

he pulls out of your mouth and you're mortified, but even more so when you see how he's still hard. his cock is covered in a thick layer of your saliva and his cum drips onto your exposed chest in globs that make you cringe in disgust. you think you're going to throw up. 

and you almost do, if it weren't for tengen picking you up from under your arms and tossing you onto the plush bedding. your legs are forced open and tengen slides his twitching cock against your pussy, slowly and teasingly. you begin to fight against him but he easily pins you down long enough to push his fat cock head into your tight pussy. 

tengen pounds you into the plush cushion of the futon all night long. you've given up struggling and crying, only mewling in pain as the brutish man stretches your virgin pussy wide. he ruthlessly kneads your breasts with his calloused palms and overstimulates your clit with his fingers until you cream and squirt repeatedly all over his dick. you can do nothing but lay there as he roughly moves your body into various positions and fills your womb with his seed—there's no way you won't be pregnant after this. 

all the pent up rage that tengen was forced to weather after your disappearance is released in that very room. he sounds like a crazy man with the way he lapses in and out of fits of rage where he's cursing at you with his hands around your throat, then slipping into pleasure induced "i love you's" as he dumps yet another load of cum deep inside of you. 

"h-how does it feel, my love?" he groans, reaching over to caress your flushed face. "mm, you sound so cute making those noises. lemme hear you scream, darling."

and oh, you sure do scream. for him to stop, to get off of you. that you've had enough. that you hate him. over and over again you scream, you cry, and you struggle, but it does you no good. he only seems to thrust faster the more you beg. is he getting off to your desperation? he must be by the way his cock pulses at any form of physical resistance from you. 

you thought it would never end. he's almost insatiable. your tears have long dried up—for the most part, anyway—but the skin on your face feels raw from tengen "lovingly" wiping all your tears and snot away while simultaneously pounding a you-shaped hole into the futon. you feel disgusting. you don't even have the strength to make a sound when he spanks you for the hundredth time, moaning heatedly about how you've been such a bad, bad girl. 

when it seems like he's finally spent, he doesn't pull out. instead, he collapses on top of you with his cock still twitching inside your sloppy, ruined cunt while drawing you in for an unreciprocated kiss. he whispers praises in your ear and gently strokes your face, cooing at how much you're trembling against his much larger form. 

"i should've done this a long time ago. maybe you wouldn't have left if i dumped my kids into you sooner." 

eventually, his softened cock slips out of you and a gush of warmth runs down your legs; you can already feel a soreness settling in your pelvis. tengen sighs contentedly at the sopping squelch that sounds when you snap your legs shut in order to roll as far away from him as possible. he roughly wraps a muscled arm around your waist and pulls you back towards him as soon as he sees your attempt to create distance. 

"i missed you so much, darling," tengen mumbles against your skin breathily, offering a soft smile. "did you enjoy your welcome back?" 

he's making fun of you. you refuse to even look at him. it's to be expected, really, he can't imagine how bad it must feel to think you actually got away from him as you lay in his arms once again, right where you belong. you need to learn your place; no wife of his will disrespect him like you did ever again. if you have to be an example of that, then so be it—youput this on yourself, after all. 

leaving you with a final kiss, he gets up, wraps a towel around his waist, and goes to let his other wives into the room to help clean you up (they've been waiting patiently ever since you showed up, curious about the woman who supposedly "stole tengen's heart," as he put it). you're still naked and exposed with tengen's cum leaking down your thighs but you don't even have the mental capacity to care anymore. all three of the girls look shocked at the state you're in, but they don't comment and rush to get you in the bath. 

they're all very pretty, of course. when you emerge from your haze of disorientation, you're left reeling at the fact that tengen had amassed three whole wives in light of your absence. well, not that you have any right to be surprised considering your short lived emotional affair. you're still in mourning over what had happened to him. 

regardless of your fragile state, the three women swarm you with questions that prod at your past: who you are, where you're from, and how you met tengen. you don't even have half the mind to reply. you can only stare at your tear-stricken reflection in the soapy water, ready to burst into tears yet again at the horrible predicament you've found yourself in. 

what can you do now? sit around and get bred by tengen? rot away in this dreadful house for the rest of your life? the other wives seem to catch onto your unresponsiveness after a couple dozen of their questions go ignored, so they sit quietly and gently wash you clean. they look genuinely worried for you—not that their pity will undo the damage that's already been done. 

makio will scrub your back and grumble about how jealous she is while suma and hinatsuru fret over the small bruises that are now beginning to form around your hips from tengen's manhandling. suma washes your hair next, commenting on how beautiful it is, while the other two move onto rinsing the soap from your body. they wrap you up in a fluffy towel when it's over, and a shiver wracks your spine when their hands guide you to another room, down the hall, with a clean bed ready for you to rest in. 

you don't really know who they are but since they're dressed like kunoichi, it's obvious that they don't share the same mindset you do, or were forced to be wed to tengen like you were. you can't ask them to help you escape from this hell, not a chance. 

even as you lay in the criminally comfortable futon with new silken pajamas, a cup of cold water at your side, and a warm blanket, sleep doesn't find you. 

and with tengen around, you're certain it never will. 

VI. A HAPPY EVER AFTER (EXTRA)

a few months later, your pregnancy symptoms are in full swing.

tengen is as protective as ever and the other wives have already grown attached to you despite your bitter and unforgiving attitude towards them. you learn quickly that they're all very... obsessive, constantly hovering over you and going to overbearing extremes to make sure you don't do anything that would physically strain yourself in any way.

hinatsuru and makio follow at your heels like guard dogs while suma takes charge of most of the cooking and cleaning. she keeps the peace most of the time and holds makio back when she's attempting to murder hinatsuru over something childish. you're never in the mood to talk to them, however, and they often try to bribe you with your favorite sweets (which is intel that they've gathered from tengen) in order to get you to participate in their activities.

unluckily for you, tengen had decided to completely retire from being a hashira following a particularily harrowing encounter with an upper moon demon (even after you tried to subtly guilt trip him into not doing so). he insisted that you and the baby were "more important." you know that it'd be difficult to escape with the other wives around but to add tengen on top of that makes it surely impossible. 

every morning, the dreadful man himself meets the four of you in the kitchen and will beam proudly at the sight of his adorable little harem. he goes down the line and gives affection to each of his wives individually, in the way they prefer, and saves you for last as you're his "greatest prize," or whatever he said. you're just completely exhausted and you resent them all from the deepest depths of your heart. the least you can do is make it obvious. 

tengen finds your rebellion adorable. everything about you is and even moreso now than when you left him all those years ago. he'll grab you by the jaw and force you into a quick one-sided kiss, pulling away with that fond smile of his. his fingers ghost over your swelling tummy but his very touch makes you feel so awfully sick. you'll roughly push him away and he's so out of his mind that he attributes your justified anger and moodiness to your "pregnancy hormones." regardless, he's happy. it's you who's going to bear his child. it's you who first said you loved him too. as long as you live, you're bound to him as his wife. nothing can come between a man and the woman he loves; uzui tengen certainly made sure of that, didn't he?

[asthedeathoflight]

It's very funny when people reading Gideon the ninth for the first time comment in confusion about how little people talk about "Dulcinea" but like. Actually we DONT talk about Cytherea enough.

Cytherea - who was dying for 10,000 years! Cytherea the miracle worker who was brought before God and he LIED to her and he told her and her friends they were doing the right thing and he WATCHED as they killed each other and he is DOING IT ALL OVER AGAIN. Cytherea who is trying to get God's attention but who is also trying in her own monstrous way to be kind. They all have to die because /the only other option is to become what she is./ Of course Jeannemary and Isaac have to die. Isaac has to die because she can't let him kill Jeannemary. Jeannemary has to die because she watched Isaac die and Cytherea knows there's no coming back from that. Dulcinea HAS to die because the only other option is to suffocate slowly in her own cancer for 10,000 years and Cytherea /can't let her do that./ The fifth and the fourth and the sixth and the ninth - they ALL have to die because if she could go back that's what she would have wanted. They don't know it yet, but in 10,000 years, they'd want it too. She didn't take her chance to die when she had it. They don't know how lucky they are.

And Cytherea who put on airs of being petty and selfish meanwhile she gave herself away until there was nothing left. Cytherea who hated God because he took everything she had without blinking twice. Cytherea who said over and over "me, I will" and whose sisters and brothers died around her and who wouldn't let them forget about Loveday - who loved Loveday when they all hated her.

Cytherea who held Gideon in her arms while she was dying during the siphoning trial and told her "remember this feeling. Remember how much it hurts. And if anyone ever asks this of you, you have to remember and say no." Gideon, who reminded Cytherea so much of Loveday. Cytherea, who /asked that of Loveday./ And Gideon, who went out and /did it anyway./

Cytherea, at the end of everything, who NEEDS to kill Gideon and Harrow because they love each other and she can't let them get it wrong like she and Loveday did, who sees the skull they're hiding in open and sees Gideon's body and sees Harrow pick up that sword and has lost despite everything, and who finally gives up and lets them kill her.

[orionhelluvaranting]

Debunking the Myth about Stolass' Lack of Awareness

Justifying Stolass' harassment by his ✨unawareness✨ is such a popular tactic of the stans. "He didn't know his behavior makes Blitzø uncomfortable!" they say. "He was sheltered all of his life!" they say. Some of them are bold enough to headcanon Stolass as autistic even.

However, what if I say there's the scene - the one single scene - that wrecks all those statements about Stolass' unawareness? And just the one shot expresses the whole essence of my point. Do you want to see it? Okay, here it is:

If you didn't comprehend it (maybe you forgot this moment from the series) that's fine. I was going to analyse this anyway 🔎

Here's the context: S2E4, "Western Energy". Stolass, Stella and Andre-blah-blah are sitting at the cafe for privileged jerks and discussing S&S' divorce. Then Striker breaks into the building and fires a series of shots at the prince (all missed the target). Right in the middle of the shooting Stolass turns to Stella, looks at her evil smirk... and he gets it all! Immediately! This is literally what's happening. Stolass understood that his wife has put a hit on him. And how did he come up with that conclusion?

He! Just! Read! Facial! Expression!

The line that's addressed from Stolass to Striker confirms this unambiguously:

So what is the unawereness we could talk about after all this? No, really! Stolass not only identified Stella's emotion (schadenfreude) correctly but also connected it to the current situation and his wife's general attitude towards him from which he deduced the reason for Stella's emotion (she craves his death, therefore she's the one who put a hit on him). And all this in a matter of seconds. To the whistle of angelic bullets!!! Like usually people become less analytical in moments of danger. But here's Stolass suddenly showing us miracles of emotional intelligence! Bravo!

So why can't he apply the same tactic to Blitzø or Octavia? Why is he able to grasp emotions of his abuser - who he hates and despises - very easily; but he stays unaware for so long when it comes to his loved ones? Why it took him almost a whole day to see that Via doesn't enjoy being in Loo Loo Land (although she openly said this from the very beginning)? Why it took him nearly a year (!!!) to see that Blitzø doesn't enjoy being his "impish plaything" (although he made it clear constantly)?

Isn't he able to understand them? Or maybe just doesn't want to?

Draw conclusions by yourself. And those of you who wants a few more thoughts of mine - I'm gladly inviting you under the cut!

You know what's the funniest part? This little detail doesn't have any impact on the story! At all!!! You literally could cut it off, change the dialog between Stolass and Striker a bit and TA-DA! Nothing would've changed. Because Stolass doesn't remember that his wife tried to kill him. He doesn't take any precautions even! Like, apparently, Via spends almost the entire second season with her mother.... and Stolass' totally OKAY with this?! Huh?!?

Why was that moment pushed into the series regardless? Well, I think Viv just wanted to praise her babyboy.* Like, "Oh, look how smart and cool he is, not like that stupid cow, Stella!" But ironically this decision has exactly the opposite effect.

I mean, it's a normal thing not being able to understand something in a few seconds in an emergency. Just a normal thing. Honestly, see no reason for judging. But if you, Stolass, have actually realised your abusive wife's desire for unaliving you and then you don't do shit preferring to chase your butty call while your precious daughter lives with that abusive wife of yours... Then I have a question:

Besides, as I just said, this all levels the whole "Stolass' unawareness" excuse to the ground. And you can't fix this by making excuses below your own video, Vivienne 🙄

If you want your audience to grasp something, then you should follow the "Show, Don't Tell" rule. Also it wouldn't hurt you to try and not contradict yourself. This time you had every chance to do so but you've just missed it... Congrats?

So what was the point?!

*By the way something similar was showed at "Oops" when Stolass stayed with Ozz (for some unclear reason) and explained to him - the Deadly Sin - how deals with the Deadly Sins are working! Yeah, what a nice fellow Stolass is, saved helpless dumb Ozzie from losing everything! Isn't that adorable everytime Stolass needs to look smart somebody must lose all of their braincells? Looks like somebody doesn't beat the Gary Stu allegations, huh?

[embraceweird]

I think what I find most unsettling about John Gaius is how good he is at being unassuming. Good at just being a little guy.

We see him on the Mithraeum bopping around with his tablet and styluses just drinking his tea and eating his biscuits.

Then after Mercy poofs him, without hesitation he kills her and puts back on his little 'oh who me' vibe. 'Oopsies sorry I just killed your eldest sister but she made me mad, you know how it goes, anyways'.

Or before the resurrection, he's just a little miracle worker trying to save people. 'I'm not evil I'm just a dude. Don't worry about this nuke I have, that's not going to come up later'. And 'I TOTALLY didn't mean to stop all those people's hearts for that long, I'm sorry'.

John is so good at making me forget that he's God and moreover that he destroyed the solar system to get it. John has only ever done what he wants but because he writes the history books he's god and a savior. He says it himself, men as careful as him don't have accidents.

[tonixe]

☆ KNY DEMONS x fem! upper moon reader

n.o.t.e.s - the sword arc was so delicious to watch literally, I just wanted to write something tbh. 📢

w.a.r.n - some crack energy, fluff, doma being a menace to society,

w.c. - 753

The strings of the biwa ranged throughout the infinite castle, summoning the upper moons to the castle.

From those few, you were already there due to Muzan's orders. You were trying to busy yourself playing with your h/c hair, waiting for the upper moons to span in.

It was pretty boring for you; you couldn't sit on the floor because of how uncomfortable it was because you managed to disobey his orders by helping some hashira. It was even a miracle that you didn't die because you managed to do it every time; some demons thought you were in a relationship with Muzan, so it wouldn't be surprising.

You were bored out of your mind, trying to converse with Nakime, "So Nakime wanna go out after this meeting" you chimed, clapping your hands together, looking at the biwa lady.

You lifted your head to see a upper moons before you, "That was quick," you murmured; you heard a familiar annoying voice saying your name.

"Y/N-chan," Doma's voice ranged out, his hand touching your shoulder; he irked everything in your body, "Did you miss me, y/n-chan" he gave you a toothy smile, and you looked at him with disgust.

"Don't be like that, Y/n-chan. Maybe we can go to my place and-' Soon, you found Doma's head on the castle's floor, thanks to Akaza.

His whole body was irked by Doma's presence, "Thank you, akaza" You gave him a smile that made Akaza blush, and his once-white face turned red.

You heard Doma's whines in the background calling your name

"It was no problem" he placed a hand behind his back, looking away from you.

You soon saw Daki and Gyutaro span in the castle, "Y/N!" Daki yelled at you before tackling you into a hug.

"Hey Daki" you smiled, patting her head.

"Y/N, I missed you," she sang out, burying herself into you, "Maybe if you're not busy, you we have a makeover," she exclaimed, "Sure," you smiled, "Daki, what about me" Doma whined.

"Go kill yourself, you perv," Daki yelled while protectively holding you, "Oh, hi Gyutaro" You smiled at him, and you waved at him supporting Daki's weight.

Gyutaro's cheeks turned light pink, and you giggled from the reaction.

Soon Daki got pulled away from you by her brother; the upper moon one caught your eye, and you walked up to him, "Hi, kokushibo" you exclaimed, he was mostly quiet, but you manage to get the word out of his mouth.

He looked at you briefly before muttering a 'hello' and walking away. You eventually saw Hantengu on the floor, cowardly to himself, and Gyokko talking to Doma with his regrown new head.

A swift wind made your h/c hair blow back as all the upper moons bowed to their demon lord, which appeared out of nowhere. You just stood there looking stupid, "Oh, Muzan finally you here; I was getting bored," you muttered still standing, crossing your arm, cocking your head at him.

The uppermoons were astonished at what you just said to Muzan, you're probably the only one that manage to get away with disrespecting Muzan without getting punished or even dying.

You saw Muzan's eyebrow switching at your comment; you smiled from the reaction.

He shot you a glare before your hand was force by what it felt like air to sit down but, which led to your face buried into the tatami floor.

It earned from sniggers from the upper moons before everyone was silenced by Muzan.

The meeting was quick and short by Muzan degrading all the upper moons except Kokushibo; your head was still stuck as you struggled.

You manage to get your head help by someone grabbing onto your waist and pulling you out of the floor. Whoever this hero was you were probably grateful, because Muzan manage to get your head really stuck to the floor.

But unfortunately for you, it was Doma, holding your waist. "Y/n-chan, we should do this more often" he exclaimed before you punched his head away from you.

Forcing his grip on your waist away before you whipped your head to the loud voice of Daki and Akaza charging to Doma's headless body.

"Get your hands off her, you pervert" Daki and Akaza yelled before jumping Doma.

There were crushing the stronger demon; you deadpanned at the sight. While the upper moons was busy, Gyutaro was laughing at seeing Doma being attacked by Akaza and his sister.

It was pure chaos.