#which is the part that manipulates them instead of motivating them

[hentired]

A lot of people are missing the point for that marketing post i think about Barbie / Oppenheimer / Grimace Shake challenges etc.

Its not about not posting about seeing a movie. You can see a movie and tell your friends about it, post about liking it or whatever. That's fine. The problem is that it's becoming a trend to go see these movies or participate in these challenges. People aren't doing it out of intrinsic motivation, but because they want to be part of the trend. This is what makes every corporate marketeer cum their pants.

Marketing is not to cater to people who would watch these movies nonetheless. Its to convince the people who normally wouldn't to do so anyway. Its about making people who don't participate feel left out so they'll go see it anyway and post their pink Barbie-watching outfits on Instagram so everyone else knows they're in on it. Its social manipulation to convince people to be part of something. Its very healthy to be conscious about it when you post about these trends and its also good to remind yourself that you shouldn't do anyone's marketing for them for free.

Again, there's nothing wrong with seeing a movie and posting about it. There is something wrong with making people feel left out for not seeing something and pressuring people to see something to belong in the in group.

[drdemonprince]

The conversations about accountability & apologies that we've been having in social justice circles these last few years have basically trained everybody to fawn.

We've been telling people that if they are accused of any wrongdoing or of hurting anybody's feelings, it is their obligation to apologize immediately, and never to hedge, disagree, or to explain their rationale what they've done.

In their apology, we expect them to articulate every single thing that they have done that was damaging in the strongest language possible and to declare outright that they have harmed someone, often multiple groups of people, even if they are not sure of the impact (or could not even possibly be sure).

If a person's apology is anything but immediate and entirely self-excoriating, we accuse the person of downplaying the damage they have done, failing to be accountable, and manipulating others.

In this way, we've made it impossible for a person to ever take their own side lest that be taken itself as a form of wrongdoing. We have trained our fellow social-justice-minded people to believe that if they do anything but worsen the case against themselves, they are being irresponsible.

I say we, in all of this, because I have partaken in all of this rhetoric, made these kinds of criticism, given accused people this type of advice.

And I have followed it myself, often to a damaging effect.

I have taken responsibility for problems in which I truly did not believe I played a part, I've overstated the damage that I've done so as not to risk understating it, I've ascribed malice to my intentions when I knew it wasn't there, I've agreed with people's most negative, bad-faith narratives about conflicts involving me that they were not even present for, offered up information about myself that was not a third party's business in the name of transparency, apologized for things I haven't done -- and in doing all of this, I have denied my loved ones the opportunity to really hear me about what I was going through and my motivations when I was in conflict with them, things that any true friend or close associate would obviously want to hear about if they cared about me.

This aim of giving the perfect apology and taking perfect accountability has been nothing but an isolating force in my life, because it has barred me from openly entering into necessary conflict with people when our needs were incompatible or they had hurt me just as much as I'd hurt them. The fear of being a manipulative, unaccountable DARVO-er has led me to roll onto my back and expose my belly, falling over myself with panicked apologies and the most unflattering information possible cast in the least explicable light, almost outright begging for others to become angrier at me and believing that it was only way I could ever possibly be accepted back.

We've drilled into people that the way to be good and responsible is to allow people to view us as negatively as possible, to even arm others with information that will confirm that point of view, and to never insert our own perspective or needs on the matter at all.

And yeah, there are a lot of shitty people out there who dodge accountability easily because their power ensconces them from any consequences. but the primary problem with that was never that they wrote a shitty notesapp apology that used the unforgivable phrase "I am sorry if you felt XYZ." The real problem was that there was no community that held enough influence to hold them to account, and for their victims there weren't ever adequate supports or protections.

instead of addressing any of that in a remotely systematic way, we have taken to picking apart every accused person's every word and deed for evidence of inner moral failure and created a culture in which we think we can determine a person's safety by how artfully they put words together when they are under threat. and what do you know, plenty of bad faith actors and conflict avoidant cowards and people who just dont understand what they are even being accused of can do that just fine.

[pixiepipedreams]

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — shaky like the first time our palms met in the clam sweat, heavy focus // in-ho x reader

♡  ⁄  pairing: in-ho x reader ♡  ⁄  warnings & tags: fem!reader, canon-typical violence & death, obsessive behavior, lying/manipulation, age gap (reader is 20-22, in-ho & gi-hun are late 40s, early 50s), watched/touched in sleep, mature themes, references to sex, anxiety + coping mechanisms ♡  ⁄ wordcount: 5k ♡  ⁄ summary: the second day of the games prevents you from ending up on in-ho and gi-hun's team. it's a mistake that won't be repeated. the least he can do is try to teach you how to play your assigned mini-game. (sorry, we kinda lost the hints of gi-hun x reader in this chapter, but it'll make a return!) THIS IS PART TWO OF A SERIES! (➊) (➌) (➍)

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

You fell asleep with his hand in your hair, your meandering thoughts only brushing the surface of questioning his own motivations for such a gentle comfort. Young-il is an interesting man, and he's certainly caught your attention - more than you'd admit to. Your dreams offer you respite instead of garish nightmares about the first game, dancing atop a river, the water like silk under your bare toes.

In-ho stays longer than he should. The way you fall asleep so quickly under his touch, despite being a self-proclaimed insomniac, only makes that protective pull in his chest grow stronger. He allows himself his moment of weakness - he already had his conversation with Gi-hun tonight, already fulfilled the daily quotient for his own personal mission. So he allows himself this, this quiet moment of watching you sleep - too long for it to be appropriate, but the only people that will know besides himself are the guards watching the cameras tonight. He's sure to give the closest camera a harsh, leveling glare once you fall asleep. He's still the Front Man, under it all. It also means he knows what angle to turn his head so they can't see any hints of tenderness in his already closely guarded expression. At one point, his hand slips from your hair, tracing down the line of your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, dipping inside. He catches himself - not as quickly as he should, but quick enough to prevent the stirring of arousal to turn into full on hardness. At some point, he finds himself almost falling asleep, his head resting on the bed next to you, and he forces himself to get up, leave your side, and returns to his own bed. And if he falls asleep only thinking of you, fighting down an erection, well... he's the only one who will ever know.

The morning is rung in with the sound of jarring music, too light-hearted for such a dark place, and an announcer calling the players to prepare for today's game. Your dreams fade quickly, and you blink awake, eyes scanning the room on instinct. You hadn't forgotten where you were, but the odd peace in your chest feels out of place.

It takes you a moment to realize you're looking for Young-il.

You can't spot him in the sea of black haired men and women, and it surprises you just how much disappointment rises in your chest. The guards call for the players to line up. You walk down the metal stairs, slipping into one of the lines.

Finally, your eyes land on Young-il. He's standing in a separate line with Gi-hun's group, which faintly surprises you. After what happened yesterday, you didn't expect for Gi-hun to willingly take in any of the people with a circle on their chest. But Young-il isn't the only one in their little group who voted to continue the games, and you feel a strange pull, like you should join them. You don't. You feel out of place, like you don't entirely belong with them. Maybe it's some residual insecurity from youth, but you stay where you are, eyes lingering on Young-il as he talks intensely with them.

The guards lead all the players out of the dormitories, into the brightly colored great hall. Yesterday, you had found it strange, on your way to the first game - the strange layout, the colorful walls. Today, you find it garish. Images flash behind your eyes, blood splattered in the dirt, a giant plastic doll with all-seeing eyes. Panic threatens to overtake you, and you take a shuddering breath, forcing yourself to focus on what you can see, take in the details.

You were never one for pastels, but you do like the shades of pink and green. Not your favorite, but striking on their own, if you focus on them one at a time instead of their disjointed clash. The architecture is fascinating, and you find yourself wondering what kind of person designed this place. For some reason, you picture a woman, older, nostalgic. You doubt that her own home would have a similar design, but it would be unique, fascinating. No dull corner.

By the time you reach the arena, your chest has settled, your stomach no longer in knots. The doors in front of you open, and you're led into a wide, open area. The walls are decorated with images and writings that imitate an elementary school. It makes sense, with the childish themes you've seen so far in these games. There are two circular rainbow tracks in the ground, and you focus on that, trying to discern what it could mean for the game you're about to play. The tracks could mean some kind of race? Perhaps a relay, where each member has to run the track before passing off the baton? There's five colors, so would that mean five players?

"Welcome to your second game," comes the woman's voice over the speakers. "This game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes. Let me repeat."

Teams of five. You must be onto something. You were never good at running, but if you had to sprint for a short period, just once around the track, you could manage it. It would be advantageous to find a fit team, but the men would be less likely to take a woman in, with their own biases against the so-called inferior gender.

You're lost in thought when you catch the tail end of an argument nearby. "You can’t have the baby unless you make it out of here alive.

"I don’t trust you. You’re dead to me."

Looking over to the source of the voices, you spy a woman walking away from player 333 - that youtuber that Thanos fought yesterday, if you recall correctly. The woman's stomach bulges, even though she hides it under her tracksuit jacket - definitely pregnant. All of you are here for your own reasons, but she definitely doesn't belong here, and the 'X' on her chest fills you with guilt for putting her life on the line for a chance at getting enough money to settle your father's sins. Your heart aches for her, and before you can think better of it, you approach her.

"Can I help you find a team?" you ask abruptly, stopping her in her tracks. She looks at you warily, like she's not one to accept help, compelled to take care of herself alone. It's a look you're all too familiar with, one that lingers in your eyes behind your bathroom mirror.

"I don't need your help," she mutters, moving to push past you. You grab her wrist - firm, but not tight, eyes searching her face.

"Please. It'll be hard, to convince a team to let a woman in... let alone one of your condition. I can help." A comforting smile traces your lips. "I can be very persuasive if I need to be."

She hesitates, but it's enough. Self-preservation wins, in a place like this. The nod she gives you is small, but it's enough. Your hand slips into hers, and you tug her along.

Most teams don't even meet your eyes, and the few that you do approach together dismiss you quickly. Some of their expressions hold a trace of guilt, likely wondering if their denial will be sending the two of you to your deaths, but it's not enough. Self-preservation. Selfishness.

Maybe greed.

You try to stay optimistic, but the timer still ticks down. Eyes scan the room, desperation pinching at your chest, a frantic flutter to your heart, but you don't let it show on your expression. Just like before, in the dormitories, it takes you a moment to realize what you're really looking for, who's face you need to find. But this time, you find him quickly, smiling amiably with his group. There's no time for hesitation, your body pushing through the room, player 222 dragged behind you. When you finally come to a stop in front of them, your eyes flick from Young-il to Gi-hun. "Can she join you?" you ask, slightly breathless, 222 still behind you.

"Sorry, we've already got five people," one of them says, but your eyes are on Gi-hun's, searing. He owes you nothing, but you know he cares about the players in this game, that every death burrows deep into his heart. His eyes are weary, hesitant, but he doesn't break your gaze.

"Please," you say, stepping to the side. "She's pregnant." Your voice is determined, firm, and shock flashes through the group of men. Gi-hun's lips part, but he doesn't speak, perhaps stunned into silence. Hesitation.

There's no time.

You finally look at Young-il again, to find that he's studying you. There's surprise in his expression, but not even a hint of uncertainty. His eyes are intense, like always, and there's an edge of something... concern? Curiosity? Fascination? He's hard to read again, his face no longer easy to read in a group of people.

"Of course, she can join us," he says quietly, taking charge, eyes searching yours. You nod, relief seeping into your shoulders, and you release her hand.

"What about you?" 222 asks, catching your gaze before you walk away. Your eyes flick to the timer on the wall - thirty seconds.

"I'll figure something out," you mutter, then rush off.

It doesn't take long, this time, to find a group standing uncertainly, with only four members. The older woman and her son, a timid looking girl, and a tall woman who carries a certain strength that you instantly respect. It's not an ideal group, but you don't have time to be picky.

"Let me join you?" The words spill out, your own desperation probably obvious, but you're willing to bet they're just as desperate as you are.

10 seconds. The tall woman, player 120, looks at you, only pausing for a moment before responding. "Yes."

"Thank you," you say, bowing your head slightly, your shoulders sagging in relief. It doesn't last long. The announcer's voice rings out, silencing the chatter of the room. Time is up.

The guards call for the teams to sit in the center of each circle, lined up in your groups. Almost by design, Gi-hun and Young-il's team ends up next to yours, Young-il directly next to you with a gap separating you. Sitting with crossed legs in the dirt makes you feel like you're in kindergarten again, sitting on a multi-colored rug, surrounded by peers.

The announcer's voice again. "The game you will be playing is Six-Legged Pentathlon. You will start with your legs tied together. Each member will take turns playing a mini-game at every ten meter mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one. Here are the mini-games. Number one, the Ddakji. Number two, Flying Stone. Number three, Gonggi. Number four, Spinning Top. Number five, Jegi. Your goal is to win all the mini-games and cross the finish line in five minutes. Please decide players for each mini-game."

The blood drains from your face. You have an idea of what Spinning Top could be, but the only game listed that you're familiar with is Ddakji from your time with the recruiter. You can still feel the sting of every slap from your losses. You weren't good. Everyone in the room starts strategizing urgently, but all you can concentrate on - and concentrate is the wrong word entirely, your mind clouded with dread - is the way your thoughts swirl into darkness. If your team dies, it'll be because of you - not because of the trembling player 095, or the frail mother. You're the weak link, unskilled in these children's games, dragging everyone down into blood-soaked dirt with you.

"(Y/N)," Young-il whispers, reaching out to put his hand on your knee. The touch is like a jolt, and you almost flinch, your eyes instantly flicking up to meet his. It must be obvious, your panic. "I told you I'd help you, didn't I? We'll figure this out," he says, his eyes imploring you, your entire world focusing into his narrowed gaze.

You take a shaky breath, eyes scanning his face, trying to notice every detail, small features to adore. The crinkled lines by his eyes, evidence of a happier time. Bags under his eyes, and dark eyes that have the power to hold anyone in place. Aged skin, but smooth, soft looking. Bushy eyebrows. A hint of stubble. The shape of his lips...

The caged bird in your chest settles, and your next breath is a deep one. You nod slightly, eyes meeting his, and something in his expression eases. "I trust you," you murmur.

Something a little darker enters his eyes, but it's gone in a flash, like it was never there to begin with.

He lets go of your leg, turning to his team, but the calm in your body stays.

"Player 132," 120 calls to you, capturing your attention. "Do you know any of the games?"

You hesitate, then tentatively say, "I only know Ddakji... and I wasn't very good, against the recruiter."

120 looks oddly sympathetic, but there's a determined edge to the anxiety in her eyes. "Alright. Flying Stone is pretty simple - you throw a stone at another stone, trying to knock it over. Gonggi is definitely out - that requires years of practice--"

"I can do Gonggi," the older woman says firmly, leaving no room for argument. 120 nods.

"Jegi is simple. You kick a weighted paper jegi in the air a set amount of times, not letting it hit the ground. Spinning Top requires some skill, but it's not too hard to master, just requires calm hands and speed. You wrap some twine around a top, then throw it to the ground, trying to get it to spin."

"Uh-- could I take Flying Stone? I've never been good at jegi, and I don't have the precision for Spinning Top," player 007, the son, cuts in, looking a little nervous.

"That leaves Spinning Top and Jegi. Are you good with your feet?" 120 asks, not even skipping a beat. You have to admire her resolve - it's comforting, how she takes control. You're so used to handling everything yourself, that it helps to have someone else who knows what they're doing.

You shake your head slightly. Admittedly, the only game that you thought you had a good chance at was Flying Stone. You've always been clumsy from the waist down, and you've never played hacky-sack, which Jegi reminds you of. 120 stares at you for a moment, then nods. "It's decided, then. You take Spinning Top." Her eyes flick to player 095, and they begin discussing who should take Ddakji and who should take Jegi.

You stare at the ground, hoping your team doesn't get called first. If you get to watch a group play Spinning Top first, maybe you'll have a chance.

As the room settles again, the announcer's voice crackles over the speakers, instantly capturing your breath. The guards gesture for a group from each side to get to their feet, and you sigh in relief - you're not first. As the teams line up and get buckled together, Young-il murmurs your name. You look over instantly, your nervous eyes locked with his. "I got Spinning Top too," he murmurs. "Let me teach you how to play."

You smile, but it's barely a quirk of lips. "We don't have a top," you remind him.

"It's all about the motion," he says intensely. "You can do this."

It's the best chance you have, and you find yourself nodding.

As the game starts for the first groups, Young-il goes into explaining how to correctly wrap the twine. "The first thing you do is wind the twine around the axle. From there, you wanna wrap it tightly around the first three loops." He mimics the wrapping motion, and you nod, trying to visualize it. It's definitely different than it is in America - there are no grooves for any kind of twine back home, just the axle to spin the top from. "You wrap the rest of the twine, and then hold the end of it tightly - tightly - between your pinky and ring finger. It puts the top on a leash, gives you control." One of the teams succeeds in a game, and you glance over, the cheers of your side calling for your attention. "Hey. Eyes on me," Young-il says, firm and commanding, and your breath catches. You couldn't even dream of disobeying, your head snapping to look back at him. His lips quirk, almost forming a smirk, but it's gone as soon as it came. "The next part is all about speed. You hold the top in your hand, then flick your wrist out, throwing it. With the twine still between your fingers, you pull your hand back quickly, almost like a snap." He mimes the motion - flicking his wrist, then pulling his hand back. It's a fast movement, one that makes your own hand shake. You can't do this, there's no way you can be good enough at this game to pass before time runs out. Anxiety seizes your chest, and you take a few quick breaths, staring at his hand. Details. Focus. Smooth palms, square in shape. Rounded, well-maintained fingernails. Deep lines over the shape of his knuckles. Strong hands, that he only needed one of to take down a grown man.

You wonder what those hands would feel like, tracing the shape of your skin.

The thought startles you, but at least you've regained some steadiness. Your heart thumps for an entirely different reason now. One hand reaches out to cup the back of yours, almost gently, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, despite everything. The same hand that pet your hair until you fell asleep, perfectly at peace. His other hand reaches out to take your wrist. He curls your fingers for you, holding an invisible top, and shows your hand the movement slowly. Then again. His palm is warm, but his fingers are cold, and if your dizzy mind weren't already devoting all its energy to the task at hand, you'd find it poetic, metaphorical.

He gestures for you to try the motion again, and you do. You repeat the movement over and over, until the speed comes naturally to you.

Hope enters your chest, the sun dawning through the blinds, and when you look up at Young-il again, he has a small, proud smile on his face.

One of the team reaches the Spinning Top phase, and you turn your head, watching with rapt interest, finally seeing what had only been an image in your mind before. The man playing isn't very good - on his first throw, it simply clatters to the ground. Your chest clenches in sympathy. The team has to march again to pick it up.

"Hmm. I think messing up Spinning Top is gonna take even longer to recover from," player 290 leans over to say to Young-il. He narrows his eyes at him as he leans away, and your heart pounds. It's not comforting.

"Ignore him," Young-il mutters to you.

You nod faintly, focusing on the team as they get back into position.

The games continue. The timer runs down. It feels like every second passing is a needle in your gut, pinpricks of pain and nerves. And just like that - time runs out. The panicked cries of the players on the tracks fills you with dread, and you make a small, wounded noise. Young-il grabs your arm, tugging you until you almost fall over yourself into the dirt, pulling you against him. He hides your face in his chest, but you can still hear the begging, and then-- the gunshots.

You bury your face in his chest as he strokes your hair, trying to soothe you again. It doesn't work like it did last night. Distantly, you wonder if this is even allowed, but no guards command him to let go of you, or for you to go back to your spot. You take the comfort, eyes squeezed shut. No tears come, just a hollowness in your chest as he presses his face into the top of your head.

The guards clean up the bodies. Eventually, Young-il pushes your head lightly. The coast must be clear, but you're reluctant. Still, you let him. He cups your cheek, holding your face so you can look into his eyes. "It won't happen to you," he says firmly, his voice hushed, urgent. "I won't let it."

You give a dry laugh, humorless. "You wouldn't be able to prevent it, not in this game," you whisper. Focus. Details. The warmth of his hand, the fire hidden in the depths of his eyes, where his expression is usually so cold. The twist of his lips, not quite a frown, but something more determined. His hair, falling over his forehead.

You breathe. Once. Twice.

"Players 007, 095, 120, 132, 149." A guard is standing at the end of our row, his masked face directed at your group. Young-il lets you go, and you only tremble slightly as you get to your feet.

"I believe in you. You can do this," he says, one last parting gift of comfort, and you try to believe him too.

You're led to the track, taking your place on the blue line. Your legs get shackled together, and you try your damnedest not to think of anything at all. You're between 120 and 149, the tall woman and the old one. You link arms, feeling for all the world like you're being sentenced to death.

In-ho stares at you as you walk away, knowing there's not much he can do to prevent your death if you fail in this game. It's a mistake that won't be repeated. Despite your surges of anxiety, you'd surprised him with your focus, with the way your panic eased the longer your eyes traced over him. It made him feel... important. He's already important, it shouldn't matter. He leads these games, is always in control, but he'd never factored in an American girl with a strong will, with searching eyes that seemed to take comfort in him and him alone. He catches the gaze of a nearby guard, his eyes holding a warning, a threat. If you die, he will personally ensure that any guard or player that had a hand in it will die too. When he's sure the message is received, loud and clear, he looks back at you, in time to see your head turn, your eyes finding his. He offers no expression of comfort, just his intensity, that possessiveness that settles deep in his very soul. If you, or one of your teammates fails this game, he'll still have to watch you be shot, albeit non-fatally. Painful, but necessarily. He doesn't feel as in control of himself as he usually does, or as in control of the games, and the dark part of him finds it thrilling, new. It's not new. Another remnant of the man he used to be, but the lack of control is so foreign now, like a childhood friend he hasn't seen since high school, finding him once more. Every other part of him is frozen, holding its breath, waiting for the verdict on your demise.

Your eyes find Young-il's, his gaze locked on you. His expression is unreadable, but you have a feeling he won't take his eyes off you, and it almost feels like he's your guardian angel. The guards finish chaining you together, and you look forward, daring to hope.

The pentathlon starts.

The first game is Ddakji. Player 095's trembling hands hold the folded paper, and you wonder how a girl like her ended up here. She can't be much younger than you, but still, you feel a decade older watching her.

She doesn't flip the ddakji on the first throw. She picks it up again, and you're distantly surprised her fumbling fingers don't just drop it in the attempt. Another throw. Another miss. She picks it up. Your stomach sinks as she misses the next one, too, but then 120 throws her a bone, a tip. 095 throws the paper again. It flips.

"Pass."

The crowd cheers for you, and your team moves on, marching in time with the beat of your heart. Game two, Flying Stone. One of the first two teams didn't even get past it. 007 takes the stone that's handed to him. He throws it, misses. 120 calls out, organizing your march forward. You stop in front of the stone, and he leans down, grabs it.

"Okay! Now, we go backwards!"

All of you chant the march of your steps backwards, until you end up behind the line again. None of you can afford the time loss of him missing again, especially you, when you haven't even played your own mini-game before. You find yourself calling out encouragements, words that are almost meaningless. His mother grabs him, murmuring something about pretending that the stone is the face of someone who wronged him. His face contorts, he winds his hand back. A cry of words is wrenched from him, like a battle call, and he throws the stone.

The other stone falls.

"Pass."

The crowd cries up, the excitement of everyone growing, but you can only focus on marching forward to the next game. Gonggi. Only one away from your turn. You all kneel together on the ground. This is the game you know the least about, and as the older woman starts, you find yourself fascinated by the movement of her hand. She fumbles, a piece drops.

"Mom, you said you played Gonggi with bullets during the Korean War," her son says urgently, and the reminder seems to light a fire in her. She lasers in like you've never seen from a woman her age as she starts again. You don't understand the game, but the quick and nimble movement of her frail hands impresses you, gripping your lungs. You don't breathe, just watching, mesmerized. The pieces are thrown into the air, then land on the back of her hand. Her son speaks again, giving her the same lifeline he'd given her, something to imagine, to motivate.

The pieces are tossed up.

She catches them in her fist.

"Pass."

The crowd roars, and you almost stumble as you get back to her feet. It's your game next, but the determination of your team, the palpable excitement in the room, infects you like the best kind of virus. You come to a stop, and 120 releases your arm as you take the top and twine. Your fingers are surprisingly steady as you wrap the end of it around the axle, your mind on Young-il. The first three loops are wrapped tightly, and you finish winding it, eyes zeroed in on every movement.

You arch your arm, preparing to throw it.

As you move, though, your eyes catch on the blood on the ground, from the team before you. You falter. It doesn't help that you didn't grip the twine tight enough between your fingers, and it slips from your hands. Your heart stops. 120 grips your arm encouragingly. "C'mon--" she says, her voice urgent. You almost forget to take the first step as your team chants. One, two. One, two. It only takes a few steps for you to reach the top, and you bend down, grabbing it, trying to take deep breaths. Your team march backwards. One, two. One, two. You're back in place, and you hold the top and twine, hesitating for just a moment. You don't dare look at the timer. Breathe. You wrap the twine around the axle, the first three loops, then the rest. You grip it, the end of the twine held tightly - tightly - between your fingers. Focus. No time for the details.

As you wind your arm back, you feel the ghost of Young-il's hands, guiding your motion. His warm palm, his cold fingers, leading the way.

You throw the top, and with a flick of the wrist, pull your hand back. The top lands on the ground.

It spins.

"Pass."

The crowd erupts, and your teammates grab you. You can hardly breathe, joy overtaking you. One last game. One more. You march together, pride swelling in your chest, even though it's not over yet. You didn't let your team down. You didn't ruin this.

You come to a stop, and the paper jegi gets passed to 120. It looks nothing like you expected, and definitely not as heavy, and you're glad this isn't the game you chose.

"No one watch me, okay?" 120 yells to you and the team. You blink in surprise, but you don't question her, turning your body away as much as the constraints allow, patting 149 to do the same. "You too. Everybody turn," 120 calls out to the crowd. The reason is lost on you, but you can only assume that everyone listens, because you hear the jostle of paper being thrown up into the air, followed by the first smack of it against her foot.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

FIVE.

You cry out in victory and excitement, turning as you hear the final smack of paper on foot. "You did it, you--"

"Pass."

Everyone is yelling and chanting for your team, and the rhythm, the synchronicity is easy to find after doing this together so much. Unison. Comradery. When you pass the finish line, you almost don't believe it, but the roar of the crowd fills your ears. You want to collapse on the spot.

As the guards come up to unlock the shackles tying you together, you find Young-il's eyes. Easily, this time. You know exactly where he is, after all. He's got his arms wrapped around his teammates, celebrating with the rest of him, his eyes on you, only you. The pride, the sheer relief in his expression is practically a physical thing, and you smile at him, feeling drained, but like a winner. He saved you.

You wish you could run to him, throw your arms around him, celebrate in his arms. But that's not an option. The guards finish releasing you, then gesture for you to follow them, and you only have time to mouth 'good luck' to him before you're escorted away.

As the doors shut behind you, you remember that your own victory doesn't secure his. There's a chance that he won't make it back to you at all.

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

♡  ⁄ taglist: @pursued-by-the-squid @in-hos-wife @bloooooopblopblop <33333 @nellabear @gloriousjellyfisharcade @politicstanner @xcinnamonmalfoyx @beebeechaos @delfinadolphin @bbrainr0t @ineedazeezee

[aphel1on]

Dungeon Lords and the Human Need for Connection

When I came across these panels again the other day, it got me thinking about dungeon lord parallels again.

...And I spiraled until I was writing my thesis statement about how All Four Dungeon Lords (Yes, Even Laios, Stop leaving him out of these discussions) Are Actually the Same.

Firstly (because on some level everything is about Thistle to me) I thought about how the lion could have very likely given Thistle a similar offer when his loved ones started losing their souls/rebelling/etc. And yet, there is no sign that Thistle ever accepted such an offer, nor any sign that he used magic to forcibly change people's opinions, the way Marcille briefly threatened the party with while she was dungeon lord:

Instead, he ended up with the fucking dining table that drives me insane. Which probably means that either Thistle rejected the offer, or the lion sensed it wouldn't go over well and didn't even try it.

Making replicas of people doesn't seem to be an uncommon part of granting the dungeon lord's wishes. In his time, Mithrun actually took the demon up on it:

(Not pictured; the infamous lamia-version of his love interest.)

What makes Mithrun different from Thistle and Marcille in this instance is that Thistle and Marcille both became dungeon lords for the sake of specific people. Both were motivated by the terror of losing their most important people, and both told themselves everything they did was for the sake of protecting those people.

Because they were motivated by genuine love, copies or mind manipulation were not palatable. I think Thistle even in the late stages of his madness probably would not find these to be acceptable solutions. No matter how twisted, possessive, and obsessive his love became under the dungeon's influence, it was still from the fear of losing those original, irreplaceable people that he was doing all this. Even as his relationship with Delgal and the other Melinis fell apart over the years... even as he was left with only their soulless bodies... he would still rather cling to whatever was left.

Perhaps on some level, Thistle recognized the same thing that kept Marcille from following through with her threats:

Even in the state of endlessly chasing their desires as dungeon lords, they couldn't feel truly okay accomplishing it that way.

For Mithrun, meanwhile, the people in his fantasy world were a means to an end. It was all-encompassing insecurity and the pain of not being wanted that led him to become dungeon lord. His desire was not fixated on any specific people - it was broad enough and desperate enough that anyone could fulfill it. The thing is, Mithrun prior to becoming dungeon lord was by all accounts well-liked. But his emotional walls were up so high that not a single one of his admirers could make him feel known and cared for. The kind of crushing perfectionism he exhibited in that stage of his life often comes with a silent and equally crushing imposter syndrome. No one actually knew him, because Mithrun didn't let them, even though every aspect of his personality then was a desperate plea to be seen and liked. I think the sad truth is that, by the time he became dungeon lord, Mithrun didn't truly believe that happiness was something that could be found in other people. (It's telling that his wish was for a world in which he had never been discarded; perhaps for a world in which he never felt the need to put up those masks.)

In this respect, Mithrun is actually more alike to Laios than he is to Thistle and Marcille.

Laios was told again and again by the world that it was wrong to be who he was - that he was unlikeable when he acted the way that came naturally to him. The lion didn't bother asking Laios about replicas; those would be meaningless to him. Like Mithrun, Laios had lost all hope of being liked for who he was, but took it one step further: Laios had lost hope that he could find happiness in the human world entirely. At that point, all he wanted was an escape. To leave the pain of the human world behind and become someone, something, different. All he really needed in order to be tempted into it was the assurance that his friends would be safe.

All four of these stories have a pretty obvious throughline when you think about it: the deep, intrinsic need for human connection and what happens to someone when that need cannot be met.

All four of them were starving for connection. All four of them experienced alienation and isolation that made them desperate enough to turn to the demon.

Marcille (a half-elf whose unstable aging left her without peers) and Thistle (raised as the only elf in a kingdom of humans) both formed intense attachments to the few people they did become close to, and went off the deep end from fear of losing them.

Mithrun and Laios were both rejected by others for aspects of themselves that were out of their control, and tried to cope by developing masks that left them unable to feel accepted by the people still in their lives.

...So it's fitting, then, that genuine human connection is also what saved all four of them in the end.

(Thistle is a little arguable here; I personally don't think he died, but even if you do believe he died at the end of the manga- Yaad being able to connect and empathize with him is what gave him peace and solace in his final moments.)

Dungeon Meshi is about alienation and connection as much as it is about food and cycles of life. (Or more like, these themes are masterfully intertwined - food is used to represent love and connection over and over again. But that's a whole essay in and of itself!)

[mariswxt]

‘34 château margaux

SUMMARY: Spencer never knew to feel about you. Actually, he did. You were a career criminal, but also a liaison for the FBI, which prevented your arrest. You’re cunning, manipulative, persuasive and oh, so seductive. Spencer was warned against you, and he knew it. But even a genius profiler with an eidetic memory couldn’t resist you. Even a genius profiler with an eidetic memory can’t help but lose control around a woman like you.

TW: mentions of smoking, wine, seduction, badass reader, s7 Dr Spencer Reid, mentions of organised crime, mobs and mafia, Spencer’s weak for reader the poor baby, Hotch slander, smut

STW: Spence doesn’t stop the reader from kissing him, marking, oral (f. receiving), brief handjob, praise kink if you squint, dirty talk but Spencer style, degradation I think, wine play (I think), temperature play as subtext, ass slapping, profiling during sex, threat of exhibitionism, light choking, switch!Spencer, switch!reader, pussydrunk!Spencer, slight overstimulation, fingering

SONG INSPO: Greedy by Ariana Grande, Acapulco by Jason Derulo, I Did Something Bad by Taylor Swift and Make you Mine by Madison Beer

Femme fatales had a specific profile.

The "femme fatale" is typically depicted as a highly attractive and enigmatic woman in her late twenties to early forties, often characterized by a seductive allure that masks her manipulative and dangerous nature. Her primary weapon is her ability to ensnare men through charm, beauty, and sexual allure, ultimately leading them to their downfall.

While her motivations vary, she is often driven by power, revenge, or hidden trauma. Early literary examples include the biblical figure of Delilah, who betrays Samson, and Salome, who demands the head of John the Baptist. In classical mythology, Circe and the Sirens use their allure to seduce and destroy men.

The femme fatale's archetype is also evident in later works like Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth, who manipulates her husband to commit regicide. This profile of a femme fatale highlights her as a complex figure whose allure conceals a more sinister intent.

That was your profile.

Hotch had warned Spencer not to get too close to you, because you knew how to use your everything, and you had a sweet spot for the latter. Not because Spencer really was a likeable son of a bitch, but because you found him more fun than the other agents.

You were a pretty face, sure, but you were also a genius. A Dr Spencer Reid level genius, but you were the side of the spectrum that dissolved into a life of high crime and corruption.

Instead of becoming a federal agent - or law enforcement - you were the trusted advisor to a lot of the mafia and mob population, and even that was enough to put you away on charges of incitement/inchoate crime. But you were useful, extremely useful, so you also then became the liaison for the FBI whenever the mafia or mob circles became involved in an investigation.

This time, you were, as the unsub of a case in Las Vegas, Nevada seemed to be purchasing drugs like M99, ketamine and small doses of chloroform, mixed with LSD. It was a powerful mix and the dose was enough to cause immediate system failure and then death. The drugs were being purchased from casinos which were rumoured to be the cover of Vegas’ mob circles.

Your hotel room was the kind of thing Spencer only hoped to see in movies, with warm lighting, patterned red wallpaper, mahogany flooring with underfloor heating, glass and gold tables, mahogany dressers and a huge king-size four poster with curtains the same colour as the walls. There was a liquor cabinet as well as a fancy looking cooler, and it was nothing like Spencer had been used to seeing as he grew up in this very city.

It didn’t feel like his territory anymore. He wasn’t as comfortable as he usually was around these parts. He took the couple steps in, having closed the door behind him, now standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Maybe you weren’t in. Phew.

“Dr Reid.” Came the voice that made Spencer feel like he was on fire, a perfectly manicured hand brushing over his shoulder as you walked up from behind him, having come from the bathroom that was no doubt as fancy as the bedroom itself. After all, this was the penthouse.

You lived it big as a career criminal.

You stepped out from behind him, lips that he’d unintentionally imagined on his body stretched into a smirk as you picked up a quarter-full wine glass from the table and took a sip. You were killing him, wearing a black silk robe with just the right hint of lace, which stopped at your mid thigh and had a neckline that had his eyes dropping briefly before he schooled them and gave himself a very firm lecture inside his head.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Again, that voice, the cadence of it, Spencer couldn’t understand how something as simple as a damn voice could have him so unbelievably weak for you.

Spencer raised his hand in greeting with his bravest attempt at a smile, like he usually did.

“It’s a case.” He dug in his messenger bag, handing you some photos of some bodies. “Someone’s targeting bank workers around Vegas. It’s a ‘drug smoothie’ of M99, ketamine and small doses of chloroform, mixed with LSD. Morgan dubbed it that. Actually, smoothies are meant to boost the health of the drinker and contain nutrients from a liquid base such as yogurt or milk puréed with fruit, vegetables or items in a mixer, so I don’t see how this particular drug mix is a smoothie— a milkshake perhaps, as it hasn’t got as much nutritional value beside providing substantial energy through the intake of sugar and carbohydrates.”

He paused, seeing the soft, amused smile on your face, the light of the room casting a perfect shadow on the curve of your cheek. It felt like you were ethereal. “Did I say too much?” Spencer said meekly, rubbing his jaw.

“Not at all, Dr Reid, I completely agree. You can tell your friend Morgan to change it and you have my wholehearted support.” You gave him a nod, your head tilted and eyes looking big with the way you were looking at him. “You have no clue just how much your knowledge turns a girl on, baby, no clue at all.”

Spencer cleared his throat, realising that he was veering off topic and also almost salivating at the sound of you calling him baby. Having to lecture his eyes once again for looking at your legs that seemed to go on for days and seemed to also be calling for him to grab, knead and grip. “We need to stay on topic. Hotch needs the information about the case, and you need to give it.”

Spencer couldn’t help but always let his mind drop into the gutter at the sight of you. It was a Pavlovian response at this point— pure, unbridled instinct.

He couldn’t help but notice that with the way the robe draped on your body, you had nothing on underneath. That kind of assumed information had Spencer reeling.

You waved a perfectly manicured hand with scarlet nails, dismissing the idea of maintaining professionalism. “Hotch needs this, Hotch needs that. No offence to him, but he’s got a lock on you, Dr Reid. Enjoy for a night, let your hair down.”

“Well, t-the phrase ‘let your hair down’ originally was meant literally back in 1850, which was its first recorded usage but it has its roots in the 17th century. It was taken literally because women wore their hair pinned up in public, but the meaning of the phrase was to ‘get familiar’.”

Oh.

“Sorry, I can’t.” Spencer added hurriedly, searching for a notebook and pen in his bag. Licking his lips subtly at the sight of your v-neck and the way your hair framed your face. The curve of that pretty neck he wanted to kiss and lavish so it made those pretty lips fall open—

Jesus, keep it together.

“Anyway, do you want some wine?” You asked, tapping the bottle. “‘34 Château Margaux. This hotel really does have good taste.”

“I don’t drink on the job.” Spencer answered coolly. “And definitely not with criminals.” He would had Hotch not warned him— bad Spencer.”

You pouted, feigning upset. “That just breaks my heart. Putting my job against me? I’m only the advisor to some very powerful forty-and-above men who want some sexual gratification and overall ego boosts and also carry some lovely baggage with mommy issues written all over it. They want a pretty face to spill their secrets to, I give them that and get some cash in return.”

You saw the look on his face. “I’m not apologising for being a career woman.”

“Yet you liaise with the FBI about all that these forty-or-older sexually frustrated men tell you.” He countered quickly, firmly looking you in the eye. Not down at your lips, not at your tits, nor your thighs.

Spencer shook his head in exasperation, even though a shiver ran down his spine at how you advanced towards him, undoing his tie with a practiced hand. “What- ma’am, you can’t do that—”

“Ma’am?” You laughed, getting the maroon tie off and dropping it to the floor, unbuttoning his collar deftly. “Jesus, sweetie, that makes me feel old. Call me by my name, don’t be shy.”

Your name slipped off his tongue in barely a whisper, and became his only known prayer when he felt the warmth of your hands through his shirt, sliding up and up until the searing heat ran over his neck, resting in his hair and trailing down his arm, your nose brushing his before slotting in place.

Oh, God, he thought as you took his hand in your own soft one and guided it to press against your thigh, the fingertips of his index, middle and ring finger feeling silk while his palm, thumb and fifth finger felt smooth, creamy skin.

Oh, fuck, he thought as your lips got close enough to his to be a teasing venture into the cracks in his walls and defences that he’d flimsily put up against you.

“I’ll give you the information you need.” You said softly, in a way that had Spencer’s breath hitching. He should have looked away. He should’ve removed his hand from your thigh, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He was stuck like that, entranced by you. “You just need to let loose for me. For one night, I’m all yours. Drop that professionalism, Dr Reid. Let yourself go.”

“You’re a career criminal.” Spencer murmured, his hand beginning to rub your thigh, gripping slightly at the end of the downward stroke. Bad hand.

“Semantics.” You smirked, biting your lip— oh, hell, that did nothing for his self control. It made him want to kiss those lips until they bruised or swelled, until they numbed. His hand on your thigh made his tongue long to devour your pussy. The way you were looking him made him feel like he was merely a puppet on strings. “Come on, Dr Reid. Don’t deny yourself a good time, hm?”

Spencer would’ve answered, but then your lips pressed against his, and suddenly, he had clarity. That this was wrong, so very wrong. But it felt so damn good. His hand now kneading your thigh was wrong but felt electric.

He pulled back, but his mouth didn’t need to do the chasing that they ached to do. You did it for him, silencing any bubbling protest. You kissed him for the sake of coaxing him to give in, to just kiss and touch until his lips and conscience went deliciously numb.

“We can’t-” He felt your lips against his, a hum replacing his words, unknowingly stepping back towards the bed. Or maybe he knew. “We - mm - Hotch will - mhm—”

“Baby, what Aaron Hotchner doesn’t know what hurt him.” You murmured, pushing him back onto the bed. Spencer fell back without a protest, taking you in, especially as you straddled his lean form that had scooted up the bed, set his messenger bag aside and began popping the buttons of his shirt while grazing his lips with your own, teasing him, taunting him and daring him to let go as you rolled your hips slow and steady against his.

A grinding motion that drove him insane and made him moan and gasp. The fabric of his trousers really did nothing to alleviate the friction and pressure.

Spencer’s hands shot to your hips, unknowingly helping you and guiding your movements under the guise of getting you off him. “Ma’am, I mean—” He whimpered your name instead of saying it like a normal guy would, “please, d-don’t—”

Saying don’t stop was the intention, but he held himself back with the rapidly fraying thread of control. His eyes screwed shut then opened wide with a gasp, wanting to lose himself in you.

He wondered if this was his state with every woman or just you.

Definitely you was the answer when you took your mostly empty glass of wine, pouring the remaining contents over his chest. Your cold hand cupped the side of his neck, a shiver flitting over his warm skin as you then bent forward, lapping up the liquid from his chest. Sucking, drinking the earthy-noted wine with a suspiciously high efficiency. A moan that even surprised him left his mouth when you ground down against him again, your tongue on his skin, and he never hated his trousers more than right this moment as the fabric strained against his clothed need.

He loathed them when you reached for the sash of your robe, untying the waves of tantalising silk fell off your shoulders and over the side of the bed, revealing nothing underneath.

His mouth went dry.

He swallowed.

He snapped.

Within a second, you were flipped over, Spencer’s lips crashing down on yours as he kicked his shoes off, toed his socks off as he kissed you like he was going feral, hand tangling in your hair as he practically rutted against you, hard and fast and oh, so relieving.

He was gripping your face, free hand pushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, nipping at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue and making the blazing journey down your neck, which you bared to him gladly.

“Is this what you wanted?” Spencer panted, sucking at your pulse. “You wanted me to lose control, baby? Yeah, you got it. You. Got. It.” He punctuated the last three with nips to your collarbone and followed up with presses of his mouth on the swell of your tits.

You couldn’t even think, just letting out moans and sighs and needy whimpers of his name and unintelligible sounds, which did good to satisfy his frustration. Spencer’s mouth enveloped your nipple, sucking while tweaking the other between his fingers to have you arching into him and a smirk forming around his temporary fixation.

He switched his attention, pushing you down by your waist with his free hand to keep you from arching up. “Sit pretty and take it.”

Oh, those words sent a hot shiver up your spine. And then back down again, straight to your already soaking pussy.

He let your tit go with a small gasp, his eyes zeroing in on the prize and prompting him to start kissing down your stomach and nipping at your thighs.

If you chose to wear that robe for another person in the near future, they’d see his marks on your thighs. His. That was a thought that had a warmth swelling in his chest and cock.

He pushed your legs apart, holding them apart with his elbows and biting his lip at the feel of your hand in his hair. Testing the waters, his middle finger pushed with no resistance into your throbbing pussy, which had you gasping and moaning his name, while Spencer groaned yours upon feeling how you squeezed merely one finger.

Spencer had long fingers. Imagine what that meant for all you ladies out there.

He would’ve began pumping it, but he withdrew it and began licking it clean, tasting you on his tongue and almost whining at how good it was. Ignoring your whimper at the loss of contact, he maintained very intense eyes contact with you as he licked one long stripe up your cunt.

That didn’t last very long. The moment he got one proper hit of you, his eyes rolled back, then closed, mouth fell open, and he properly got to work, drinking you up like you did that wine on his body.

You’d honestly never been with a man as dedicated to eating pussy than Dr Spencer Fucking Reid.

“I’ve profiled you, y’know.” He murmured, still lapping at you and acting as if you weren’t writhing, moaning and arching your back - a complete mess - while he was having a fucking casual conversation with you and being the little shit that caused it.

He paused to suck at your clit as if it was all casual and part of a daily routine, little hums and encouragements between words where he’d absolutely devour you and make it look like him playing poker. Easy. “You’re promiscuous - mmh - like Lady Macbeth, except without the - mhm - implied infanticide and insanity.”

Spencer used his elbows locking your thighs in place to spread you open and get a new angle, and god damn it worked, because while you were crying out his name to Jesus and the holy mother Virgin Mary he was acting like this was another day at the office. “You use your body to get what you want - that’s it, be loud, baby - and on all counts it works. You also know how to play into people’s - fuck - psyche. It’s what makes you a textbook femme fatale.”

His middle finger slid in again, along with his index - both ridiculously long - and he crooked them just right, reaching places you didn’t even know existed and hitting the bullseye that was your g-spot all while tracing his name on your clit. Again, acting like you weren’t a complete and utter mess by now, but you were too far gone to care.

“You have an ability to see someone’s emotional desires— now, for example.” Spencer glances up at you, his free hand massaging your thigh and his fingers working you, pumping in and out and making sure his thumb got your clit while he talked. “It makes you highly manipulative, a-and your confident demeanour makes it - so tight, pretty girl - easy for people to trust and confide in you, hence why you’re the advisor to a lot of the mafia bosses on the FBI’s most - mmh - wanted list.”

Upon feeling and seeing how close you were, even if you didn’t know it yourself, Spencer smirked up at your face, looking like the prettiest picture with your eyes rolled back, mouth open, hand holding the sheets and your cheeks as pigmented as they could go. “But you’re easy to read when you’re in a vulnerable position. So why don’t you be a good girl, and come for me?”

You came apart easily at his cue, your high crashing over you like a fucking tsunami, feeling him lap at your pussy to clean you up— or so you thought. He actually didn’t stop, murmuring something about “one more” as his brow furrowed in concentration, really zeroing in on his target.

Not stopping, not letting up.

You were pretty sure you saw God and his army of angels frowning upon the sinful deed you two were partaking in, and how you were partaking of each other, while Spencer continued to steal your thoughts with that damn talented tongue and fingers.

He moaned at the taste of you, feeling drunk on everything you were giving him. Your sounds, the feel of you, the taste of you— you consumed all his senses.

You were a forbidden fruit. He was eating it. Except he was taking more than just one bite of the apple.

When you came again after a few more practiced licks, you felt a lot more sensitive then usual, but the satisfied look on Spencer’s face told you he’d made you come twice instead of once.

Testament to his skill, you guessed.

Spencer wiped all the residue of you off his chin with his thumb, licking his lips and quickly sucking the slick off by popping the thumb into his mouth. He made it look like his everyday Tuesday.

Then he undid his belt buckle and dropped it aside, his trousers and boxers going with as he pressed kiss after kiss to your body on the slow journey up. Spencer groaned as your hand wrapped around his cock, your thumb teasing the head before your hand began to move up and down… until he stopped you.

“Not right now, baby.” He chuckled. “Another time. Statistically, I’m fifty percent more likely to come if you do that.”

“That’s the idea.” You winked, but removed your hand off his dick anyway.

“I’m sure it is.” Spencer smiled, then looked around. “Do you have condoms? J-Just cause using protection during sex, particularly condoms, is crucial for several reasons, both from a-a health and social standpoint. First, condoms are one of the most effective methods for preventing the transmission of sexually transmitted infections, i-including HIV. These infections can have long-term health consequences, some of which are irreversible or even life-threatening. By using a condom, you're significantly reducing the risk of both contracting and spreading these infections to your partner. Second, condoms are a reliable method of birth control when used correctly. They prevent sperm from reaching the egg, thereby reducing the likelihood of unintended pregnancies.”

Then you pulled out the top drawer of the bedside table, which was full of condoms of all sizes. Which had him both slightly jealous and sheepish. “Oh, uh, thanks.” Spencer grabbed one, tearing the foil off with his teeth and expertly sliding the rubber on and entering you so fast your moan came in delayed timing.

“Fuck.” You gasped, especially as you adjusted to him and even better when he started moving back and forth at a steady rhythm, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in, feeling your pussy practically mould to him in a way that had his eyes rolling back and hips snapping forward harder.

It made your nails claw at his back, which made him bite his lip and release it, claiming your lips in a hungry kiss. ‘34 Château Margaux. It had an earthy taste to it.

Your perfume was intoxicating, and he smelt of new books and a cologne that drove you mad. You also got notes of butter popcorn from his time watching Russian movies and his lips distinctly tasted of you and you only.

It felt like your claim on him.

Next thing you knew, he’d pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach and thrust into you again, his mouth latching to your shoulder and leaving marks as he took your neck by his hand, not squeezing hard, but just enough to let you know he was there.

“So tight. How’re you gonna look - shit - all those mafia bosses in the eye, huh?” He panted, punctuating his words with a snap of his hip while you were reduced to cries of his name. “When you can’t walk because of an FBI agent?”

“Spencer, fuck!” Was the only admittedly pathetic thing that came from your mouth, along with a whimper when his hand came down on the side of your ass, soothed by a rub.

“That’s right, baby, call out for me.” He murmured, sucking a mark under your ear. “Make sure everyone in this hotel can hear.”

You found yourself coming at the words, gripping the pillows with your eyes rolling back, Spencer’s own copying as he felt your cunt clamp down on him like a vice. His hand on your throat squeezed a little tighter - but he was aware that it wasn’t enough pressure to cut off an airway - with his head dropping to your shoulder, pressing kisses to the heated flesh as he followed with a few clumsy, shallow thrusts later.

Oh, he knew what he did was wrong. He just couldn’t help himself when presented with you.

Spencer pulled out of you, both of you practically spent of all your energy. You rolled onto your back, wiping away a forming tear due to your sensitive pussy being wrecked by Dr Spencer Reid, but it was worth everything.

“I forgot one thing.” He murmured, moving so he could pull you into his chest and kiss your hair. Remarkable how this man can go from a hot dominant to a hot nerd. “From your profile, I mean.”

“Yeah, Dr Reid?” You smiled, kissing him softly yet intensely, drawing a hum of contentment from his lips.

“You, ma’am,” Spencer cheekily emphasised between kisses, “are very sexually proficient.”

That got a laugh from you, breaking away to playfully swat his chest, which got a noise of surprise from him and a small "son of a bitch!". “Is that your way of telling me this was mind blowing sex?”

“That isn’t how you tell someone that?”

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[demaparbat-hp]

For your Dandadan AU. Are we in a "Modern Setting" (e.i. No bending)? Or you are having their "supernatural powers" be homages to their bending powers?

Something tells me that Aang is going to get the Jiji role. Only Aang to be that goofy, and do the thing that will happen in Season 2.

Are you also having Kanna as the stand-in for Seiko?

Hi, and thanks for asking!

I'll be leaving this over here and the rest of the lore under the cut.

The Dandadan AU takes place in a modern setting, much like the anime/manga does. There are legends about people who could control the elements in ancient times, but those are just tales—humans can't bend.

Spirits and Yokai, however, are a different story.

Each character's supernatural abilities reflect their original bending prowess! Zuko is a bit of an exception, since I'm leaning towards the shadow and stealth aspect of the Blue Spirit. Fire is still there, just in a different form.

Katara has natural bloodbending powers which the Painted Lady enhances. Whenever Katara taps into the yokai's curse on her, she becomes able to control water as well. Azula (in Aira's role!) will get lightning, illusion, and deception powers from a Kemurikage yokai.

Seiko's role gets passed on to Hama and Iroh. They're both part of the White Lotus, a society of mediums and yokai hunters from all nations.

Hama is Katara's Gran Gran, a stern and rather intense old woman who has made several deals with the Gods of the Land. She delivers corrupted souls to them in exchange for strength, protection, and an emergency tap into the bloodbending powers that she wouldn't be able to harness otherwise.

Meanwhile, Iroh becomes spiritually enlightened after his son's death. He's a beacon for corrupted spirits and bloodthirsty yokai—mostly because of his unnatural ability to rehabilitate said beings. The Painted Lady is one such yokai, and isn't it ironic that Iroh's own nephew is now one of his patients?

Hama sends most of the yokai she hunts down to Iroh due to his ability for dealing with them. If Iroh can't help a yokai move on peacefully, she finishes the job. Not because he can't do it, but Hama is the one who does what she considers to be "the fucking bulk of the iceberg" and Iroh can't take all the credit for it, damn it.

As for Aang...

The Avatar State is terrifying, which makes it the perfect stand in for the thing. Aang has such an outstanding amount of spiritual energy that he's a beacon for all spirits and yokai out there. Which...isn't good. Especially when one of the most ancient and powerful spirits out there wants to possess him.

Which leads us to the Avatar State.

I made the choice to remove his power over the four elements to focus instead on something much more interesting and fitting for this AU: energybending.

The Avatar is able to manipulate all vital and spiritual energy around him, as well as give or take everyone else's powers at will. This makes him pretty much the most dangerous being to ever exist, since he can make everyone powerless by simply willing it so.

As for the Avatar's motivation? He's a protective yet ruthless spirit that has laid dormant for thousands of years, but a certain event woke him up to a world in disarray. His purpose has always been to keep balance in the world, but the concept itself of balance can be easily corrupted.

The Avatar comes from a world that doesn't exist anymore—a far better place that he wishes to recreate and bring to life once more. Even if he must destroy this version of earth to birth it anew.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Deadly Devotion

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader x John “Soap” MacTavish

AU: Scream/Ghostface Ghost & John x reader

Warnings: Dark themes, murder, possessiveness, obsession, yandere tendencies, stalking, implied violence, psychological manipulation, mentions of blood, protective/territorial behavior, suggestive themes, and morally gray characters. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Author's Note: This is a dark fic with heavy themes of obsession and murder. Simon and Johnny are highly possessive and will do anything to keep you safe—even if that means spilling a little blood. If that’s not your thing, feel free to skip! But if you enjoy some deadly devotion, then welcome to their twisted love story.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Your town wasn’t used to crime.

It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, where doors were left unlocked, and the biggest drama was which neighbor had the best Christmas lights. But now?

A killer was on the loose.

Three victims. No leads. No motive. The only connection? You.

Bradley, your cheating ex—found dead in his car, throat slit.

Jessica, your condescending coworker—stabbed twenty-three times in an alley.

Mark, the persistent barista who wouldn’t take no for an answer—mutilated behind the café.

The police were baffled. No fingerprints. No evidence. Just pure, calculated violence.

But you weren’t stupid. You saw the pattern.

And you knew exactly who was behind it.

---

“You shouldn’t be walking alone, lass.”

Soap’s voice was light, teasing, but his eyes were sharp—watching, assessing. His presence beside you was familiar, comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.

You barely had time to respond before a second figure appeared on your other side.

Simon.

Silent. Massive. Dangerous.

“You hear about Mark?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Soap hummed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Aye. Nasty business.” A pause. Then, with a smirk, “Can’t say I’ll miss him, though.”

Your stomach twisted. “Johnny—”

“What?” He shrugged. “The guy was a creep. Always hovering around you like a damn leech.”

Simon exhaled sharply. “He deserved worse.”

Something about the way he said it made your pulse spike.

You should have been afraid.

You wanted to be afraid.

But instead, you felt… safe.

And that was the most terrifying part of all.

---

The phone rang at 1:13 AM.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for it. “Hello?”

A low, distorted voice hummed through the receiver.

“You looked real pretty today.”

Your breath caught. “Who is this?”

A soft chuckle. “You don’t recognize me? That hurts, sweetheart.”

The line went dead.

A knock at your door followed.

Your heart pounded as you peeked through the peephole.

Simon.

Fumbling with the lock, you yanked the door open. “Simon—”

“You okay?” His gaze flickered to your phone. “What happened?”

You hesitated. “I… I think someone’s watching me.”

His entire body tensed. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was seconds from pulling out a knife.

“What did they say?” he asked, voice dangerously low.

Your stomach twisted. “They said I looked pretty today.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Beside him, Soap exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t a request.

Simon’s arms were solid, unshakable as they wrapped around you. His scent—leather, gunpowder, something dark—swallowed you whole.

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you,” he murmured.

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

Because it wasn’t reassurance.

It was a promise.

---

“You’ve been quiet, sweetheart.”

Soap’s fingers brushed your knee, his grip warm and firm. Across from you, Ghost sat in silent observation, his stare unreadable.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you murmured.

“About?” Ghost’s voice was steady.

You swallowed hard. “The murders.”

Silence.

Then—Soap chuckled, shaking his head. “That so?”

Your hands clenched around your drink. “I know it’s you.”

Neither of them reacted. No denial. No shock.

Just a slow, knowing smirk from Soap.

Ghost tilted his head. “So, what now?”

Your heart pounded. What was your next move?

Turn them in? You’d never make it far.

Run? They’d find you.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you whispered.

Soap tsked, shaking his head. “We know that, sweetheart.”

Ghost leaned forward, voice low. “Because you’re ours.”

Your breath hitched.

“This wasn’t just about keeping you safe,” Soap murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “This was about making sure nobody else thought they had a chance with you.”

“You don’t need anyone else.” Ghost’s fingers traced your wrist. “You have us.”

Your pulse pounded as their words sank in.

You had been theirs from the beginning.

And there was no escaping them now.

The police would never find out.

The bodies would keep piling up.

And you?

You would stay right where you belonged.

With them.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

If you were to write Lila would you keep her being a con artist criminal with multiple identities but hinted at/revealed it earlier than S5 or would you cut that part down of her character entirely ?

It would really depend on how much space I had to fill. Gabriel is not the kind of villain that you can draw out forever. His story needs to have a clearly planned ending right from the start. In fact, I think they drew him out at least a season too long. So, if I also had to fill eight seasons, I could see myself going the Lila route. I'd just make a few changes. Off the top off my head, here's how I'd handle serious villain Lila as opposed to what canon wrote, which is petty school bully Lila who is entirely unbelievable as a serious villain.

First of all, Lila wouldn't be introduced at the end of season one. While her and Gabriel probably need to have some overlap, that's way too soon. In my version, she shows up at the start of season four and she'd be heavily toned down. We'd know that something was off about her, we may even keep the liar thing, but it would be a lot more subtle. Lies like, "Ladybug rescued me" and "I got to go backstage at a Jagged Stone concert" instead of "Ladybug is my bff" and "Jagged Stone wrote a song about me." Her goal would no longer be gaining peons, but instead gaining true close friends who like and trust her. The reason for this is that Lila is replacing Optigami as Mayura's last sentimonster.

See, season three ended with all those identity reveals and most of the revealed identities are in the same class. That's curious, so it makes perfect sense for Nathalie and Gabriel to want someone undercover in Adrien's class, but they can't do it. So Nathalie makes a sentikid of her own, gives her the power of manipulation, and sends her off to try to find Ladybug and/or Chat Noir by whatever means necessary.

This would give a clear reason for Gabriel to trust Lila, a clear reason for Lila to know all about the miraculous, and a clear reason for Lila to hate Ladybug. In this version, I wouldn't do Nathalie's lackluster redemption. Instead, Nathalie stays bad right up to her death. Perhaps her last act is getting the butterfly to her daughter and ordering her to get revenge on Ladybug and Chat Noir should Gabriel fail. After all, Gabriel can't wield more than six miraculous at once, so it makes sense for him to send Nathalie off with at least one of them while he enacts his master plan just in case it fails.

That's just one potential path to take. I also like the idea of having Lila be someone who came to Paris in order to find the miraculous, but who has no ties to the Agrestes. That would require some pretty big changes to her character, though, as I can't see that type of character caring about things like dating Adrien or being a model or all the other crap that has nothing to do with gaining a miraculous and everything to do with popularity and social clout. Lila canonically doesn't know that Gabriel even has a miraculous until the final of season four, so she basically just lucked into finding one instead of doing anything logical to find it because this show has no clue how to actually write smart, clever characters.

In summary, I'm totally fine with complex, master-manipulator Lila, it's just hard to figure out the best way to make her work when we don't know anything about her backstory or motivation. The version proposed above is just the best I can do to fit her into the role canon placed her in. A role I could easily see later seasons flat out ignoring.

[annabelle--cane]

What are your opinions on Jonelias, if you have any? Not the community or w/e (although if you have any particularly strong ones, by all means) but the actual ship/dynamic itself

I think there are some somewhat erotic undertones to their relationship in the text, mainly with how elias continually tries to establish greater commonality and intimacy between them by saying he has a window into jon's True Nature and that he knows jon's mind, motivations, and likely future actions better than jon does. the "that's quite nice actually. tingly, but sort of freeing" and "agonized bliss" lines are fairly undeniably pieces of sexualized language, and the way jon kills elias is suuuper charged and is directly paralleled with martin's later explicitly romantic killing of jon.

elias's fatal flaw that he keeps repeating is that he underestimates people and doesn't even bother to use his mind reading powers when he thinks he's got someone sussed out, and with jon this means that he thinks jon's monstrous becoming has been all about him rather than all about the eye, so he thinks jon won't be able to bring himself to actually hurt him. he's right that jon is always a lot more in-tune with beholding than he'd like to consciously believe, but he is dead wrong that jon will ever see the people around him as objects to observe and discard.

elias is remarkably cruel to him; even beside the, yknow, manipulating him into fourteen distinct magical tortures, the way he talks to him in mag 102 is particularly callous, but it doesn't seem like he actually dislikes jon. his tone shifts completely for his mag 160 statement and he's quite transparent that none of what's happened has been jon's fault and it was instead all down to him, so one gets the impression that his s3 era turbo victim blaming was just part of his scheme to drive jon towards avatar encounters. which is kind of nice, if a little insane, though he does keep up the "we're not so different, you and I" thing up through his last appearance. I think he really believes that jon will eventually come around and see what he did was great, but alas, he doesn't realize that jon is hopelessly down bad for a shitty poet who smells like a beach and has callouses on his hands from his favorite tea mug.

for something community related, I always found it kind of funny that the 2020 tumblr teens were super hard set against jonelias, if you kudos'ed the wrong fic you'd end up on a blocklist, but the 2020 tiktok teens loved it. couldn't get enough. they were making lore-intensive vaguely gothic cult aus. every hannigram cosplayer duo doubled for jonelias and barely had to change a thing.

[autistichalsin]

I think one understated part of Halsin's character is that he was never bad at leadership per se; rather, he was bad at Druidic leadership, and almost all of this was because of a combination of trauma and moral conflict.

The part about trauma has been discussed many times, but suffice to say, Halsin being forced into a leadership position he never wanted or asked for? It was traumatic. He lost the previous Archdruid, a man he admired greatly, to a curse he blamed himself for, which also claimed nearly every friend he had: "it would take me a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends I lost." He then was forced into said Archdruid's role, not allowed to heal from his trauma, and not allowed any confidantes, because the few friends who survived the battle were now his subordinates instead of his peers. He went from Halsin Silverbough to Master Halsin. It is no wonder, then, that resentment towards the role built to the point that he began looking for any excuse not to fill that role, and that's before you factor in the additional motivation of wanting to see the Shadow Curse broken and seeing the Emerald Enclave refusing to help him.

He says himself he hates the role for forcing him to spend less time in nature to handle the other Druids' problems. He would rather be in nature than solve the personal problems of the Druids. And of course, by the time he leaves, this resentment is far from onesided, as now more Druids than not have lost respect for Halsin. Yes, a lot of this is due to Kagha's manipulations, but also? A lot of this is very clearly due to a conflict of ideals.

For example, Druids are supposed to loathe the undead, yet Halsin cherishes Astarion's presence. He views them as worthy of respect and a place in the world, and sees them as distinct from beings that are both unnatural and inherently evil. This is a MAJOR difference in ideals. This likely contributed to many ideological conflicts between Halsin and the others.

And of course, Druidic leadership, at least here, is implied to be somewhat authoritarian in nature; even the Druids who hate what Kagha is doing refuse to make a true stand against her, and will join in on the Druid's side fighting against the Tieflings if the conflict started. It implies an authoritarian, "my leader for right or for wrong" structure.

By contrast, in the epilogue, when Halsin is at his happiest, he is in a leadership role, yet rather than being Master Halsin, he is Alderman Halsin, and he doesn't command the commune; he guides them, with help from others as more of an elder than anything. He is partially in charge of managing conflicts between those at his commune, yet it doesn't take him away from nature, and he feels he has a place there he truly belongs. Because instead of being forced to be something he's not, he is being allowed to use the skills he has to make everyone, himself included, happy. He is allowed to have friends and peers, and is allowed the family/children he was never allowed to have when making endless, unappreciated sacrifices at the Grove.

In short, what Halsin wanted was to be a mentoring sort of leader, not an authoritarian one, yet the Druidic structures forced him to be the latter, when he never wanted the role at all, and after a highly traumatic event to boot, and with him being forced to follow beliefs that were at times contrary to his own values.

Halsin was in many ways a poor archdruid, but he wasn't a poor leader.

[ash-says]

Tips for Dysfunctional Family Girlies Part 2:

1) Get your basics straight. Education. Boundaries. Financial independence. Further breaking it down and linking it if you get proper education at some point you are bound to get an awareness of this world, if you are able to adapt and improvise yourself and develop your emotional intelligence and get your boundaries straight you will save yourself a lot of unnecessary drama and problems. Education (formal and informal) both will help you in gaining opportunities and if you are financially independent, you are holding the power to make your own decisions.

2) Develop thick skin. Your mom is calling you names. Slut, whore and what not. Your dad doesn't trust you and abuses you physically. So, what now? Are you going to let them define what you are or internalize the anger and use it as a fuel to become successful? Choice is yours.

3) They say you don't owe an explanation to anyone. Sorry to burst your little bubble. Actually you do. We live in a society and have relationships that we need to maintain for survival. This hyper independent stuff is only good to read. We have responsibilities that we need to fulfill. If you don't owe an explanation to anyone then don't cry about a closure from someone too. If you can live by this go ahead and practice it.

4) Stop isolating yourself. That's it. That's the point.

5) First kill the fear inside you. Being a rebel outside the house is no good. Be disciplined. Know how to manipulate your family members in your favor and if you can't just find the weak points and threaten. I know it's difficult to implement but you learn through trial and error. Plus something is better than nothing.

6) Stop glorifying people who treat you with kindness and love. That's the bare minimum. Just because you didn't get it served in a silver spoon doesn't mean it is not served in a silver spoon. People can have ulterior motives and even if they don't fix it in your brain that's normal. No rose colored glasses allowed.

7) Don't be afraid of indulging in your sexuality. No I am not saying go and have sex with people. I mean it in a deeper sense. Connect with the repressed sexual side and try to find healthy outlets. Don't dim yourself to fit in others'expectations or to ease someone's insecurity. Be unapologetic about your wants and desires. Know yourself. It's a powerful energy source if you know how to use it positively.

8) Cry, cry and cry. Wail like a child. No need to keep it all in. No need to act like a macho woman BUT only in front of your god or your belief system. Max in front of your truly trusted people.

9) Question everything as easily as breathing. Doubt every thing. Every action. Every person. What proof do you have to not doubt ? Stop giving benefit of doubts. Stop looking for excuses on how they could be good and instead look for ways in which they can harm you. That's your lottery to be poised and composed. It's just what it is.

10) Obsession. We have it in loads. That's natural to us. So the trick here is to be obsessive. Hella obsessive but about things, topics, goals, subjects, inanimate things,etc. God forbid but never be obsessive about a person. Not even over your dead body. Why? For that I need to make another detailed post I think.

[valtsv]

i would love to hear more of your thoughts on michael shelley!!! 🌀🚪✨

you're in luck because i've sat on thoughts about him for years and i finally feel like i can articulate them. because michael shelley is such a well written case of tragic horror in the horror tragedy podcast. and, despite my criticisms of season 5, it really did do an excellent job in concluding his character arc with the gertrude backstory episode. in a podcast where a common in-universe theme is that knowledge, and the pursuit of knowledge, is dangerous, michael is a subversion in that his ignorance of the horrors of the world he lived in not only didn't save him, but was intentionally engineered to make him vulnerable to exploitation and harm (which, on a broader scope, emphasises the futility of the world of the magnus archives - regardless of whether you participate in or turn a blind eye to the systems at play, involved or uninvolved, you are not safe).

furthermore, i really appreciate the subversion of traditional tropes of the sacrifice as a typically female figure taken advantage of by a male father, brother, or lover, whose tragic and horrible death is used to motivate him (whether to greatness or self-destruction), with michael being a son sacrificed by his mother (or grandmother) figure, who never actually loved him and whose 'frail' and 'nurturing' qualities were weaponised incompetence used to gaslight and manipulate him - and who continues to operate successfully (at least in terms of what can be said to be 'success' in a world like the magnus archives) without being haunted by any apparent doubt about the decision she made, or any hesitation to use others in similar ways, following this betrayal. which makes the fact that he's sewn into the fabric of a being that represents lies in their most insidious form, used as a weapon to devour people and destroy their lives, all the more abhorrent in hindsight - he is forced to not only relive his trauma in an endless loop (or spiral, if you will), but to become the mechanism which enables it. michael is taken to the edge of something evil (at least from a human perspective), and pushed over the threshold with no hope of recourse. there's almost a reverse orphic quality to it - he descends into terrifying other world, one which exists side-by-side with but fundamentally seperate from his own, against his will, and looking back will only cause him pain as he's assaulted by memories of a life he will never be able to reach.

i think a lot of people forget to look past the surface with michael, despite there being an entire episode dedicated to doing so. which is understandable, he's a very outwardly expressive character - but this is intentional obfuscation to hide an incredibly damaged victim whose hatred of this part of himself is integral to his entire reason for being, and which the rejection of causes him to be unmade, incapable of existing as this contradictory nightmare any longer. it's a mercy killing, and yet it is violent and painful, because michael cannot and should not exist, and excising that graft used to muzzle the distortion is as agonising as latching it into place was in the first place. when michael-the-distortion says about michael shelley "he was born. he was pointless. and he should have died." there is an implicit longing there, a rage at the way he was used, his decisions made for him and used to imprison something else instead of ever being allowed to exercise any measure of free will. because michael shelley probably would have died for the archivist, given the opportunity, but he never got the choice.

[beware-thecrow]

I fucking hate BNHA The last panel about "granma is here" in fact further proves my point on another post of how empty and nonsensical BNHA became in the last arc because AfO wanting Tomura from the very beginning made impossible for him to be saved anyway, which means all his beef with the heroes became unjustified and his speech about violence and heroes and villains held no importance in the end. Why?

Because you cannot have a character built over the premise that society was so corrupt and selfish that put a little boy in the bad bad villain's reach for 5 arcs, to then say "oh, wait. He was fucked anyway because the bad bad guy was behind everything all along"

A bad bad guy not even all might in his prime could defeat, so it doesn't matter if people would or wouldn't help others. "It's all bad bad guy's fault anyway and he's practically immortal." Perfect, now we know granma didn't stand a chance against AfO, he planned this.

The whole idea of a society that relies on heroes too much instead of everyone doing their part from kindness falls like a house of cards if you have an evil so corrupt that none of said kindness will mean a thing. The moment Horikoshi went from "Tomura was found by AfO" to "Tomura was planned by AfO" the core theme of his series crumbled down. The league as a device lost its meaning, the characters that composed it became unjustified because whatever motivation they had was in fact a manipulation from the greater evil. And this applies to everyone.

What's the point in Toga and Twice calling out the lack of help for people with mental illness and problematic quirks if the message still is "If you do bad things out of despair no one will help you and you'll get killed." And yes, Toga died loved, Toga wanted to be loved, but she didn't wanted to die?? She was literally an abandoned child who found a family and ended up dying giving blood to the same girl she stabbed. And yeah, it's kinda poetic she died giving blood instead of taking it, but what was the point if she doesn't get to know she's loved? Further more, are we really to believe Ochako loved Toga? A girl she literally didn't know. Sorry, but once I got lost in a mall and a police officer helped me find my mom, that doesn't mean the officer loved me. And yeah, Ochako tried her best to be a good hero, but it's not about what the characters do, it's what the story tells you it happens with what they do. The story just told you the ill and abandoned die in the end before anyone helps them. And they die hunted by the police. What's the point of Touya as a whole? oh, wait. I know, it must be very awful for Endeavor to be such a bad person, his child ended up incapacitated. Very hard on Endeavor. Fuck Dabi being turned into a piece of charcoal, IT'S HARD ON HIS DAD.

What's the point in Spinner pointing out discrimination and people following him if in the end we got that he should have stayed in his lane, in his room, friendless because he only went out to be seen by someone who accepted him, just to have that person tortured in front of him before he was killed. And for what? For a teen to tell him "Yo, bro. I punched your bestie to death, make a comic about it. Btw you'll be staying in jail forever. So so sorry for you guys." Proving once again, murder is okay if you are on the right side of the story. No matter how much compassion, Tomura showed Spinner, or how much he suffered through life. Heroes had the right to kill him, and there was nothing Spinner (who legit loved his friend) could do about it because AfO had taken over. Again, another good character turned pointless, with a pointless point of view, with a pointless conclusion because he can tell the story of Tomura Shigaraki all he wants FROM JAIL, but under the public eye Tomura will go down as an insane mass murderer either way since looking at him in any other light would inevitably make a target of Izuku for killing him and that won't happen. You cannot have "the best hero ever" and "he killed this dude that was kinda right" in the same sentence. It doesn't make sense. Not to mention his case against discrimination went nowhere since everyone who followed him became a villain and the only person who actually makes a point about discrimination ends up being Deku on another, totally different chapter that had nothing to do with Spinner. And...he's a hero so he can say whatever he wants, we go back to "questioning bad, unless a hero says it" and "people are really that horrible in BNHA universe".

Tomura's case it's even more fucked because even when he said he didn't want a future, every single wish he had fell flat. His hatred for not being saved as a child proved to be out of anyone's control, his desire to destroy society didn't land because nothing really changed. There are still schools for child soldiers, and people are still not questioning the violence heroes use to keep the status quo, and certainly no one is wondering how is that a couple of heroes were able to kill a couple of villains (because so far Hawks still has a job). His friends ended up dead or locked away, and the child in him that begged to be saved ended up...being not. In the end, we got a suffering festival for Tomura, from his granma being pushed to drop her kid, his dad being tricked, his parents getting killed in front of him, Mon-chan and Hana's memory squeezed dry and young Tenko asking for help while Tomura was assaulted by his creepy guardian for 200 chapters straight just to tell us that Deku at sixteen was a great hero for putting a twenty one-year-old dissociated guy out of his misery like a euthanized dog. And for what? To finish a guy who was infatuated with his dead brother AND THAT COULD HAVE BEEN EXECUTED IN JAIL LIKE...300 CHAPTERS AGO, since the manga already made the point that villains can be executed with little repercussion, and it can be justified if said villain it's a threat. Then...why was AfO alive to begin with? Oh, I guess this is something we can trust to a 16 year old instead of... the government or whatever. And yeah, these are tragic figures, they certainly are, but you can hardly claim that they achieved anything in the end because the first premise of the league, why it was formed and why they joined was

To live as we want/are. And now they are dead, or locked away, or bedridden crispy for something that was planted by someone else from the very beginning. And what they believed didn't change anything in the end because it's not like the public saw them do something meaningful but, again, they are being told what to believe, by whom? BY THE HEROES. Are we really arguing that Iguchi's comic will change society? ARE WE FOR REAL????? Have you ever read the story of Jesus Christ? he died for our sins by Marvel. And on top of that as the last nail in the coffin to prove that NOTHING changed, Hawks really said rebranding + target audience =📈🤙🏼 StOnKS✨ I wish I was joking.

[after-witch]

Caring Was a Thing With Claws [Yandere Sigma x Reader]

Title: Caring Was a Thing with Claws [Yandere Sigma x Reader]

Synopsis: Sigma is good at caring for Sky Casino. And he finds that he really, really wants to care for you, too.

Word Count: 2000ish

notes: yandere, unhealthy relationship, kidnapped reader, kissing, drugging

You do not belong at the Sky Casino. Sigma knows this the instant that you’re granted access, all nervous smiles and downcast looks at the guards who usher you politely (but by no means meekly--they were hired to keep his clients, his world, secure, after all) through the security system.

Not that you would be the type to be hiding weapons or some secret, dangerous motive. No, no, that’s not you. He gets a read on you instantly, and he doesn’t even have to touch you. Though, he thinks, neither are you some voracious gambler looking for a higher thrill than those found in measly casinos on land. 

So why are you here? It’s curious. A debt you must pay, perhaps? Someone leaving home for the first time, intent on something new and exciting?

Ah, but he doesn’t really have time to be curious about someone that doesn’t pose a security risk, does he? So he shelves away that curiosity with his other unwanted things. Instead, he’ll stick to what he needs to know: your name, what you like, what you dislike. The facts necessary to create a mental shelf that will help you enjoy your time here.

That’s what he does best, make everyone within the casino happy. And safe. Safe as they can be, here in the sky, under his leadership. It’s all he has, this place, this space, these myriads of bells and whistles; sights and sounds that haunt his dreams, ephemeral though they are; now you, too, are part of that machine underneath him. 

--

Your code name is B8934. You don’t belong here.  You don’t fit in.

But he hates it when leave, all the same.

Because you really are different from the others. 

The first time he spoke with you, he almost couldn’t hear your voice. Soft and sweet, a whispering gentle tones that seemed to pull him towards you. But it was you who leaned in towards him, repeating yourself, apologizing for being so quiet. So shy. He told you it was nothing, no problem, and you cleared your throat to repeat your words.

“Your hair.” He had blinked at you, and you stammered out: “I like it, I mean. It’s really pretty.”

A new feeling had come over him then. A strange one. A prickling in his cheeks, a slight pressure. You didn’t realize it at the time, but you’d just stolen his first blush. 

And… it continued from there.  Your attentions. You sought him out, here and there, and at first it raised the creeping ivy of his defenses. Did you think he might rig games in your favor, if you befriended him? You wouldn’t be the first to try and, as he read in a book and spend an hour agonizing over the non-literal meaning, “butter him up.” 

But you weren’t like that. It became clearer and clearer with every day, every meeting, every hour you spent with him. You weren’t looking to manipulate him for anything; you were simply being you. 

You’re sweet. Kind. Entirely out of place here.

And Sigma thinks he might be in love with you. 

Yes, this must be the feeling that swells in his chest every time he sees you. Alone or in a crowd. It makes him feel faintly sick, and sometimes he even catches sweat building on the back of his neck. Words, which don’t always come easily to him anyway, seem to stammer and stutter all the more often.

This awful pressure in his chest, which is perhaps not so awful at all, makes him want to write down everything he can about you. So he does, carefully jotted in a notepad that he’s dedicated entirely to you and no one else. 

You don’t spend a lot of money. Perhaps you don’t have it. You don’t like seafood, but you sometimes eat oysters if someone else buys them and encourages you to down a few. He finds that he hates this, when it happens; hates the sight of you laughing with someone else. You laugh too loudly sometimes and then catch yourself doing it, and you touch your cheeks, even if you’re only talking with him--do your cheeks burn?

All this and more, carefully recorded and organized, so that he can reference it when he needs to; after all, if the casino is under his management and protection, don’t you fall within that carefully drawn up category? His goal is to keep the casino safe. To keep the patrons happy. 

You should be safe and happy too.

But more and more, he finds himself asking that same question: can you be safe and happy if he’s not there to make sure it happens? Who knows what you get up to in the outside world. 

Here, you can be a little too naive. A little too trusting. You sit close to drunk men who edge their greedy fingers on their thighs, and you never notice until they brush your skin and you slap them off. You accept fancy drinks bought by strangers with a grin and a raise of the glass. You bet too much money and drink too many roaming glasses of free champagne, stumbling and woozy by the end of the night.

You are in over your head, clearly.

He sees it, even if you don’t.

And that’s why he slipped a sedative into the cocktail delivered to your table tonight. You downed it without a second thought, which only confirmed his decision. 

You’ll thank him eventually, he thinks. When you realize that this is for the best.

--

The last thing you remember is losing a round of blackjack and downing a pretty pink cocktail that someone (but who?) sent to you. On the house, the waiter said, and that’s all you needed to hear before drinking the entire glass in one undignified gulp.

Maybe that’s why your head hurt so much. (Okay, that, and the multiple cocktails you’ve had tonight.) Maybe that’s why you couldn’t remember how you got here, in… someone’s room, on their nice, soft bed? 

Maybe that’s why there was a chain on your ankle.

Oh.

What?

Your clarity sobers up enough for you to yank hard at your leg, which rattles with the weight of a thick, silver chain attached to a silver bracelet around your ankle. The sight of the chain, the feel of its weight, the realization that something is terribly, terribly wrong all seem to crush your chest at once. 

Sobs come then, wheezy sobs, accompanied by thick tears that drip down your cheeks. 

“It’s… all right. Calm down.”

Your body jerks--Who is it--and your eyes dart until the source of the voice steps into the light.

And just like that, you stop crying. You break into a relieved, shaky smile. 

Because it’s Sigma. Sigma walks out of the shadows and for a brief moment, your heart soars. He’s here to rescue you! You got drugged by some creep and he’s looking out for you, like he always seems to do. He’s kinder than he realizes, and you’ll tell him exactly that after he gets you out of here.

Only he doesn’t seem to be moving towards your chained up ankle. Nor does he seem to look shocked at what he sees. He only looks... concerned, which is reasonable. But 

“I-I promise it’s not permanent,” he says, gesturing towards the chain. “It’s just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself while you’re still… adjusting.” He looks around, eyes downcast and uncomfortable. “You have everything you could ever need here. Good food. A comfortable bed. I’ll make sure you never need anything and never get hurt.” There’s something like pep in his voice that makes you want to puke. “I promise. I’m very good at managing these things. If-if there’s something you don’t like, I can get you some things, some books or--”

“Sigma,” you say, voice cracking. “What’s going on? Why--why am I chained up? What did you do?”

His eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

“But why?”

And then there’s a pager going off, and he huffs, pulling out his phone and flipping it open with hands that shake. 

“What is it?” You watch his eyebrows furrow. His frown twitch. “I’ll be right there.”

He glances at you, and he looks so sad and worried that some part of you wants to feel sorry for him. But then the reality that you’ve woken up on a bed (his bed?) with a chain on  your leg comes swinging back, and that fades away.

“I’ll be back soon. There’s…” He gestures towards the top of a dresser pushed against the wall, which you can see is littered with snack bags and water bottles. “Just for now, don’t worry, I’ll have real meals brought in. And um.” He stares down at the floor, and a peek flush creeps onto his cheeks. “The chain can reach the… bathroom, if you need to.”

He turns, and you almost get the impression that he’s forcing himself to leave without looking at you. His name dies on your lips before you can speak it.

And just like that, you’re alone.

Chained up.

In an unfamiliar room.

Because of Sigma? But why? Wasn’t he your friend? Or, as close to a friend as you could get, considering he basically owns the place?

And what did he intend to do with you? He didn’t seem like… that kind of guy. He was quiet, shy. A bit like you, except he didn’t drink, which always made you loosen up more. 

Curiosity and fear lead you to slowly step off the bed. Your head is still fuzzy from the drinks or drugs or both. But you don’t stumble as much as you thought you would when you make your way around the room, dragging the silver chain behind you.

There’s a dresser. A nightstand. The bed. A TV, but there’s a layer of dust all over it, and you doubt it’s been used much. 

A desk. Although it’s not messy, it’s terribly cluttered, covered in a few stacks of books and assorted printed pages all bound together. There are all sorts of bookmarks and sticky notes in them, and you can see the traces of pen ink on the margins of them. He’s been studying… something… hard.

A book on nutrition. A printed analysis on the optimum temperature for indoor health and wellness in all seasons from the maker of some heating and cooling system. A vintage volume bound in fabric with the gilded scrawl, “A Conversational Guide to Making Conversation.”

Your fingers just touch the edge of a printed article entitled oh-so-bluntly How to Kiss when the secure door slides open and Sigma steps in.

He stares at you.

You stare at him. 

Then he looks down to see what your fingers touch, to see that you’ve found his stash of reading material, and his skin flushes.

“That’s--it’s just--” And oh, how his stammering might be cute, if you were anywhere but here, in this room, with a chain trailing from your leg. “I wanted to make sure I did things right when I brought you here.”

Things.

Like feeding you. And keeping you warm.

And kissing you?

Heat creeps up from your toes to your scalp.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you murmur. Of all your conversations with Sigma--the shows you liked, the books you read, the cat you saw at your neighbor’s apartment window every morning--you’d never touched on anything like this. Why would you? This was something you kept tucked away at the back of your drawer, never to be known to anyone but yourself.

“Of course you haven’t,” he says, and there’s something like eagerness in his voice. “I haven’t either. I mean, I want to--with you--I’ve been waiting.”

Waiting, you think? For me? No, not for me. Waiting until he could take me.

Because that’s what he does. He takes.

He takes a step forward, and you’re afraid to move. Even when he takes another step, and another, and he’s standing so close that you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

He takes those steps, and then he takes your first kiss. He doesn’t grab you or hurt you or force you, and maybe that makes it hurt more. 

His lips are soft. There’s a faint scent--mint, maybe--that lingers from his breath. He doesn’t stick out his tongue, but only covers your lips with his own, a faint wetness clinging to your lips as he pulls away.

His breath is heavy. So is yours. For different reasons, you imagine. Very different reasons.

You step backward now, chain clinking, until you hit the bed. Your legs give out--this is not the knee buckling that is meant to happen with a kiss, is it?--and you stare ahead. At Sigma, but not at him, all the same. 

The silence between you stretches thin until he clears his throat.

“Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”

You nod, even though the last thing you want right now is food.

“I’ll get something!” He says, perhaps too quickly, because then he’s clearing his throat and repeating himself. “I’ll have a meal brought up. I know all your favorites, and I’ve made sure they’re extra nutritious.” He blinks, then seems to consider something. “Ah, are you cold? I can go get you something warmer, flannel or a blanket or…” 

“Yes,” you answer, not really listening. 

His voice seems far away. You seem far away, even to yourself. 

Your fingers clench the soft, silk sheets underneath you and a slow, rolling thought wraps itself around you like an unwelcome blanket.

That was your first kiss. He took your first kiss. Or you gave it, and maybe here, in his room, with a chain keeping you from going too far, it’s the same damn thing. 

And it won’t just be your first kiss that he takes, is it? No. A glance around the room, a bit of applied thought, can attest to that. He intends to keep you for… forever?

Forever is a long time and so much will slip away from you, right into his hands. Onto his lips, onto his fingers. Sigma will be your first everything. Your first kiss.  Your first cuddle. The first one who tenderly kisses your knuckles and works his way up your arm to your neck, tickling it with peppered touches. 

He’ll be the one to take your virginity, too, and there’s some awful feeling in your stomach as you idly wonder if he’s gotten a book about that particular topic yet. 

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

Levels of narcissism, lack of empathy part 2—

Hey yall! Hope you enjoy the post below <3 please know this is not 100% accurate for all persons with these placements, so much goes into it! Thank you :) hope you all are well! Reblogs and likes and comments are appreciated. 🤍

Sun conjunct mercury retrograde can make someone a pathological liar, motivated to focus on their reputation, image, and self success. Even if it means hiding, distorting, or manipulating the truth to others. Mercury is afflicted here, which can suggest issues psychologically and the nervous system. Even worse when paired in Capricorn, they can be closely related to their work, often overworking themselves, or using it to escape issues. They prefer stonewalling, distancing themselves, and behaving as if nothing wrong happened on their end.

Mars conjunct moon can make for an impulsive, hotheaded individual. Moon is not comfortable here with the affliction of Mars' harsh energy, which an individual can seek either intelligent, or escapist ways of avoiding emotional conversations. Moon and mars in a water signs prefer escapism, moon and mars in a fire sign prefer confrontation, and arguments, not resolving things in a calm manner. Moon and Mars conjunct earth sign can be very detached and insensitive. For air, they can gaslight, twist realities, re-write history to their liking.

Moon at 3 degrees in pisces I've seen can prefer to use their words to sound calculated, intelligent, and ''higher,'' in terms of their reasoning. They have an extreme way of painting their realities, and it's often stained with ideas of perfectionism, and even religious reasoning for their behavior. Not always are they religious, but some can prefer occult ways of hurting others especially. Those with this placement could have grown up in a cult, or been surrounded by this mentality. It's even more likely when Moon is afflicted.

Mars at 0 degrees is underdeveloped, not knowing how to express their anger. They resort to underhanded tactics, manipulative tactics and power games. They assert dominance by insulting your image, projecting their wounds, and insecurities. Or, they can resort to blowing up impulsively, refusing to take accountability. If mars sits in an air sign, this energy is expressed through calculated means. They prefer verbal disputes and shaming, and control. They can also be a covert narcissist.

Venus with no aspect can struggle to find healthy expression. Healthy attachments with others can be common with this placement, and often hints at a displaced, destructive home life. They view others as a chess piece, with little to no regard for emotions other than themselves. They can become vain, channeling their wounds into only focusing on their self image, and looks, whilst shaming others. These are the type to also have an unhealthy understanding of femininity vs masculinity, and have double standards against themselves and others. In a mother role, she can resent her children for receiving more attention than herself.

Stellium in Capricorn can use work as a way to focus their attention instead of working on real issues at home. They can have a ''disguise,'' a distinct persona at home, versus work. They play it very well. If paired with water signs, they are adept at their personas and meticulous.

Sun in the 7h, 10h, 5h, Mars 5h, Sun 11h can have a big personality and can take up a majority of spaces, dominating them. They have a lot of controversy, conflicting stories of who they are as a person. They can use that as an advantage.

Moon in the 10h in Aquarius can present themselves as righteous morally, and ethically. They have this ''black sheep,'' mentality and can victimize themselves to appear small.

Sun conjunct Venus with strong affliction can cause destructive ideals and beliefs about others, derive pleasure from power games and control. They like to test and play with relationships, testing the limits of others and breaking them, bending them to their will. Scorpio influences this especially in an unhealed energy, so can Aquarius, Capricorn, Leo, and Gemini. But as long as there is strong affliction, there is an unhealthy expression regardless of the sign honestly.

Mercury conj. Jupiter in scorpio can indicate someone who talks a big game, and who shares his passions openly, to the point of exposing himself. He can be critical, harsh and unforgiving in his perception of others. He can distant himself immediately from situations he caused, refusing responsibility.

Mars conj. neptune 5h can also present as overt. The 5h is very ''open,'' and it's impressionable. The intention of this native is to control using faith, cult like thinking, and methods to isolate and deceive others. He gives them what they want, and then uses it for leverage. When in an earth sign or air this is even more methodical and this person knows how to play the long game.

Pisces moon can be adept at shifting their persona to fit in with society and use charm as a way to manipulate.

Sun in the 4h, 3h, can indicate a dreamy, innocent naive persona which can easily be seen as ''disarming.'' Sun 3h is more intellectual and calculated however in hiding their intentions.

Neptune 2h can make someone appear as feeble, weak minded, soft spoken, and yet cunning with their intentions. They like to appear as hurt to appeal to peoples sympathy. Might assert themselves as a healer, community guider of some kind, or be work in a place where they are seen as ''good.'' like nursing, social work, church member, etc. They can appear generous with money too.

Venus retrograde and mercury retrograde conjunct can make someone mimic likeability in relationships, but lacks depth. Lacks emotional understanding and tenacity and struggles to have an attachment to others. Can view others as a means to an end.

South node conjunct mars can bring a sense of grandeur. When in a fire sign it can indicate intense competition, me vs the world mentality. In a water sign it can bring about delusions of grandeur, and wanting control.

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[cutieeva]

For Eternal

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 Female Reader

Warnings : Manipulation. Brainwashing. Toxin relationship. Dubious consent. Stalking. Attempt home invasion. Sexual Themes

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 :

❛ 最強 ❜ (Y/N)'s heart was broken by the least person she expected. The boy she devoted herself for four years to be returned with the fact he never loved her once thus moving to Makochi town she met the leader of Bofurin who oddly seem to mend her cracked heart. Or is he really ?

Loving someone means compromising, building trust, open hearts to one another, have secrets spoken between the pair, accepting each other. Isn't it ? then why ? then why (Y/N) is the only one compromising ? trying to build one sided trust ? opening her heart bare to him by smiling the largest in his presence yet slowly her lips aren't ready to twitch. Slowly secrets were not in between them rather silently remained unspoken leading her no more to accept him. Loving him which was natural to her became a burden to bare. Calm words replaced with screams, smiles into frown and loving gaze into tears.

She couldn't be the only one making effort to meet, messages left in read, no longer good nights hushes spoken, his gaze solely on his paintings, their conversation for them to communicate became his to vent about his problems related to paintings and her to listen when words itching to spoke 'listen to me'. Her need of comfort from him after having awful days were spend all alone because of his 'I am busy painting'. She felt a tool for him to use yet he never became her tool of need instead he was never present in her need of time in the first place. So, she tried, tried, tried her best to be the ideal person he needs because he was her only paradise, the only one she could smile the brightest and only one who would appreciate her happiness, tell her how beautiful she is, gaze softly, spoil gently however that all vanished when his words in their each fights were "This is why women are troublesome". "So emotional you are". "Control yourself". "Stop crying !" So she ghosted her any emotions, numb to his angry outburst, ignore his spiteful words burning her because of how she stopped smiling yet never did he asked the reason behind.

She truly was numb, her heart exhausted, body given already and mind in daze. But her hopes of mending their love was altogether crushed, tramped, walked over when she discover his paintings. Oh so painting he dies for was filled with multiple women smiles yet their smiles were the only part drawn beautifully apart their entire face, body was either burled or dulled. Her eyes scan the dates was before their meeting so in desperation her fingers clawed for the rest ones, ignoring her doubtful question about his love, brushing off their first meeting flooding to her mind where they met at a museum and he said "Your smile is beautiful. So beautiful I am mesmerized". The way his lips curve were smiling and his eyes genuinely looked at her as if she was the brightest last star to be seen, so dazed and genuine his words were that she felt safe enough to trust him only later to fall for him.

THUD ! the rest paintings after their relationship were too pervade with her smiles with not any care to draw her even appearance only the colored honey coated smiles of her. The hard boards fell out of her hand with thud crashing into the floor along her heart, hopes and tears. After long time being numb to emotions she was cursed to feel was betrayed, pain and tears because she realize he didn't fell for her rather her smile. She wasn't his lover rather his one of the collections he preserved. She for him was a piece to hang in his collection that's why he care not to see her after he captive her. She was a source of his motivation, a muse to compliment not love to cherish. Breath halted to scream her anger out and eyes fire her hatred. Hatred for falling such illusion she dreamed, giving away her four years for such a man who doesn't deserved her. "Enough". She had enough. Endured enough lessons, gathered enough strength to be brave enough to finally utter her least imagined words. "I am breaking up with you". He first froze to process then protest angrily before paled down seeing her blank stare registering he lost her. For eternally. He fell on his knees, gaze in nihility and she took the chance to move out of his apartment they shared dragging her luggage.

Standing in the doorsteps of her parents she cried her heart out, nuzzling in their comforting pats and hugs she yearned before continue living shut in her room, feeling no need to move, walk, eat, sleep. Merely alive in the fleeing days that's when her parents suggested for her to go visit her beloved grandparents town. To change and restart her life again dusting her past to which she agreed not because she wanted instead went with the flow like an lost child told what to do. Still numbed she reached the new town—totally lost to find her grandparents house she last visited at the age of thirteen. "I should call them". Ringing she heard from her phone "The number you have dialed in unava—". Quickly she tab the red button knowing if her third call isn't picked then the next call won't be neither. Irritated by the beaming sun on her. She wiped her sweat over her (S/C) forehead looking any roof to rest meeting a café named Pothos. "Maybe I can eat something too". Stretching her stiff shoulders she walked over to the café entering. The moment she does so automatically relaxes her muscles, providing a cozy air and delicious aroma of meal. "I think I made the right choice". Unsure she walked near the counter a girl stood serving a old couple meal.

"Hello. Excuse me". Bravely she called out making the girl turn around who to her surprise was beautiful, smiled. "Welcome to Pothos café. Please take a seat". She pointed in front of wooden seats. "So, what would you like to order ?" Politely the beautiful girl asked.

"Any menu to choose from ?"

"Oh yes". (Y/N) looked at the menu written quite appetizing dishes. "So, I never seen you around. Perhaps a newcomer ? or a single visit ?" The girl titled her head in curiosity.

"Umm..neither. I am here to spend vacation with my grandparents". (Y/N) replied smiling a little finally deciding what to have. "I would like to order Omelette rice and Gateau au chocolate". The young girl smiled wider.

"Oh, the popular dishes of our cafe ?"

"Seem to be". (Y/N) agreed, leaning comfortably at the wooden counter, eyes darting around to find not much people like she expected when roaming the roads filled with mostly old people, some young men and tons of gangs she assume. If she recalls correctly the town, Makochi is mostly known for it's chaos, violence and gangs surrounded that's the reason why her parents visit to her mother's parents became little to no more but why did suddenly her mother suggested to come here ? at such an dangerous town all alone ?

"Here your food. Please enjoy". Hot smoke of the food touch her cheeks as the inviting aroma entered her nose and her eyes stare at the attractive looking food. She is certain it's going to be tasty and indeed the flavors melted in her tongue as the chewy texture was tender to eat, creamy cheese was cherry on top with the perfect amount of rice blending heavenly with the omelet. One word, this was incredible however unaware to (Y/N) her feelings openly displayed on her face that the beautiful girl couldn't contain her giggles. Her closed eyelids snap open. Feeling awkward of the unknown reason the worker laughed.

"I-I am sorry". Laugh bubbles in between her words. "It's adorable. How easily I can tell you liked it". She explained embarrassing the opposing girl. "By the way my name is Kotoha Tachibana, the waitress of this café". She introduce herself, forwarding a hand.

" I am (L/N) (Y/N). Pleasure to meet you". She shake her hands when a idea pop up. "Oh ! Kotoha-San, could you please tell me the directions of this address ? it's my grandparents house". Tachibana look at the address on her phone and gave a thumps up.

"Not worry. I know this place. Let me write you a easier directions to navigate". Quickly (Y/N) watch the girl write on a piece of paper she tore from somewhere before handing to her. "Here. Hope you understand but if you still have problems then I can a Bofurin to guide you after all they must be patrolling here soon". She suggested making the the (H/C) head girl confuse.

"Bofurin ? who are they ?" Never did she heard a name like this however she blinked watching how her eyes twinkled in delight.

"You must not know but three years ago this town was full of teams and gangs and whatnot fighting everywhere since then the town has changed and the people who changed it were the students of Furin high. The first doing they did was set up the sign in front of town". Her eyes wide now knowing the reason behind her mother suggestion because the place changed for better. Also she remembered seeing a sign written about anyone past this point who causes pain, who beings destruction, who holds evil in their heart will be purged by Bofurin without exception. "Originally they had Furin high's name written next to it eventually the town people gave them a new name as the protectors who fight to defend the town called Bofurin, the chime of the windbreaker and the protector of Makochi town". She finished leaning on the opposite side of wooden table.

"Also, a year ago a huge fight occurred between a bad gang called shadows and Bofurin and of course the Bofurin won". She summarize in calm tone. (Y/N) merely stare in awe feeling it only happens in anime, guess she was wrong.

"No, thank you. I can take care of myself". Tachibana frown nevertheless supported her decision.

"And thank you for the meal. It was truly delicious". She paid the bill.

"Your welcome". Tachibana said "Please come again". She really looks forward seeing this girl that she notice walks on eggshells a lot. Perhaps she is the quiter side.

"I will". (Y/N) turn her heel and look up when her heart dropped and eyes wide in surprise because in front stood outside the door is her ex-boyfriend, the reason of her running away, the cause of her pains.

"How did he found me ?"

"How is he here ?"

"How long was I stalked ?"

"Is he crazy ?"

Thoughts like magats crawl around her mind, overwhelming her not with fear strangely rather anger, bitterness and hatred. Anger for ruining her peace, bitter seeing the face that sacred her, hatred at herself for telling each things about her to where she lives, her grandparents lived and all yet she knew nothing about him. How unfair.

The tiny smile on her bloomed tarnished returning into indifference as she walked towards him, to be precise the only exist door and twist open the doorknob finally crumbling the wall seperating them.

His lips parted, gaze yearning mirroring hers few months ago, hand holding a white piece of paper she assume could be the address but she without wasting a time walk past him. Not sparing another glance when his once warm palm grasp her arm tightly turning to face him yet her head kept at another direction.

"Please, please, please (Y/N). My love, forgive me. Please do not leave me. I will die". He pleaded. "I was wrong. I was wrong to use you. Wrong to treat you like an tool I thought because yes at first I did had a motive but believe me breaking up with you made me realize your worth". His other arm grasp her another arm tries to hug the body he believes his.

Seeing her still not meeting his eyes, his palm grip her chin to forcibly look his eyes, look at his direction, look at him but she refuse to look at him even though she felt the pain of his tighten grip on her everywhere. The assault touches were disgusting to her. "No. No. No. No. No. Please, please, please, I am sorry. Please don't look so lifeless, please look like the (Y/N) I love, please smile again". His end words broke her heart a little when she felt it couldn't anymore. He was, is and will be selfish. How selfish is he asking her to smile when he was the one to stole it and paint it away without any care to know why she smiled.

"Why ? didn't you told me I am too emotional ? Why arent you liking me when I become a empty shell of myself ?". Finally fulfilling his wish of looking into his eyes with plain hatred she announced, tearing herself away from those harsh grip. "I am not your doll to do what you command". She glared down. About to walk again when he hugged her from back.

Cold water fell on her clothed shoulder she knew was tears. He shook his head. "No. You are my (Y/N) I know you still love me because I do". His hands held her tighter to the point all (Y/N) was feeling suffocation, frustration boiling her veins.

"I am not your object, Tokusa. I am a human being of my own". Her voices spat calmly than she wanted. Could feel strangers eyes burn her skin, words whispering to each other. "Leave me". She break through his web of touch. Hurry to leave in case he hold her again which he tried when his wrist caught by another.

Her (E/C) sight followed to find the earlier woman, Tachibana holding his wrist in deathly grip. "Don't you understand when she is telling you to fuck off ? Because if you don't I would love to smash my eggs on your dumb head". She warned surprising both (Y/N) and Tokusa.

"Who are you—".

"Tokusa. Leave". He turned to disagree when his heart quiver seeing how dead those eyes look. "Or else I will call your parents to say how much of an disappointment their son turn out to be". She sneered unable to hold her anger octave under her voice.

"And Kotoha-San, thank you. You can let go his hand". Tachibana in doubt looked at him before letting his hand go that fell limp. "And sorry for the unnecessary scene". She bowed down to which the girl shook her head immediately.

"Not at all ! It's not your fault". (Y/N) didn't correct it and merely said. "I will take my leave". She turn around to leave when the ex tried to grasp her hand again however she without looking move away walking past him defeating the desperate man.

As she walked she missed to notice a group of men wore green collar and sleeve embroidery blend with black uniform and button showcasing Furin along their badges.

"Go away ! You are never welcome to my cafe !" Soon their attention drawn back to Tachibana sending daggers in his way who's shoulder slumbed and defeated go away.

"Who was that weakling harassing a girl ?" Haruka Sakura asked, already scowling at the back of the man.

"I have no idea myself". The waitress replied easing the bubbling worry for the girl she met seconds ago.

"Isn't it clear he is her ex ? Judging by their conversation he must have made a mistake making her leave their relationship but after regretting wanting her". Hayato Suo elaborate. Once again amused by Sakura's flustered expression missing to notice Hajime Umemiya's narrowed eyes. However Toma Hiragi did.

"Hopefully she is okay because looks from their conversation the ex wants her no matter what". Akihiko Nirei sighed.

"Do you know about that woman much ?" Hajime asked his sister, who told her the little information she had from their earlier conversation.

"(L/N) (Y/N) ?" Her name roll out of his lips oddly ring pleasantly to his ears. He hummed thinking of her when she passed him.

Meanwhile a shiver ran through (Y/N)'s spine. Shaking her head to off the negative thoughts about Tokusa disturbing her holiday. She merely dug deeper into her grandma's fragile body and listen to grandpa's blarbling about how happy he is to have her.

"Thank you for the dinner grandma. It was Amazing ! Just like mom's". Her aged grandma chuckle moving away the dishes in the sink (Y/N) fought to clean because she wants to help her grandma not pile more work.

"You are really the good girl I always seen ! I am proud how you turn out". Grandpa pleasantly complimented making a small smile spread across her face when the doorbell ring. She turn her head back to her grandparents to see if they also heard because it's so late at night to visit at their home.

"Maybe it's the Bofurin children". Grandma's assumption turned wrong quickly due to the increasing rate of ring again and again shifting to banging.

"(Y/N) ! (Y/N) ! This is me Tokusa ! Please open the door ! I want to talk to you properly". The banging grew desperate so her heart to get rid of him. More than fear the emotion she calmed down was anger, annoyance. She wishes to smash his head until pool of blood covered his body.

"What should we do dear ? Who is this man that wants to talk to our granddaughter ?" Grandma worriedly ask breaking (Y/N)'s shallow thoughts.

"It's alright grandma". She hugged her. "You too grandpa calm down. I am coming back within seconds". With that she march towards their door ignoring her grandparents mutters of stop and slammed open the door let light fall over his guilty face.

"(Y/N) please, please be with me". Straight away she was in his grip, his hug tighter than usual and less care to ask her for forgiveness more so want her without her consent.

Dread.

Disgust.

Bound.

She experienced those once again alike in their relationship. She purely dreaded to be the numb shell of herself, sacrificing little by little her heart until nothing left for her to feel as he greedily feast on her like an filthy parasite. No memories of them in the past could she anymore feel elated rather indifference. "I lost love for him". She realize Or perhaps it tuned to hatred.

Sighing she prepared to push him when a whisk of air slammed on the floor, his body shove to the dirty road. (Y/N) astonishedly stood, re-playing the scene on her head occurred at such an unfathomable speed. Looking around she found a odd white mix black slit hair with heterochromia fire eyes glaring at the man at his feet. Her eyes slide to his uniform catching the Bofurin symbol on his badge resembling the word from the sigh board she saw at the morning.

"Miss, is he pestering you ? Would you like me to get rid of him ?" His voice deeper than she expected asked burning his eyes onto her.

Her (E/C) eyes went to his fallen body. "Yes, please do". No emotions held on her voice she turn to leave noticing other men behind the back blending with the shadows stood. One with beautiful sliver locks inheriting tall statue another long blue hair messily spread with his bend spine yet still tall and a smiley boy having flowing brown curtained hair with his left eye patched stood beside a messy short blond hair holding a notebook.

"Were they patrolling ?" She thought when a grasp escape her lips of an familiar hand grip on her wrist this time intending a bruises to print.

"Do not leave please. Why can't you see my pain ? I gave you my everything ! Graced you like an goddess, pampered you like an princess yet this is what I get". Snap ! The thin thread barely holding her years bottled feelings flooded away.

SLAP ! Tokusa's eyes wide, his face turned to one side throbbing his cheek even printing her fingers. "How shameless you can be ! Asking my heart when all you did was tampered ! walked all over me. Treated me like an non-existed person, a non-living piece to own and now after you stole my smile you want to erase it too ! Please get the hell out of my life ! You fucking pest". She screamed. Openly, loudly and without hesitating those locked emotions she itched spat on his face. Wet water run down her face she care not to wipe because she didn't realize tears streaming down.

Tokusa heart broke. Wordlessly standing beaten by the guy who was surprised by her sudden outburst totally different from her morning indifference.

"Please go. I have lost myself giving you bits and pieces of me so you could be happy. I don't want you anymore". A throbbing sensation raise her throat, raspy voice it become and eyes hazed. Rest. Rest is all she needs, climbing on the bed hiding inside her blanket from the pain of words, huddling into a shell position. Not desiring to hear she went inside slam closed the door and ran inside her room passing her grandparents who heard from the beginning.

"You bastard ! How low of a pest you are to make her cry ?" Sakura ruthlessly kicked him on the stomach and raised his fist to be stopped by a hand. Hajime's hand "Don't".

Frustrated he obeyed disregard the glare from Sugishita and step back. The leader step forward towering over him, the previous dull atmosphere dropped, a thick tension covered above Tokusa, he felt could die just from suffocation.

"Leave. Any unwanted outsider are not welcome if they cause problems for our town people. You did so leave before the bones in your body would fell limp". Cold his voice was, turquoise eyes bore right into his soul, slicing inside his guts. Something told Tokusa if he didn't listen, the darkness will consume in form of this unknown boy in front of him.

Alike a coward he listened running away. "What a let down". Hajime mutter confusing the group as they rarely ever saw him so cold, devoid of any mercy unless a fight surrounds.

The sun blessed the earthling with it's scoring rays liting the world up yet (Y/N) senslessly laid covered underneath her comforter. The door of her bedroom opened with a thud startled her.

"Grandma ?" She watched how the aged woman carrying a long bag with a thin paper on another.

"Here are the list of groceries I need or else no breakfast". (Y/N) sighed deeply.

"I want no breakfast".

"We do". She in beat replied. "This old woman and her husband do so bring the ingredients for me to make the breakfast". (Y/N) whined feeling the handmade bag fell on top of her face.

"Can't you order it in your phone ? It's much easier and faster !"

"It's a small town not city".

"But—".

"No buts ! I am hungry. I already have gas problems if this old woman die then the murderer would be you". As if she is a lawyer point her finger rudely in accusation. Annoyed she grabbed the bag and went outside—.

"Change your night dress, wash your face". In command the girl comply clearly hating her grandma at this moment. Shutting the bathroom door she settle to clean herself.

"Plan successful ?" Slowly peeking behind the wooden door grandpa asked.

"Plan successful". She exclaimed, patting her own chest after all they actually do not lack any ingredients at all but they noticed how depressed and lonely she looked. They sewed a plan to get her some fresh air.

"2 set of eggs. 1 kg of onions—" She read the list of ingredients out loud, walking reckless to reach the stores her grandma even sketch pictures and name for guidance. Unconsciously she rubbed the chibi drawnings in the corner of her papers 'You can do !' 'Go ahead !' 'We believe in you'. If one glance they will belived she was going to a tournament to win not stores to buy regular groceries.

"Hmm...this is the vegetable store ?" Her eyes stare at the board to not mistake at her part and look at the middle age man "Excuse me, could you give 1 kg onions and....". She tailed off telling all the written list to which he nod.

She sighed again feeling a little accomplished for succesfully conveying her needs. Suddenly a shiver ran her spine again, breeze flowed faster, multiple footsteps echoed even between the hustling market. She turn to find the group of men wore the same uniform last night, marching together as they greet all the town people warmly where they happily gift them few things.

"They are like heros". She found the familiar men at the very front and immediately hid her face recall how rudely she closed the door not carying of their well-being or showing gratitude.

"Here is your ingredients !" The working man hand over her bag and she took it exchanging money when in curiousity she glance behind to peek only to flinch by meeting those striking turquoise eyes already gazed at her.

She avert her eyes again, flustered to do anything. "Are you alright, Miss ?" She flinch meeting a different man, the messy short blond hair one. "After the night yesterday did he came to disturb you again ?" His thin press lips curve into a smile to relax her nerve a little yet the spotlight of other eyes felt like an needle poking her skin.

"No thankfully". Her heartbeat fast as she spoke to the blond haired boy. "Also, thank you for helping me. Hopefully you can forgive me for my rudeness the other day". (Y/N) bowed down to the split hair colored boy.

His face heat up in a second astonishing (Y/N) at the same time entertaining her.

"No problem ! I-I-I do what I do". His speech stuttter and his heterochromia eyes bore into anywhere apart her direction earning a small chuckle.

"He looks honest". Her eyes somber not paying attention to the leader of the group staring bluntly at her.

"He won't forgive you". She blinked facing up the tall man.

"Hmm ?"

"I said, he won't forgive you for your rudeness". A frown replaced her lingering curve of lips.

"What do you mean ? And who are you ?" With caution her eyes look up and down at him however he remained unfazed, not smiling his usual expression that his teammate notice.

"I am the leader of Bofurin, Hajime Umemiya and I decide if you are forgiven or not". She felt intimidate under those eyes. "But under one condition I can". Finally a smile bloom his thin lips shifting his entire aura softer and more welcoming she had to blink twice.

"And what is it ?" Tip of teeth bite inside her flesh scare of what he might want.

"If you treat us a meal you would be forgiven". He suggested overlooking his teammates and (Y/N) titling their head.

"Okay...?" She agreed having no excuse to deny and soon she found herself walking beside the leader towards the same cafe she went yesterday morning.

"This cafe ?" She mutter.

"My sister Tachibana-chan works here". In a sing song tone he told not falling to surprise her at the fact itself and his drastic change of attitude.

The door pushed open. "Welcome to Pothos café !" The same beautiful lady greeted. "Oh ! (L/N)-San, nice to meet you again". She held her hand clearly excited to met her again warming (Y/N)'s heart.

"So am I". From the tail of her eyes she saw them sitting towards one of the table ready to order. "They look used to it".

"Take a seat here". Her attention went to Hajime pointing at one of the open seat, unable to deny she obeyed sitting inside when realization wash her.

"Wait, I sit inside means—" Just like she expected Hajime sat next to her in process collide their hands that he moved but shoulders touch when Sakura pushed into the seat. Gulping she glance at him who looked at her too. She shifted in her seat maintaining a distance.

"How uncomfortable". She cowered more to not have her any part touch. Thankfully she had the luxury to not due to his entire covered sleeve however after their order. Once in a time their palm touch, hands brushes each other, glances one another, fingers accidentally intertwine to grab the same spoon and all of it unnerved her to the core she choose to overlook ate her order.

"Do you not like vegetables ?" The question was unexpected for (Y/N) and let her notice how in her meal she left almost all the vegetables excluding potatoes. Embarrassed she clench her corner of plate. He noticed.

"Not worry, I myself hated eating vegetables". The lie roll down smoothly than he expected making all of his teammate's jaw dropped. "But now I enjoy them do you know why ?" He titled his head smiling.

"Why ?" She asked curious.

"Because I know the right way to eat them. If you know the secret of eating vegetables you would come to love them too". Skepticism she felt nevertheless she nod. "That's why come with me to see a place !" Her eyes wide again.

"Right now ?" Uncertainly she questioned.

"Right now". He exclaimed standing up and notion her to come with him. Spin her head felt due to all the rush requests. In blink of an eye bill paid, walked out of the café with bunch of unfamiliar men regardless if they are labeled as protectors and stood in front of an awe-struck view from the rooftop, a huge tree beautiful planted and in sidelines are the sweet shimmering plants.

"Is this yours ?" She bend to view better for the first time her eyes looking at someone's garden as her friends lived in apartments while her parents house has an abandoned backside. Many times thoughts of gardening sweep through her mind however her dislike towards eating plants always held her back so she never ate plants neither grew ones. "So pretty". Truly did the roots of plants looked cleaned, vegetables hanging like an painting she was tempted to touch.

"Yes, You like it ?" His breath touch her cheeks.

"Very much". Absentminded she turn around only to be off guard by how inches away their faces were. Her heart halted and eyes racking over his face, so close to see his long lashes, chapped lips, beautiful shade of blue in those eyes. Swiftly she stood up almost falling over yet didn't still felt the warm hand behind her waist. Heart racing, eyes darting from one place to another to check if someone caught them and relief pass inside when confirmed no one.

"They are beans sprouts. Want to try ?" For some reasons (Y/N) hallucinate his corners of lips wider.

"I will pass". She avert her eyes to the eye-catching tree. A mistake she come to regret because he snare the chance to offer her a bag full of beans spout, tomatoes and few other green veggies wrapped in a visible plastic. "W-What.. what are you doing ?"

"Gifting". His turquoises eyes twinkle in pixie practically shoving the heavy bag of vegetables.

"But I-I-". She paused fearing for her life if she declined. "I am not good with vegetables so please keep this. I do not want". Overcoming her fear she clearly pushed back the bag that he crossed his hands.

"You must or you aren't forgiven". He use the almost forgotten scenario against her.  

"What ? didn't you said treating you meal would make me earn your forgiveness ?" Her frown deepen.

"Well, you must eat some because tomorrow I will come to ask reviews". Heading no attention to her question he tied the plastic knot around her wrist for her to easily carry. "Whether this time my plants grew well". (Y/N) in disbelief looked at the boy in front of her before seeking help from his teammates who unusually acting busy like Sukura fixing his already straight collars, Suo checking Nirei notebook with him, Hiragi dazing at the empty blue cloudy sky and Sugishita at the crawling ants on floor.

"How sweet, they are helping their leader". Holding the urge to scoff she took a deep breath. "I am taking my leave". She bowed to each man present.

"Won't you like to view more plants ?" Staining a smile she shake her head and ran before he could stop her.

In one word to describe the dinner it was a disaster. The moment she caught the sight of it with no appetizing aroma she had a hunch of not being good however that was a understatement when bitterness hit the taste buds almost piling the vomit out of her throat. Less than a bite she had ate along her grandparents. Her grandma apologized muttering she rarely cooks beans sprouts or any vegetables due to her husband picky tastes alike of (Y/N). That night she slept with empty stomach drafting into sleep.

Unaware the next day woken up she to open the door "I am coming !" Slide open the traditional Japanese wooden door she met the gaze of her least wished boy. Grinning ear to ear.

"Good morning". He greet racking her body carefully she shifted at his notion.

"Morning, what are you doing here ?" She bluntly asked not wanting sweet chit-chat after the disastrous dinner she had to ate all cause of him.

"To have the reviews of my plants". She waver a little forgetting the deal she thought of a passing strings of words not a serious promise.

"It was good". White lie came out not to say the bitter truth behind his plants he must have grew with hard work yet once again he surprised her by guffawing at her face.

"The lie wasn't good". He criticized making her lips part. "Because I am fully aware bean sprouts are going to taste bitter if not cooked well or someone who doesn't know the right method". Speechless and fool she was feeling. How could he ? if he knew the taste will to be bitter then why gave her ? rather if he clearly knows her dislike towards vegetable why gift her any vegetables in the first place ? was he making a joke out of her ? taunting her by abusing his power of protector ? Fed up by meaningless antics she decided to shut the door at his face but he was faster, better, stronger. Grip it in a second.

"Don't close it". In tranquil manner he looked as if he isn't holding a wooden door by his one hand. "Do not be scared. I am not making fun of you or any sort rather I want to help you love vegetables". Hearing it paused her actions.

"Why ?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Simply because why not". She held her eyes to roll anytime.

"I am sorry but I like the way I am". His eyes twitch a little.

"By the way, have you eaten breakfast ?" Hajime questioned. Still blocking the door by his hand.

"No". She stated shortly. Thud ! the door in rapid speed fling opened, blowing ample air over her face. Her breath hitched and (E/C) look up as fear creep within her by the astonishing power. A power she never came face to face with.

"Sorry about that. Let's now go". Placing his hand behind her back, he gave a little push yet enough to cross the line of her doorstep, the safety of her home, comfort of her trusted four walls before taking her away to the very same awe-struck rooftop. Sitting on one of the wooden seat, he served a dish she ate yesterday night : Moyashi bean sprouts.

"I ate it". In disdain she utter.

"Oh ? really ? well you didn't ate my Moyashi Bean Sprouts". His chest puff in confidence. Sighing she closed her eyes and hold the chopsticks preparing to vomit this time without any restriction however rather than overwhelming bitterness she tasted was sweetness, hint of fresh and soft to chewy hit her. Her eyes wide open delightfully shocked as to ease the doubt she ate more yet the more she ate the longer she begin to adore the taste each time more sweeter, more chewy and better than the previous bite that she forget about the boy sat in front of her who watching the unfolding scene a smile stretch his lips.

"Tasted delicious didn't it ?" Reality wash her from the heaven (Y/N) was indulging. Rightfully she nod. "Indeed it is delicious. I rarely ever enjoy vegetables this much". A tiny smile blossomed earning a breath hitch from Hajime. It was as if his breath stole by the serene person in oppose him.

"Come next day". He blurt out.

"Hmm ?" Her eyebrows frown and the softer look retuned to blank.

"I said come the next day. I want you to eat my cooking again". (Y/N)'s lips parted unable to voice out her question. Why ? why her ? he was the leader of Bofurin and the center of everyone's adoration, anyone would agree to eat to his cooking if he wish to test his cooking skill hell ! his teammates are enough to testify yet her ? why grace her with such kindness ? does he also want something from her alike to Tokusa who wanted her for his collection, Is he wanting her for his amusement ? or to win her fragile heart before ruining. Kindness never come free does it ? not from strangers at least she lessoned still she utter.

"Okay". Watching the brighter of his shining smile showing his canines along his eyes gleam in pleasant. Previous his unnerve statue transforming to comforting, a sign of warmth and more welcoming she desire to deny her heart not tickle. No No, she is not ready for another heartbreak, another commitment that's why she stood up in process raising his brows.

"What happen ?" His smiling gaze falter.

"I am going home. Bye". Hastily she walk to touch the doorknob when a hand block her way. Still keeping her eyes on the door, breathing slowed, time seem to pause. His body lean close, too close to her liking. He bent a little to his ear level and whisper.

"You must come or else I will come to take you". His words was a promise he will fulfill yet not answering she pushed him gently where he did step back and ran away missing the hand waves of upcoming Bofurin boys.

"What happen to her ? did you scare her away ?" Hiragi stare at his friend's smirk.

"Who knows ?" Oddly he sounded content.

"(Y/N) come downstairs !" Confused (Y/N) glance at her phone checking the time 8:00 am then why is her grandma is calling her for breakfast. Nevertheless she drum her feet on the wooden floor, doing little dances and jumps landing in front of grandma.

"Yes". She dragged the s in mischief manner, for some reason in good mood that revolve into five stage of emotions. First shock, second denial, third embarrassment, fourth irritation and fifth anger. "What are you doing ?" She asked Hajime sitting on the sofa comfortably as if it's his house, facing her.

"The little dance and jump was good. Looks like you are in good mood". He bluntly jumped on his comment soaking on her body wrapped in her night outfit, the way her silk shirt hanging loosely that he shame to admit he could see the outline of her breast bouncing along her (F/C) silk peignoir following her thigh shorts baring her (S/C) longs.

"Grandma why didn't you told me he was here ?" Hajime cursed himself mentally snapping out of his submerged thoughts by her loud yell.

"Because he helped us a lot. He was the one who bring us needed ingredients and help to finish our chores" Grandma explained washing the dirty dishes.

"So you betray your granddaughter".

"Yes". Her mouth agape by how fast the aged woman nonchalantly confessed.

"And you ! Why did you come here ?" Hajime amused at her disgruntle attitude.

"I came to take you to eat. Don't you recall my words ?" She knitted her brows before the sentence flash across her eyes.

"You must come or else I will come to take you".

"You were serious".

"Most of the time I am". Irritated she avoid his intense gaze.

"Now go change". A silent second flew and (Y/N) bite her lips, closed her eyes wishing to melt under the ground itself realizing her inappropriate outfit in front of a boy and add to her abash no bra was underneath her night gown.

Swiftly she ran upstairs neglect to seen his crimson hue taint around his face warmly. Soon she find herself back to the rooftop alone next to the said leader serving her yet another meal called Carrot Gyoza. It is also great to taste making her forget it's created from the same vegetables she dislike.

Yet from that day on she for breakfast each day came to his place, trying new dishes involving vegetables one time Renkon, another time Okra Tempura and so on. Slowly she learn to enjoy dishes she never dreamed of even indulging, appreciating the plants, sometime gazing at the sky. Eventually her heart knock to open the lock door to meet him yet the questions stilled of why choose her ? A stranger not even a mutual friend, neighbors, same town people no— they are complete strangers to one another and her answer came to one day.

"Try it. Stuffed bell paper with cheese and vegetables. Try to guess the names". She bite immediately lost in mist of heaven. Flavors twinkling, cruchy pleasant noise to hear as well to chew.

"Cheese, shredded carrot, potato and chicken !" Her eyes snap open as a unknown gleeful smile graced pausing the time for Hajime this time. She looks divine. He thought as his hands reach to cares the softness of her skin, tender of her eyes yet halted in air when caught by (Y/N).

"Wha...." Her question tailed off darting between the hand and his expression. "May I ask you a question ?"

"Y-Yes". For the first time he stutter.

"Why are doing this to me ? Do you by chance—". She gulped the food, found her mouth suddenly dry and the sky dulled. "—pity me ?"

Rather quickly Hajime shake his head desperately. "Of course not. Never ! Since the moment I met you never did I even felt pity for you instead the reason behind I am doing this because you looked so broken, so ruined that I wanted to see how you look when you are happy. I am after your happiness because if you are happy in my presence that means I will be a part of your world, crossing inside your bulit world". Never did she expected this answer yet his eyes were sincere, full of honestly fill her reflection on those turquoise eyes with lips press thin in seriousness.

"Do you like me ?" The words remain unspoken. Frighten by the answer she will receive so she left and he let her.

Returned home, staring at her ceiling she not know what to feel, many emotions toying at the same time diffuclt for her to understand the language of feelings. She once again felt like a girl discovering what romantic love is for the first love.

Moon hanged at the darkness liting it's light amidst the countless stars and (Y/N) sighed admiring the nature's beauty by sitting on their garden backside alone. After stuffed by the dinner she ate, she star-gazed feeling unusually empty.

"Dearest, I have something !" Turning head at her name did her jaw almost fell finding grandpa holding a wine of bottle.

"Grandpa ! It's not good for your health !"

"Shush ! It's going to be alright if consumed little. Here want some ?" He shushed her pouring himself a glass and her. She reluctant sip a little enjoying the taste she rarely drinks for the sake of her good health.

"It's good". He chuckle.

"I knew it ! Because the year is (Y/B/Y)". The (H/C) head girl surprise to know the wine is as old as her birth year. No wonder grandpa kept it preciously because it reminds him of his granddaughter.

From little sipping to entire glass they both shared happily. Time flew like the cold assault of breeze and night remained young. "(Y/N) ! (Y/N) ! (Y/N) !" Rubbing her eyes she look at Hajime's face.

Huh ? What is he doing here ? Her mushed brain questions, unable to control her parts to speak or slurs of nonsense. He held her tightly.

"You are really drunk. Aren't you ?" His melody chuckle dance on the air putting (Y/N) back to sleep yet she stayed awake, a little sober as seconds pass.

"What are you doing ?" He silently jiggle the spare key (Y/N) recently learnt kept under a flower pot. Talk about being foolish.

"Your grandma advise me to use this when I want and I wanted to meet you so I came not knowing.." He point at her blushed face however to (Y/N) his words went over her head only concentraining at her own question she unable to ask.

"Hajime do you like me ?" Suddenly the crickets noises, birds chipering, breeze howls stifled, his usual smiling eyes serious, a heavy tension pungent within the atmosphere. Sliver light descend upon him.

With solemn he spoke. "Yes". Only to be his eyes wide because her fluttering kiss pressed over his. Pupil dilated into little hearts as he kissed back, moving their lips.

A test. A small test (Y/N) presented to trial whether he is after her body by taking advantage of her drunken state to use her or respect her as a human being. She is rather tipsy so fighting for her dignity would not be difficult she hoped if he failed the test.

Still a part of (Y/N) strongly want him to success, to be her dream come true and be her true love albeit they met for few days ago but she knew it was all more than wish because Hajime continue to move their tongues, sucking her little to every saliva like a starved man and filling the gaps between their body by pulling closer. Her chest gaze his, breaths eratic mingling to one another until he pulled away as she decided he failed then he pulled her by the back of her neck.

Confused.

Scared.

Panic plagued her mind for being so foolish to test a man's desire in such weak state. Now how ? How is she going to resist ? She can't fight let alone win ? Yet all the piling questions flee away when a rather tender kiss place on her forehead hitched her breath.

"I am sorry for kissing you in your drunken state. I know you might not even remember it tomorrow but it's my responsibility as both your protector and suitor to not commit an act you may come to regret". With that his fingers slide away along the warmth. He is leaving....? He respect her ?

Because if he didn't he wouldn't go such lengths to help (Y/N) even if it meant to finding series of lame excuses, pestering her, barging inside her house, always cook her meals that must have took time to make, thinks of her opinion, keep a hand on her back to hold her faster if she needs his help when they walk. In all way without knowing her struggles he helps her. Merely for her happiness.

How sweet, how good he is to. Her palm held his moving figure's hand. "(Y/N), please let me go. I might not able to control myself".

"Why ?" Her words slurred. "Because I am girl". She giggle.

"No ! Because you are the girl I like". Warmth flow inside her chest, unlatching butterflies inside her stomach yet she wants to feel the warmth outside too. Warmth of his touch on her body with those huge hands she once feared.

"Don't go".

"I must or—".

"Lose it. Lose all control. I like you too". She whispered following to pull him with her almost no strength and pressed their lips again. "Make me yours". She pressed her lips to his chin, cheeks, nose. Her toes upwards reaching for the man she come to like. Perhaps her haste choices are from the wine's chemical yet she fears to lose this boy.

"You know how to drive someone crazy ? Don't you ?" Gentle his moments are holding her hips and hungrily kissing her lips

Soon in a blur his hands clutch her body in perfect carry with his questions of her bedroom direction and her slur words to point like a child before her back bounce on the soft comforter of bed, the fabric of her home with him looming above her. His statue shadow covered her, shielding her even from the moon light peeking shy in between her shut curtains.

Little dots in darkness dancing her vision was so she blinked, blinked until his hard knot up and down his apple adam and his peaceful turquoise eyes transform into adultery lust. A lust shaping into little cupid hearts the Eros shoot his arrows at humans came to view. Perhaps written in star their encounter was that's why coming to love came as natural as he breaths to live. His will to live was (Y/N). A sweet little sugar drip in his violent life to sweeter the taste.

Perfect the play ended. Perfect the play of good was. Hajime coo at the beautiful girl in his hold, giving herself. He bite back the laugh threatening to pour out of his lips just the simple thought (Y/N) beliving she even has a choice to choose. Never, from the moment they met each other did the naive little love had a choice. At first it was a curiosity to see how Indifference she could be. A sudden urge to peek at her layers of emotion she can express on her face was controlling him until fate served him the chance as the form of that night where they were patrolling at night and caught the wind of her ranging ex begging to be taken back.

Hajime wanted to save her in damsel in distress yet Sakura did quite his job however the next thing happen was entirely blame on (Y/N). The second tears bled those jewel (E/C) eyes. So crystal clear that emotions were conveyed with silence and he listened giving him a reason to be close to her. To fulfill his curiosity to see more her expressions while leaning into her world little by little.

Swear to the heavens and goodness of his heart was falling for her a trick of fate. Falling for those fidgeting fingers, nervous glances, bleaming eyes after tasting the food she liked, unable to hide her heart, tiny smiles blossoming. He never thought a curious wish leads to a dangerous yet beautiful word love at the same time a discover creeped inside his mind. Perhaps it was the hidden demon within him imagining how short life is what if she avert his proposal ? Shy away from his confessions ? Refuse to see him as a lover ? Thus he set a play. The flawless play to catch the love of his life into believing she was giving her hand to him in contrast he was griping her hand all along. An act played in theater pouring emotions to tuck the viewers heart and make them believe the fantasy play real however in his case it's a trap distorting the entire line between a mere play and reality.

And the nail of coffin is the current time he snare the chance to craft her drunken thoughts into love. Twisting those yearning of validation, need of comfort into flutters of love and need of his hold. Ultimately he won. The play ended and curtains closed behind the secret scenes remain buried away. She was his and he—hers.

Rays of golden lit glowed on (Y/N)'s sleeping figure, eyelids flutter like wings of bitterflies to process the warmth of another person snuggling on her. Glancing at her tail of eyes found the boy of her love dreams, in flesh and naked— shameful memories sweep her mind heating those (S/C) cheeks.

"We are in relationship right ?" Insecurity rush in her veins.

"Of course we are". Tense her body became. "You said that out loud sweetheart". He shift closer to her body as he hugged the naked waist of her, tender flesh belongs to him. "You are mine and I am yours. Never in the world would I exchange you for anything". Raspy voice coated honesty.

"You are stuck with me". His turquoise eyes bore into hers, pulling into a slow kiss. "For eternal".

FIN