#Patterns in consumer behavior

[marketxcel]

Understanding Consumer Behavior in Marketing: Patterns, Types, and Segmentation

Explore the intricate world of consumer behavior in marketing. Uncover patterns, types, and segmentation strategies to gain valuable insights and tailor your marketing efforts effectively.

[tardis--dreams]

I relate to shane madej because i too wish i could take a pill containing all the nutrients for a day instead of having to plan what the hell i should eat every single day of my silly little life

[goodoldbandit]

Black Friday: From Humble Beginnings to a Global Shopping Phenomenon.

Sanjay Kumar Mohindroo Sanjay Kumar Mohindroo. skm.stayingalive.in Discover the fascinating history of Black Friday, its evolution into a global event, key lessons, and its impact on shopping culture. #BlackFriday #ShoppingHistory The origin of Black Friday, as a shopping phenomenon, has roots in American history and evolved. The term “Black Friday” was first associated with a financial crisis…

[dailynewsreporter]

Meta's recent introduction of ad-free subscriptions for €9.99 a month in Europe is just one example of a broader trend. Twitter (now X), TikTok, and Snapchat are also testing ad-free subscription models, providing an escape for those with the means to avoid the constant bombardment of online ads. Uneven Adoption of Ad-Free Platforms: Insights from European Perspectives and the Growing Appeal of Video-Centric Experiences (globalpostheadline.com)

[mariasont]

Older, Wiser, Off-Limits - A.H

summary: sweetheart!reader is the newest member of the team, bright eyed and full of question she doesnt realize she shouldnt be asking. hotch is twice her age, has known her father longer than she's been alive, and when a case discussion turns into a conversation about age gaps, hotch is the one to explain exactly why they're so dangerous

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader

warnings: dbf aaron hotchner (he never met the reader before she came to the BAU), reader has major daddy issues, age gap, suggestive discussion about the power imbalance of age gap relationships, pre-relationship pining but hotch has far too much restraint

wc: 1.2k

Hotch's sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and for the first time, the cabin lighting caught on a scar of his left hand, a thin, pale line etched across his knuckles. You hadn't noticed it before. Not in all the weeks since you joined the team — when he passed you case files, when he handed you a cup of coffee, somehow, the imperfection had eluded you. Some profiler you are. It wasn't fresh, not jagged or angry. How hadn't you noticed it before? You wondered how he got it. An old case? An accident in his childhood?

You blinked, ripping your gaze away and staring down at the case file as if sheer willpower could force the words to make sense. But they didn't. They blurred together, unreadable, because your thoughts had strayed elsewhere. Across from you, your boss sat reclined against the leather seat, one arm draped loosely on the armrest. His tie hung unevenly, just a little off-center, his shirt slightly untucked from a long day of work, the kind of disheveled that came only after a successful case. You should look away, really, but the longer your stared, the harder it became.

It wasn't like you hadn't noticed Hotch before, he was hard not to notice. But this pull, this godforsaken gravitational force that seized you every time he was near, that stole the air from your lungs and replaced it with static. It was all-consuming. Debilitating, one might say. You weren't like this, not with anyone. Not with either of the boyfriends you'd had, not even during those early, naive moments when you were first discovering what it meant to be in love.

Now you were thinking maybe you’d never actually been in love. Maybe every so-called relationship before this had been nothing more than placeholders, distractions. The idea gnawed at you, and you shoved it down, locked it away before it could fester.

Because this was absurd. Illogical. He was nearly twice your age. Your father's college roommate. A man who should be off-limits in every conceivable way and yet —

"Let's go over the case file again."

His voice startled you. You snapped your eyes back to him, pulse kicking up a notch when you realized he was watching you. How long had he been watching? How long had you been staring?

"Uh, right," you said, fumbling for the paper. "The case."

Your fingers brushed over the wrong paper first, and you muttered a half-formed apology as you shuffled through the file. When you finally found the right one, you risked a glance up to find him still looking at you. It wasn't the stern, I'm in charge look you recognized at briefings to your immediate relief, but it softer, a little more patient.

He did this after every case and at this point, you were starting to think he enjoyed this, making you go over every case in excruciating detail, combing through victim statements and behavioral patterns like it was a final exam. If it were anyone else, you might have teased him for it, might have joked about him being a tough grader or something equally harmless. But this was Hotch, and he wasn't exactly being critical, but he was definitely measuring you, gauging just how quickly you were learning.

You cleared your throat.

"Um, okay. The whole case kind of revolved around their relationship, right? The age difference?"

Hotch nodded, flipping to another page in his report. "It was a contributing factor, yes."

You hesitated, pressing your teeth into your lip before speaking again. "I guess I just don't really get it."

Hotch glanced up at you, brow raised. "What don't you get?"

"The way everyone kept saying it like it was inevitable, like, just because there was an age gap, the relationship had to be unhealthy." You frowned, tapping your pen against the margin of the paper. "I get that it's a pattern in a lot of cases, but that doesn't mean every older guy dating a younger woman is some kind of predator, right?"

Hotch didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he set his report aside, lacing his fingers together in front of him.

"It's not always malicious," he said slowly, like he was choosing each word with care. “But even when there’s no bad intent, those relationships can slip into something unbalanced, sometimes without either person realizing it’s happening.”

"Because one person has more experience?" You tilted your head to the side.

"That, and because experience changes what you want."

You hesitated, his certainty catching you off guard. He didn’t say it like an opinion, he said it like a fact. Like something he knew firsthand.

 "What do you mean?"

Hotch leaned back, fingers drumming on the table as if he was turning the thought over in his mind before speaking it aloud.

“When you’re younger, your idea of love, of what a relationship should be, is still evolving. You’re figuring out who you are, what you need, what you’re willing to give.” His eyes flicked to yours. "Someone older already knows these things. Which means they know how to steer the relationship in a direction that benefits them.”

"So you think that people in relationships like that are...what? Being manipulated?"

"Not always." His tone was even. "But the dynamic can be hard to navigate. If one person holds more control, whether that's financial, emotional, or just in life experience, it's easy for the other to fall into place around them without realizing it."

That sat uncomfortably in your chest. You didn't think you disagreed with him. But something about it felt... personal.

You weren't naive, you knew how people saw these kinds of relationships. You'd seen it in cases before, in books, in the way people whispered about couples like that. And sure, you understood the bad versions of it. But Hotch was making it sound like an inherent flaw.

"I don't know," you admitted, shaking your head. "I just...I guess I don't see the problem if both people want to be there."

The words felt uncertain, even as you said them. You weren’t sure what you were defending anymore. You’d never been in a relationship with that kind of imbalance, both of your boyfriends had been your age, on equal footing. You’d never had to think about who held more control.

But then there was Hotch. And now, you were thinking about it all the time.

"That's the thing, they might think they do."

Your brows knit together. "And you don't think they actually do?"

He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was the first time in the entire conversation that he did.

"Sometimes," he said, “when you don’t have enough life behind you, it’s easy to mistake infatuation for certainty. To want something before you understand what wanting really means.”

Infatuation.

The word lodged itself in your mind, demanding to be examined. Was that what this was? A temporary fascination wrapped in the illusion of something deeper? Or maybe it was something darker, something tied to the way he made you feel untouchable, safe. 

Or maybe it had nothing to do with him it all. Maybe it was about absence. About the gaps in your life, he seemed to fill. The things your father never gave you. And maybe that was the real problem.

"You talk about it like it's a foregone conclusion."

Hotch tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Wouldn't you say most patterns are?"

You didn’t know how to answer that. There was something too final in the way he said it, something that made your throat feel tight. You felt a little warm again. 

"So, what do you think happens when the younger person does know what they want."

Hotch’s fingers flexed against the armrest, a barely-there movement, but you caught it. His jaw tightened. "Then it's up to the older one to know better."

You were overthinking this. Reading into nothing. He was just explaining the case, same as always. Same as he would with anyone. Just answering a question, one that you asked. There was no weight to his words beyond the conversation itself. This wasn’t something you needed to think about later. This wasn’t something that meant anything.

Still, you shifted in your seat, stretching your legs out, crossing them at the ankle, uncrossing them again, suddenly restless in a way you couldn’t quite name.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99 @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs @reire11

taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(

[drdemonprince]

I actually do not believe humans have a guiding moral system. That does not predict or explain human behavior very well at all. Most people's behavior is far more easily explained by their emotions, their needs, and what everyone around them considers it to be normal to do. Most people will instinctively stay alive, stay comfortable, and avoid social ostracism, and their actions flow clearly from that. the patterns of behavior are predictable, but not morally consistent or principled.

And in the absence of adhering to true "morals," most humans don't go around killing/maiming/assaulting people anyway. Because there is little reason to. it's rarely fun or enjoyable, and dealing with the fallout of it would be a real pain.

I always wonder why moral theorists assume we need some belief system to keep us from killing one another. What do you get out of killing someone? It is exhausting and messy. Animals do not have a moral system and they don't go around killing other animals for no good reason. Even predator animals are highly selective in what they try to kill, because killing consumes a huge amount of energy and attempting to kill is dangerous. no living being goes around recklessly doing violence because it's bad for it, the animal.

We do not have to worry about humans being wantonly "evil". Most behaviors that we label as evil are a huge pain in the ass to do, with zero clear gain. when humans do treat one another violently there is virtually always some intense overpowering need they are trying to meet, some survival stakes that make it the better option in that moment than doing nothing.

The acts of violence and abuse that happen in the world on a more global scale occur not because of someone lacking morals, but because people in power have a vested economic or political reason to do it, and face relatively low risk. It is easy for the leaders of imperial powers to genocide people, it does not place them in physical danger, and they stand to gain a lot from it. thats why it happens. thats what we gotta worry about. that some people have clear incentives to kill/maim/rape on a global scale, and doing so costs them nearly nothing. not that people are "evil"

[chococolte]

WAIT! ONE MORE REQUEST AND I'M DONE I PROMISE-

So how about Sagau Zhongli, Venti, and Childe be like when their god, who has been known to be a single pringle ever since they came into existence, is suddenly announcing they are finding a consort among their acolytes?

word count. 2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i had to go back and reread my childe fic to remember how i characterized him fuck my baka chungus life. anyway im sorry it's been a while but as it turns out if you sit down to write something you'll actually write, so here's this!!

zhongli

Despite himself, Zhongli is unable to quell the dim light of hope that swells in his chest.

It's one he's instantly ashamed of. Zhongli is, as one so aged and so familiar with you, intrinsically aware of how little he compares. Where you step, he follows; his mind beckons even if his body resists. To think of himself as somehow worthy of you would be his greatest folly.

Yet he does so anyway, no matter how desperately he tries to kill his arrogance.

The fear is overwhelming, but the acerbic aftertaste at the thought of you with anyone else is worse.

The shame at his own hubris gnaws away at him, but Zhongli can't find it in himself to entirely let it go, to better himself as he should. If bettering himself comes at the cost of losing the opportunity to be entirely yours, he would rather be consumed by his pride.

He knows he should be disgusted by himself. To want is a terrible sin. It's one thing to worship you, and another to see himself kissing your skin every time he closes his eyes.

When Zhongli is beside himself, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company, he wonders what it would be like to be yours. His mind supplies every possibility with no incentive. He aches, and wants, and feels so vividly and impudently that he thinks his thoughts must be some kind of punishment.

You're everything, he thinks. There is nothing in this world that is comparable to you.

What would it be like, to feel you? Would you give him that honor? Has he done enough to deserve it? Or do you torture him so, filling his mind with images— things he should never think, things he should never imagine— because he dares to think himself worthy of calling himself yours, in a manner no one else has before?

Zhongli's greatest failure is that he's unable to stop himself from wanting.

He's ached before. He ached for the thousands of years he spent without you. He ached when he saw you for the first time, enraptured, unable to understand how a form could be so perfect. He ached when he let his fingers linger on your skin for longer than he should at every opportunity, he ached when he wondered if you found his achievements worthy of praise, and he aches every time he has to leave your side.

This hurts more, somehow. To want for something he knows he could never receive. To want for something he knows he isn’t worthy of. But knowing doesn’t ease it, when he follows after you every day like an old, obedient dog; when your back is as familiar as the sky overhead, as commonplace a view; when he imagines what it must feel like to have your fingers run along his skin, touching and prodding, pressing long enough against his skin to leave imprints in their wake.

He wonders how heavenly it would be, to be yours. He imagines it so frequently it begins to become difficult to differentiate reality and fantasy. Your skin, his skin. His warmth, your warmth. Your touch, your touch, your touch.

You.

Zhongli doesn’t realize that he’s said anything at all until you’re staring at him, a certain look on your face that makes him stammer. It’s only the two of you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller than it is; every uniform pattern underfoot suddenly holding him still, the air suddenly dry, and his body suddenly tense and taut.

Zhongli wonders if this is fear. He wonders why it feels so cold. Why suddenly all he can see is you— why suddenly, nothing else matters.

His heart is tumultuous in his chest, aching and creaking and so, so loud. He can feel it in a way he’s never felt it before, and he wonders if this is how every mortal who’s ever knelt before him felt. Did they, too, feel their throat tighten by a phantasmal hand? Did they, too, feel so tiny and insignificant; like their lives were in the center of another’s palm, to be lauded or ignored?

Did they, too, wonder if they were enough?

You’re smiling, he realizes, but he doesn’t know if you’re smiling because you find it all amusing, or because you wish to comfort him.

Your smile is a thing of wonder. He finds it doesn’t matter if you’re doing so because you find him funny or pathetic; his fingers tremble either way.

“I was waiting for you,” you say, and you speak the words so softly he wonders if he misheard.

venti

Venti is aware he's too selfish for his own good.

He knows he shouldn't be as needy as he is. Ideally, he would rise at your call and simper at your demand; and he does, except he does it even when you haven't spoken a word.

Watching you with others feels like a brand on his skin. A strange, terrible emotion that he knows must be some sort of blasphemy. Venti washes it down with whiskey and wine and tries his best to mask it with mirth. You wouldn't like him if he was anything but the blithe bard who worships you.

He worships you. That's the problem, he thinks.

You don't even have to do anything specific for his skin to feel like it's not his own. You glanced away from him. You smiled at someone else. You laughed at something that wasn't him. You exchanged this look with someone else and it almost felt like there was something there in your eyes, something he could never have—

Venti stops the thoughts there. It's always been like this. He's demanding when he shouldn't be.

He's not ungrateful. He chokes on how intensely he loves you. It's so suffocating it hurts.

Venti wishes he could worship you properly.

He wishes he could have you all to himself. He wishes you'd never look at anyone else. He wishes he could have some sort of assurance that you love him past your words. He wishes he could stay by your side always, that he could stick himself to you, that he could intertwine your nerves and bodies until everything he is becomes all of you.

Selfish.

What you give him should be enough. But it's not.

You say you're looking for a consort. Venti's heart twists with a sickening flutter.

He imagines it so sweetly it's painful. He dreams of loving you purely. He writhes with restless agony every night. He wants to hold your hand and feel your warm palm against his. He wants to rest his head on your shoulder. He wants to touch you, delicately and softly, until he knows every part of you. He wants to know you, enough that it's a semblance of how much you know him.

That sort of intimacy is something he doesn't deserve. He wants it anyway.

Venti knows his thoughts are some sort of sacrilege. He doesn't care. All he wants is for you to hold him closer than you have before.

You'd be warm, he thinks, and his fingers twitch imagining it. He'd be safe with you.

He would be yours.

Selfish to want and arrogant to believe he has any place so close to you. Neither matter.

Venti lies his head on your lap, trying to appear as small as possible. Love me, he wants to whisper. Love me.

He doesn't. Instead, he says: "choose me."

Venti doesn't look at you. He tries to project confidence in his voice, but all that comes out is a weak tremble. It's still a plea, after all. He's still only begging you, even if he tries to paint it as something else.

You card your fingers through his hair, pinning his hair behind his ear. The softness hurts. It hurts more than the fact you haven't said anything yet.

He braces himself, hugging his arms to his chest.

"Okay," you say, voice warm and so, so soft.

Venti's chest heaves.

childe

Childe knows his thoughts are wrong.

His desires aren't what they should be. He should be happy you glanced at him at all, and for the brief, blissful moment where everything is you and you're all he knows, he is.

You look at him, and the world is right. The euphoria feels like it might break him each time, but he somehow manages to stay standing. A testament to his worship, he thinks, that he can hold on just long enough for you to look at him some more.

Then you look away, and suddenly it feels like you've just gouged out his heart and gutted him.

It's not your fault. You breathed life into his body, but you can't shoulder each of his mistakes.

A mistake, he tells himself. Something he needs to fix. You wouldn't like him if he showed you that part of himself.

It becomes harder to fix when you announce you're looking for a consort.

Suddenly, everyone looks more disgusting than they did before. They're not just people who are demented enough to believe they have any right to your time or attention. They're people who now believe they're worthy of you, and it's that thought that makes him sick.

There is nothing in this world that comes close to you. There is nobody in this world that could hope to be truly worthy of sitting by your side.

He feels his stomach twist because of the hope that dwells within it.

Childe remembers when you were all he had. Your whispers were his only company in the abyss. When he's with you, he's reminded of it, and every time you look away from him, he's reminded of how many times he called for you and was met with dead air.

People think he was saved when he was ripped from the abyss. Childe thinks anyone who believes that are fools. The day he was ripped from you felt more like a death than a miracle.

He doesn't blame you. You saved him and that should be enough. You look at him and that should be enough. You breathe in his presence and he should be euphoric to share your air. And he is, but so neatly tucked along the inseams of his soul are thoughts of how much better it would be if he didn't have to share you at all.

Childe tells himself the thoughts aren't his. The dreams aren't his. The will to make them into reality isn't his own. The urge and the turmoil aren't of his own making.

You're not his. Your gaze isn't his. Your attention doesn't belong to him. Your love is not uniquely his own. It can't be, he tells himself, but then you smile so sweetly in his direction, and he wonders if it could.

He knows he's pathetic and needy and sick. He knows the burning in the back of his eyelids every time he sees you with another is far from holy and far from what you deserve.

Childe's disgusted by the fervor and desperation of those around him. He's disgusted far more by his own desires. He's disgusted that he begins to lean into them as time goes on.

You smile, and he buzzes. You laugh, and his world tips. You look at him and he wonders if the affection he sees in your gaze could be anything more.

"Ajax," you murmur, petting his hair.

Childe kneels before you like a loyal hound. He doesn't move, hunching his shoulders. He wishes he could make himself smaller. Maybe he'd be more palatable. Maybe you'd like him more like that.

"Pick me," he says.

He doesn't realize he's spoken until your fingers stop threading through his hair.

Childe freezes, an apology on his lips, but he can't bring himself to speak. He can't bring himself to look up at you, either, his copper lashes trembling.

"I have," you say, your fingers resuming their ministrations as if you'd said the most obvious thing in the world.

Childe shivers, nestling closer, hiding his face so you don't see him break. You rub his trembling back despite it, shushing him gently as his tears wet your clothes.

[cpunkbubby]

"The fundamental tension of Tumblr is that it doesn’t have enough users to be profitable, but the users it does have are fiercely protective of the site’s culture — and, they don’t follow standard consumer behavior patterns (they will pay to send crabs to their friends, but they will not pay to subscribe to creators)."

[fixated-cookies]

OOUUU I LOVE OBLIVIOUS READERS (because me too the fuck)

the pv x oblivious spouse ask u got made me think of shmilk and an oblivious partner/spouse who's all like "yeah, that's my bf who i love very much, he's a little silly but i promise he's nice (when he wants to be)!", meanwhile shmilk in the bg, frothing at the mouth and growling like a deranged animal bc the person his lovely lovely doll was talking to hit on them (but they didn't notice)

reader: aw babe? need extra cuddling? are you okay? D:

(yandere) shmilk, holding onto reader for dear life, head buried in their hair, content like a cat cuz there's a bitch™ being actively puppet tortured in the basement: matter of fact i think you should pay more attention to me, hm?~ too many people taking space in your lil nogging, doll! it should only be me~

reader: totally normal behavior! :D

(totally don't think about shmilk fucking the reader stupid because he's jealous, prattling on and on w/ his possessive obsessive bullshit, while the reader is smiling like an idiot, briefly thinking "aw? he loves me so!! he's so cute but he should stop stressing, i love him so much!!" before not thinking shit cuz the dick is that good™)

RIGHT?!? Why would you waste your precious thoughts in your little head on those nameless cookies that don't matter? They don't even deserve a role as an extra in this performance...

Smut incoming

Ooh just imagine you talking about them in front of him, rambling on and on about how kind and nice they were to you. Meanwhile he's trying to keep his composure. You barely even noticed the moment Shadow Milk’s mood shifted. His grin had tightened, his gaze had darkened, and he was suddenly much closer than before.

Then, as you continued to chat—blissfully unaware of the way his jaw tensed every time you so much as spoke about that nameless cookie. Without warning, you felt the weight of him collapse against you."Mmmmhh… no," Shadow Milk huffs, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping around you in a vice grip. "Don’t wanna hear another word about them. Not interested. Nope."

His voice is saccharine, sing-songy in a way that should be playful, but there’s a bite to it—a pout laced with something much sharper. You blink, startled, trying to shift, but he refuses to budge. "Shadow Milk—?" "Shhhhhhhhhhhh…" He hums, snuggling closer—possessively, stubbornly, his breath warm against your skin. "Not listening. Not listening."

So here he is, ravishing you with fevered, all-consuming kisses, pressing you against the nearest surface like he’s trying to erase any trace of that insignificant insect from your memory. Oh, but of course you’d forget, doll~ You’re just so busy, aren’t you? Entertaining all these side characters, letting them yap and yap in your precious ear—tsk, tsk. What a shame! What a tragedy! The star of the show, getting distracted by background noise! But don’t worry, poppet. Shadow Milk Cookie will fix that.

He devours you, his lips crashing against yours in a fevered, desperate kiss, hands gripping you tight—possessive, unyielding, demanding.

"Oh, poor thing~" he croons between kisses, his voice dripping with something mockingly sweet. "You’ve been working so hard, haven’t you? Entertaining all these side characters, wasting your precious time—tsk, tsk." He nips at your lips, at your jaw, down to the sensitive curve of your neck, leaving trails of heat wherever his mouth wanders. His grip tightens at your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"You must be so tired, hmm? So terribly exhausted from all that meaningless chatter." His fingers trail up your arm, slow, teasing, tracing patterns into your skin. "But don’t you worry, my dear, sweet doll, I’ll make sure you never waste your time like that again~."

He kisses you deeper, harder, as if trying to erase every memory of anyone but him.

And when his cock finally sinks into you, you'll find out the thoughts of whoever unfortunate cookie that was in your head melt out rather quickly. "What a shame… That little side character already slipped from your mind, didn’t they? Already replaced by me? I should've been all you were thinking about in the first place, dearie." Oh, but he wants to make sure of it. His lips trail down the length of your neck, slow, possessive, until—

Bite.

It’s not enough to break skin, no, but it’s sharp, lingering, enough to make you gasp—and that sound? Oh, that delicious sound? It makes him grin.

Shadow Milk Cookie is the type who needs to leave proof of his love, something undeniable that stains your skin like the lingering touch of his magic. Kisses are wonderful, yes—deep, fervent, consuming—but bites? Ohhh, bites are even better. Because kisses fade. But marks Marks stay.

He'll grab the underside of your leg while leaning into your neck just biting all over while thrusting until he makes sure every single tainted thought in your head is filled with nothing but him. Listening to your gasp and moans as he fills you in deeper and deeper...

His voice is a smug little hum, his grin utterly insufferable.

"That’s right, doll~ You’re mine. And you love it, don’t you?"

--

Guess who is back? I've been gone for two days, yes I know, I just needed a break lol. Guess who also got into jambound on ao3?? ME!!I I've been studying how shadow milk talks and interacts with others because unfortunately, I'm not far enough in the game yet to actually meet him yet. But his interactions with shadow milk cookie in the fic are sooo canon!! You guys are in for a treat the next time I write PV and SM, get ready!!

[rxmye]

hello!! can you make hcs about a desperate yandere? thank you so much!! 🫶

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄 . . " — desperate yandere headcanons . . masterlist | requesting rules . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / yandere content / pathetic yandere / obsessive and delusional behavior / worshipping / suggestive (?) content / kind of culty behavior tbh /

Desperate yandere, who's willing to do anything for an ounce of your attention, who's willing to dig through the trashcan for hours just to find something that he can preserve, yanderes who have they're time solely devoted to you and things that can impress you.

Desperate yandere, who go so far as to memorize your schedule, habits, just to catch a glimpse of you while your walking through a certain street or hall . . desperate yandere's who'll never get tired of the noises you make, the pattern of your breathing, the sound of you walking, the way you sigh when something bad or inconvenient happens . . the face you make when you see them . .

Desperate yandere, who crave every inch of you, who can't get enough of you . . Who's hyperaware of your presence, your voice, your touch, the little things you do, the way your facial expressions change ever so slightly when you're upset.

Desperate yandere, who's willing to change so much for you, finding your playlists, memorizing your taste in music, finding out your favorite foods, forcing himself to like and enjoy it, just as much as you do . . letting every one of your interests become one with himself, letting himself be so consumed in you, that he almost forgets who he is entirely . . because what is he, if not loving you . .

Desperate yandere, a yandere so involved in you that he loses himself, one who can only think of you, it's no wonder that they're such a madman, who wouldn't be, when you're the only thought that he allows to rot his already rotten mind, corrupting him whole. . You are his demon and his angel, all at once, you are everything.

A yandere so desperate, that he finds himself slowly growing detached from himself, watching you from a distance no longer satisfying him, a yandere who's so consumed in his delusions that he finds his way into your live, creeping into every edge and corner of your very being, as you did to his, if you could ruin him, corrupt him, bend him to your whims . . . isn't it only fair for you to cleanse him of his suffering as well?

A desperate yandere, who's vision of life is distorted, who see's you as a being so above those around him, a Godly figure, a deity, if you're a saint then he is your servant, and if you're the devil . . then he's your slave.

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[marketxcel]

Unveiling the Impact of Health and Wellness Trends on U.S. Consumer Behavior

In the dynamic world of constant change, the U.S. is currently undergoing a transformative shift in consumer behaviour, propelled by an increasing focus on health and wellness.

[mihii-i]

tides.

Pairings: navia x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, siren au, pirate/sailor reader (whatever u want it to be lol), wlw, girls kissing obv, sesbian lex muahahaha, men can interact but uhm it might be awkward bc navia talks about how much she hates men (sorry :( ), officer the sex comes outta nowhere, who is this diva, no seriously I made navia extra sassy here, virgin reader, underwater sex idfk?, fingering, kinda vanilla, marking, breast play ig, written when I am VERY sleepy, not proofread.

A/N: I would no joke let navia- I mean who said that. this is part of @edgeray ‘s halloween event :3 🕯️

Splashes of ocean water ripped through the wavering currents in the cold dead of night, patterns of stars decorating the sky alongside the moon as the only faint light source in the clearing as she ship rocked from side to side. You stared down the ledge of the large ship, sail standing proud directly behind you as you inched closer to the edge to drown out the obnoxious hollers of your crewmates. The relentless voyage stretched out for an agonizingly extended period of time—months possibly. Before you, the endless stretch of the ocean consumed your sights altogether, becoming the only thing filling your sights as the consuming waves engulfed the previous body of water trailing behind you.

Your crewmates had never failed to remain a pain in the ass as well, constantly taunting you and disrupting your peace with an insolent remark hurled at you as their irritating laughter erupted throughout the ship. On top of the sloppy lifestyle the men on the ship had shared, it didn’t exactly help that you were one of the few women present on the ship. Or maybe you were the only one? You had lost track at this point.

Regardless, you always scoffed at the unkempt behaviors of your crewmates advancing toward you or spitting useless nonsense toward you in an attempt to mansplain something, disgust boiling up inside you. You merely attempted to drown out their presence as nothing more than white noise circling the clearing, cutting through the initially peaceful silence of the quiet waves and gentle air. Yet, it was still as if you had been cursed with remaining in a trashed wooden sail afloat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by people who would probably murder you if they had the chance to. That’s what they’d do to any crewmate who was the least bit civilized atleast.

Sighing, your eyes lowered shut, lashes briefly brushing onto your skin. You savored the cool air grazing your face, which out outstretched to gaze upward as if you had offered yourself to the unending void of a sky to come take you away. Sometimes, you pondered if it would be better for you to just escape your responsibility as a pirate. Leaving behind the life of plundering and theiving to carve a new path of what you wanted. Maybe then you atleast wouldn’t be awoken by the stinging smell of booze engulfing your room in the middle of your rest as some drunken crewmate would rummage through your belongings unprompted.

“(Name)! The hell you staring out for- for that long? You’re not tryna avoid us, yeah?”

You pursed your lips quietly, shoulders hunching up as you gripped the edge of the boat tightly, fingers dragging along the raw wood. His voice was nothing but a pestering vibration that rang in the air, only serving to gauge your annoyance further.

“Maybe I am? Leave me alone. I don’t want to join your cheap ship tavern with rum and puke.”

He rolled his eyes in response, clearing his throat as he brought a hand to his chest to surpress his own gulp of drinks bubbling up in his throat.

“Ugh. You’re no fun. But for once nah, we want everyone to come around since we saw something poking out of the water. Seemed like a huge catch for a fish maybe.”

Upon hearing his words, you couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow in mild skepticism. Perhaps those were the rushes of water thumping against the fervent currents, splashing a few pools of salty ocean water onto the edge of the ship occasionally. Curious, you made your way over to the large array of crewmates pinned up to the ledge, peering down at the ripples of water followed by strong currents grazing along the base of the ship.

A…fish? Had everyone drank too much? There weren’t much fish around this part of the sea visible to a sailor’s naked eye. They typically presided in the deep pressure of the ocean around here.

Maybe your crewmates never left behind their idiotic sense of fascination. That would be the most plausible answer as to why their eyes seemed to be tracing nothing. A disappointed groan left the crew members one by one as they detached themselves from the ledge, disappointed as they trudged back into their respective cabins at the lack of anything particularly eye catching. Morons.

“(Name)! Keep watch again for us, will you?”

You couldn’t do much to be fair, besides heave a disappointed groan and shoot your drunken crewmate a disdainful glare as he flashed you that shit eating grin, stumbling over to his room before slamming the door behind him. And so there you stood. Still in the middle of the rocking ship like an unmovable stone, weighing down on the creaking floorboards wavering beneath you as the violent thrusts of the ocean continued to slice through your ears.

It felt quite unnatural, as if something presiding in the growingly murky waters of the sea torrented the initially neutral water gently splashing along the sea. The moonlit sky reflected in the still clear ripples of the ocean, your eyes squinting as you caught the pale light shining along the edge of a curved obstacle protruding to the surface from below the naked eye. Furrowing your brows, you shielded the top of your eyes, focusing your vision on the intrusion abnormally poking out of the currents.

Mind clouded with confusion, the fog around the area only grew thicker as the clouds occasionally masked the darkened sky. Suddenly, your swirling thoughts began to subside as your tense muscles relaxed, grip on the wood ledge loosening as a serene melody hummed through the air, the effects it brought upon clearing your mind almost intoxicating. You breathed out calmly, hearing the beautiful voice of a woman float alongside the swishes of water as you felt yourself slowly leaning further and further along the ledge.

Her sweet voice only entranced you further and further, drawing you in as it grew more prominent. Longing to push past the ledge to take in her velvety voice closer to you. However you couldn’t help but feel the unnerving sting faltering your longing thoughts, trying to fight back with a drop of rationality while you pushed against the edge closer, face nearly coming into contact with the circling waves. Who could possibly singing this late? And who would there even be to sing in the middle of nowhere?

You saw the object curve out of the surface of the ocean past the clearing, now nearing your line of sight and making itself more clear in the dim moonlight rolling along the waters to illuminate the bare minimum in a close proximity. Now getting a clearer look, the object nearly resembled that of a fish’s tail, a pretty shade of light blue spanning along each subtle scale along it. What an odd color for a fish, perhaps that’s what your crewmates saw earlier, as it was the only fish that could see so far. In fact— it happened to be as big as you recalled from what the others pointed out.

Your tongue flattened against the roof of your mouth in anticipation, feeling an uneasiness churning in your stomach as the scaled ridge rippled closer and closer to the side of the boat. However instead of backing away, you found yourself peering over the ledge, hands tightened at the rim of the ship as the splintering wood grazed your calloused hands. Leaping over, you thudded down onto the boat with a soft ‘oof,’ your thoughts screaming at you internally to question if you were insane. You knew your curiosity outmatched your rationality, yet you couldn’t help but be drawn to the sea blue tail peeking out from the waves, and complimented by the moonlight.

What met your eyes next was quite a sight to behold, your jaw nearly dropping from the radiance that blinded your eye. A stunning woman arched above the surface of the water in one swift motion, head tilted back as her near cinematic entrance sent droplets of water seeming to float in the air around her in slow motion. Her starry blue eyes locked onto your form, bottom lip glistening a gorgeous tint of pink to compliment her honey blonde hair spilling down her shoulders.

Her gaze snapped up to you in less than a single second, heavy eyes opening up a bit as she raised her eyebrows in slight surprise to take in your seated form on the dock. You didn’t expect The gorgeous lady to hoist herself up from the sea, hands planted at either side of your waist as she rose herself to the edge of the ship where you sat, face dangerously close. Instinctively, you hunched your shoulders back, leaning your head back to harbor more space between your faces—yet, the woman closed the gap each time, the tip of her nose brushing against yours as you felt her soaked skin graze against yours.

Raising an eyebrow, she kept that unmoving indifferent expression, sinking herself down into the sea once more as she rested her arms along the wood. The end of her tail briefly peeked out of the ocean’s bristling surface, her cheek pressed against her resting hands as her head tilted to the side, gaze immediately snapping back to you as you swore that the corner of her lip slightly curved up in a smile.

“Huh. I expected something I could drag down again.” She finally spoke, her expression growing more and more amused upon observing your confusion. She leaned back with a sigh, pink tinted lips gleaming under the light as the reflections of the water silhouetted her form. “I surely didn’t think to encounter someone so…gorgeous. Fully expected some middle aged drunkard.”

Your eyes remained fixed on the oddly shaped fin structures in place of her ears, not even registering her words completely out of the initial shock that stung you just now. Had you just encountered a live mermaid? You thought they were just tales employed by a bunch of sailors for their own laughs.

Now looking at her upfront…the draconic fins, frail body, those deadpan eyes tracing you, all the characteristics fit that of a siren instead.

Noticing your blank gaze staring at possibly nothing, she rose her hand to hover over your cheek carefully, puffing out a quick sigh at your absentmindedness. Quickly, you rushed back to your senses, blinking to ground yourself back into reality for a moment.

“Don’t be like that, dear sailor. A pretty girl like you isn’t nameless, correct?” She hummed, a subtle smirk crossing her features as she tilted her head to come face to face with you. The way her head had angled as if it were to intersect your lips, sky blue eyes flickering to your quivering lower lip being nothing short of gesturing a kiss, her stance as her arms elevated her up to level with you being oddly…intimate.

“Are you..a siren?”

Her eye twitched, brows knitted together in mild frustration in less than the blink of an eye as her fingers dug into the wood to maintain her composure. You clasped a hand over your mouth defensively, seeming to realize far too late that perhaps you shouldn’t have asked such a question so- upfront when she was the one who inquired your name in a playful manner first.

She reached up her hand to her forehead, bridge of her nose situated between her thumb and forefinger in annoyance as she pushed out a breath to calm herself. God, the one sailor she took interest in, she wanted to fucking murder in this moment.

“Are you serious? I asked you a question, clearly interested, and that’s what you ask me?”

“Sorry..”

“Fuck it. It’s fine. Not like you’re someone trying to hunt me down only to be killed.”

She paused, eyes narrowing as she took note of the expectant look remaining on your face, clearly still wanting the answer to your abruptly dumb question earlier. Scoffing, she rolled her eyes, unamused by your clueless antics.

“Yes. I am. Happy? Name’s Navia, now if it isn’t so hard to tell me your name like I did to you?”

You flinched at her sudden aggression, tilting your head bashfully. Guess she really didn’t like the moment getting ruined.

“..(Name).”

Navia hummed softly in approval, velvety voice spurring against her throat in a gentle exhale of breath. Her hand dragged along yours, a spark flying through you upon feeling her soaked skin stick to yours so closely. Evidently so, you had piqued the sea creature’s interest quite a bit, your breathing shallowing out upon feeling a chill envelope your whole body, goosebumps blooming against your exposed skin along with the chilling winds.

“Gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. It suits someone as beautiful as you.”

You couldn’t help but allow the burning heat to creep up to your cheeks, blood rushing to your head as you felt your face grow hot from the faint red tint.

“So why aren’t you killing me, Navia?”

Tapping her chin thoughtfully for a moment, Navia flashed you a smile, pressing her chest to the edge of the dock to speak with you a bit closer.

“I dunno. Saw a sailor that wasn’t a drunk moron eating at anything that’s money, sailor happened to be a pretty girl, and everything happened from there I guess.” She answered in a lighthearted tone, nails digging into the wood of the ship to ground herself. Just so happened the sweet siren here had pretty sharp nails, pointed at the tips just at the right amount to cut open human flesh to the bone.

“So…I say..if you wanna live unlike what I think I wanna do to your crewmates..”

Her hands suddenly shifted over to your thighs draped over the edge, planting them down for support against you. By now, you had to choke back the rapid breaths catching in your throat, heart feeling it was going to beat right out of your chest as it thudded against your insides violently. Of course you couldn’t help it, you felt somewhat aroused by the sight of a gorgeous woman, who so happened to be an exotic sea creature looming over you with her palms planted onto your clothed thighs. You’d never let her outright know that though.

Navia’s cool breath suddenly fanned against your cheek, pretty pink lips alarmingly close as she grazed them along the shell of your ear. Still held up impressively by her mere arm strength pushing her up to come face to face with you. Her bare body brushed against the loose fabric of your shirt puffed out, draped over you as the neckline formed a V shape over the opening of your chest.

Her sharp fragrance of saltwater clawed at the back of your throat as you took in her scent as she leaned against you chest to chest now, the strong tonicity being substituted with a much more pleasantly mellow aroma presenting itself for you to breathe in. Your head spun as your pupils flickered in Navia’s wake, her nails still dug into your thighs temptingly as she had probably torn parts of the cloth and poked holes into your pants. Clicking her tongue, her breath hitting your ear only served to further heighten your lust blinded haze, flinching as her pointed teeth grazed along your ear as she spoke once more to complete her dangling thought.

“Come underwater with me. I promise I won’t kill you or anything. It’ll feel…nice.”

“How am I supposed to do that? I’m human, I can’t just dunk myself underwater and be expected to breathe the whole time.”

Navia merely grumbled at your naive response, biting the inside of her cheek. You only cocked your head to the side, puzzled by her random changes in demeanor in this moment.

“(Name). I get that you live with your braindead crewmates, but surely acting like some virgin will get you nowhere around me.”

“Ah..”

You pursed your lips at her remark, dozing your gaze off to the side in embarrassment. Sweat patterned along your back as the tides began to assault your ankles now, the water refreshingly warm in contrast to Navia’s hypothermic body temperature adhering droplets of water along every inch of your own. She feigned an expression of shock at your bashful hesitation, bringing her hand to her lips in a gesture that made you huddle in a bit from embarrassment.

“Don’t tell me…you haven’t-?”

You shook your head, clearing your throat to distract yourself—and her—from the fact that your face was a scorching scarlet hue from the fairly lewd topic at hand.

“Well then…if you come with me I can fix that..? What do you say, (Name)?”

Her teasing voice only spurred you further to dart your sights down to her hands now subtly parting your thighs, the beautiful gradient of her nails sharpened along her skin quickening your breathing as you choked back a whine from her evidently seductive motions. A single nod was all that was needed as her hands shot up from between your legs to snake around your neck, grasping on as she clawed at your nape all of a sudden. An involuntary gasp left you upon feeling the sting of her nails along the back of your neck, breath held between your cheeks the moment she fell back into the sea, dragging you along with her.

Sinking deeper into the rushing blue waters circling you, Navia’s arms remained locked around your neck, tail shielding your leg for additional support as you descended down into the depths of the ocean. The minute you hit a strange sort of dome in which you could breathe underwater, you in fact—couldn’t exactly breathe properly. Your legs pressed together as jolts of pleasure enveloped your body, a high rush overtaking you as you noticed Navia wasting absolutely no time as she held you down into the sand.

Rasped out mewls began to endlessly spill from your lips as your hips mindlessly bucked forward into Navia’s touch, her middle and ring finger knuckles deep in your cunt as she parted your walls to accommodate her fingers splitting you open. Ecstasy clouded your mind at her intoxicating touch, nails brushing up against that one spot within you as her freehand was clasped around your wrists to hold you down.

Every worry you had embedded in your mind, every issue that had haunted you on your journey had faded away under her touch, your lips parted as a string of noises followed through with each relentless thrust of her fingers curling your warm, velvety walls. Her movements remained somewhat gentle, yet fervent as heat clouded the two of you in the intense moment, teeth pressed against the exposed skin of your throat to muffle a moan fighting against her lips.

Perhaps her mind had also been relieved in this moment while she fucked you underwater. The constant unprovoked attacks from wandering sailors, sudden encounters with people who had never caught her eye in the moment, Navia just needed to get away from it all. And you were perfect for her. It’s as if the gods had bestowed upon her a sailor with lips as sweet as saccharine. And the minute she raised her head from your throat to glance over at your face twisted in lust, her lips found their way to crash against yours, tongue brushing along your bottom lip any chance she got in that hungry kiss she captured you with.

Sure enough, you tasted sweet just like she theorized.

Your intoxicating scent, the sweetness of your lips, your moans vibrating against her mouth while her fingers drove in and out at a steady, yet roughened pace to slam against your cunt…

It was all so fucking perfect.

Bright red hickeys bloomed in a trail of fire against your exposed skin, your gasps increasing in pitch and frequency as her thumb brushed along your exposed nipple. A near scream boiled in your throat as Navia’s own noises reverberated against your lips, your breaths growing quicker as a third finger entered the heavenly mix. You frantically reached a hand up to grip onto her bare back tightly, nails raking down her pale skin as she threw her head back to choke out a little whimper.

“N-Navi- please…m’gonna-“

—

Breathing heavily, you lay fully clothed. Back flush against the edge of the ship once more, staring at the sky aimlessly as your now soaked clothing pooled out drains of seawater onto the dock. You craned your neck over, glancing at the siren who hoisted you back up as you seemed to be completely out of breath. A smile stretched her lips at your exhausted form, innocently waving as she fluttered her fingers. Huh. Acting like she didn’t just fuck the life out of you with those.

Navia’s chin rested along the edge of the boat once more, leaning over to plant a sweet kiss against your cheek. You were too spent to move at all, yet you still smiled weakly as you lay like starfish outstretched in water on the boat. She chuckled, eyes briefly flickering to the visible marks on your neck not covered by your clothes.

“Will I be seeing you again in this part of the sea, (Name)?”

“Without a doubt. Just make sure I can move next time.”

“Not my fault you have no experience.”

“Oh come on..I promise I’ll be the one on top next time, ‘kay?”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You rasped out a strained laugh, smiling at Navia as she lowered herself back into the water before flashing you a quick wink.

“I’ll see you around, my sweet sailor.”

And just like that, she disappeared into the depths of the water. Leaving you on your back, all soaked and marked up as your clothes stuck to you body in a transparent fashion.

Hell, maybe you’ll bring her something next time.

A/N: PLEASE DONF HAVE HIGH EXPECTATIONS THIS CAME OUT SO BAD IM SO SLEEPI LEAB ME ALONEEEE WAAAAAA

okay jk yall are awesome but IM SLEEPY. GOODNIGHT.

[lupinsversion]

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐤𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐯𝐚 - 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

• summary: aleksander notices that something different is going on with reader, and his suspicions raise. how will he react when those suspicions are confirmed?

• contains: aleksander morozova x fem reader, mention of pregnancy/symptoms, mention of sickness/throwing up, fluff

• word count: 1.1k

masterlist || requests

Aleksander had started noticing subtle changes in his partner. She was constantly tired, nauseous in the mornings, and had a strange aversion to certain smells. His mind started putting the pieces together, and suspicions began to form. Although he didn't have any concrete evidence yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that she might be pregnant.

He would observe her closely, noting her increasing fatigue and the new patterns in her behavior. Each observation further fed his suspicions, strengthening his belief that she was indeed carrying his child.

Days passed, and he could hardly concentrate on anything else but the thought of her being pregnant. He observed her more closely, noting her mood swings, her growing appetite, and the small changes in her body. The possibility of fatherhood was both exhilarating and terrifying, and the thought consumed his mind.

One day, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands on her stomach. She was deep in thought, her expression a mixture of fear and wonder. The sight of her, lost in her own thoughts, struck a chord within him. He walked over to her, his heart beating a little faster.

"Are you okay?" He asked, trying to keep his voice steady. He sat down beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

She stared off into nothing, and when she started to speak, her voice was quiet and hesitant. “First, my breasts started to hurt. Which was strange, I’ve never felt anything like it before…”

“And then, I couldn’t even stand the smell of my favorite soup. My favorite soup, Aleksander.” She exasperated as if it were a crime.

He nodded, his mind racing. The changes she mentioned were classic signs of pregnancy. The nausea, the aversions to once-favorite foods, even the tenderness in her breasts. It all pointed in one direction.

“I’ve been throwing up the past two days…” She continued once she knew he wasn’t going to speak. “It wasn’t much, but it was still awful. I went to the healers, which was probably foolish because what could they have done for me?”

His stomach churned at the mention of her vomiting. The healers at the Little Palace were knowledgeable, but it was true that without knowing the cause, they could only offer general advice or remedies. "Why didn't you come to me first?" He asked, his voice a mixture of concern and irritation.

Her brows furrowed together, as she shook her head slightly. “What were you meant to do? Massage my breasts? Make my soup smell better? Hold my hair?” She rambled.

He couldn't help but chuckle at her sarcastic comments, the sound of his laughter breaking the tension that had settled over them. "Those are all important tasks, you know," he teased, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

She couldn’t help but playfully roll her eyes. “They may have been nice gestures, yes. But that wouldn’t help me out much, would it?”

"Oh, I don't know," he replied, his smile turning more suggestive. "My hands are very skilled, and I have been known to be quite calming."

She nudged her shoulder into his, a small bit of laughter coming from her as she felt the tension between them lift. This reminded her of why she loved him, how he always made her feel better.

He relished the sound of her laughter, the way her smile lit up her face. He loved the way she responded to his teasing, the way she always softened his hard edges. Leaning into her, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

She looked up at him through her lashes as she whispered the words that would change everything. “I’m pregnant, Aleksander.”

The moment the words left her lips, time seemed to freeze. His breath caught in his chest, his eyes widening in disbelief. He had suspected it, but hearing her say it out loud, confirming his suspicions, was a shock he hadn't fully prepared for. Thousands of emotions swirled within him, each one fighting for dominance. Shock, joy, fear, and uncertainty all vied for attention, leaving him speechless.

His thoughts raced as he tried to process her revelation. A child. A life, one they had created together, was growing inside of her. It was a prospect both thrilling and terrifying. He took a moment to regain his composure, his arm still around her shoulders, his hand gently stroking her hair.

"Are you sure?" He finally managed to ask, his voice rough with the weight of her confession. He needed to know for certain, needed to hear her confirm it again.

“I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t certain.”

His heart hammered in his chest at her words, the confirmation settling heavily in his mind. A thousand thoughts and fears flooded through him, but he fought to keep his emotions in check. He exhaled slowly, his eyes studying her face, searching for any sign of uncertainty.

She knew why he was looking at her as if he were studying her very soul. “I’m certain.” She repeated.

His eyes locked onto hers, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. He believed her, trusted her completely. If she said she was certain, he had no reason to doubt her. The realization that she was carrying his child, their child, settled within him, a mix of awe and trepidation. His hand moved to gently rest upon her stomach, his palm flat against her abdomen.

"A child," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Our child."

The words slipped from his lips like a reverent prayer, filled with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. He had never imagined himself as a father, never thought he would want to become one. And yet, now that the possibility was before him, he felt an unexpected tenderness in his heart.

“Our child.” She repeated, her hand covering his, a small smile tugging her lips upwards.

The touch of her hand on his, the sight of her smile, sent a new wave of emotions coursing through him. He had never allowed himself to dream of a family, always believing his path was one of solitude. But here she was, carrying their child, and the possibility of a future he had never dared to imagine seemed within reach.

He gently intertwined his fingers with hers, a silent acknowledgement of what was now undeniably real.

As they sat together on the edge of the bed, their hands intertwined and their minds wrapped around the news of her pregnancy, a mixture of emotions coursed through Aleksander. Excitement, anticipation, fear, wonder - it was all there, swirling around in this moment they shared. He looked down at their hands, his fingers gently tracing the back of hers.

"Our child," he repeated once more, the words tasting sweet on his tongue. He smiled then, a genuine smile of happiness. "We're going to be parents."

© lupinsversion 2024

[phoenixrisingastro]

Common Serial Killer Placements: When the Stars Turn Dark 🌑🔪

Astrology reflects the full spectrum of human nature—the light and the shadow. While most charts speak to love, growth, and potential, some reveal darker paths, paths carved out by pain, obsession, and destruction. What makes someone cross the line? Let’s delve into the sinister placements that show up in the charts of some of the world’s most infamous figures.

Pluto in Harsh Aspects: The Lord of Death and Obsession ☠️

Pluto doesn’t just rule transformation—it’s the underworld. Hard aspects between Pluto and personal planets like the Moon, Mercury, or Venus create an internal war between desire and destruction. These people are often consumed by power struggles, deep obsessions, and the need to control. If left unchecked, their hunger for dominance can become all-consuming, leading to dark, dangerous extremes.

Mars Square or Opposite Pluto: Violence in the Veins 💥

Mars is your drive, your raw physical energy—and when it clashes with Pluto, it can explode in terrifying ways. This aspect fuels intense rage, suppressed anger, and a desire to dominate through force. It's the kind of energy that burns bridges and scorches anything in its path, leaving devastation behind. In the charts of serial killers, this aspect screams of unchecked aggression, often masked beneath a calm exterior.

Moon Square Neptune: The Illusion of Innocence 🌫️

Moon-Neptune aspects blur the lines between reality and fantasy. Squares here can indicate someone who lives in a world of their own making—often one that’s steeped in delusion. These individuals may appear charming, even sweet, but their inner emotional world is chaotic and ungrounded. They are masters of deception, wearing masks so convincing that even they start to believe the lies.

Venus in Scorpio or the 8th House: A Love That Consumes 🩸

Venus governs love and attraction, but in Scorpio or the 8th house, it takes on a darker, more possessive tone. These placements crave intimacy that borders on obsession, a connection so deep it becomes destructive. In some cases, the desire to merge fully with another can manifest as control, manipulation, or even violence.

Saturn in the 12th House: Isolation and Hidden Guilt 🪐

The 12th house is the house of secrets, and when Saturn resides here, it creates an individual burdened by inner demons. There’s a sense of isolation, guilt, and repression that festers over time. In extreme cases, this placement can lead to a cold detachment from emotion, making it easier to rationalize the unspeakable.

Chiron in the 4th House: Wounds That Never Heal ⚰️

Chiron represents deep, often unbearable pain, and in the 4th house of home and childhood, it speaks to early wounds that shape the psyche. For some, these wounds become motivators for growth and healing. For others, they rot, turning into resentment and rage that eventually erupt. Many infamous figures with this placement experienced trauma at home that warped their sense of self and humanity.

Moon-Pluto Aspects: Emotional Turmoil on Steroids 🌋

When the Moon (emotions) and Pluto (power) clash, the result is volcanic. These individuals feel everything too much and often struggle with intense emotional reactions that spiral out of control. In some charts, this aspect shows someone deeply aware of their pain but unable to escape it—leading to destructive behaviors toward themselves and others.

South Node in the 8th House: Karma and the Dark Side of Desire 🔗

The South Node represents past life patterns, and in the 8th house, it hints at unresolved karmic themes of power, control, and taboo subjects. These individuals may feel inexplicably drawn to the shadow side of life—whether that’s through fascination with death, crime, or forbidden pleasures. Without conscious effort, they can get trapped in destructive cycles.

Final Thoughts: The Stars Are Not an Excuse, But They Are a Blueprint

It’s important to remember that astrology doesn’t make anyone do anything. These placements don’t create monsters—but they do show where the potential for darkness lies. In the end, it’s about choice. Do you embrace the shadow and channel it into growth, or let it consume you?

[the-library-alcove]

Back during the first Trump years, there was an incredibly well-written article in The Atlantic regarding the egregious cruelty of the MAGA movement and Trump, titled, "The Cruelty Is The Point". The article made the extremely pointed note that bonding over being monstrous to other people is a part of human behavior, especially group-bonding behavior.

The artifacts that persist in my memory, the way a bright flash does when you close your eyes, are the photographs of lynchings. But it’s not the burned, mutilated bodies that stick with me. It’s the faces of the white men in the crowd. There’s the photo of the lynching of Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith in Indiana in 1930, in which a white man can be seen grinning at the camera as he tenderly holds the hand of his wife or girlfriend. There’s the undated photo from Duluth, Minnesota, in which grinning white men stand next to the mutilated, half-naked bodies of two men lashed to a post in the street—one of the white men is straining to get into the picture, his smile cutting from ear to ear. There’s the photo of a crowd of white men huddled behind the smoldering corpse of a man burned to death; one of them is wearing a smart suit, a fedora hat, and a bright smile. Their names have mostly been lost to time. But these grinning men were someone’s brother, son, husband, father. They were human beings, people who took immense pleasure in the utter cruelty of torturing others to death—and were so proud of doing so that they posed for photographs with their handiwork, jostling to ensure they caught the eye of the lens, so that the world would know they’d been there. Their cruelty made them feel good, it made them feel proud, it made them feel happy. And it made them feel closer to one another.

Taking joy in that suffering is more human than most would like to admit. Somewhere on the wide spectrum between adolescent teasing and the smiling white men in the lynching photographs are the Trump supporters whose community is built by rejoicing in the anguish of those they see as unlike them, who have found in their shared cruelty an answer to the loneliness and atomization of modern life.

And it's very true, and we've seen it again and again from the right-wing MAGA types.

But that's not the only place we see that sort of cruelty in the modern zeitgeist.

It's also blatantly visible in the "Pro-Palestine" movement on the Left towards Jews. Celebrating the deaths and torture of Jews, harassment, egregious acts of cruelty towards Jews just existing... Examples abound in daily life for any Jewish person who doesn't loudly tokenize themselves as one of "the good ones."

But why? Why has the Left, which claims to be for human rights, social equality, and minority support, gone so deeply into a pattern of behavior that's a mirror of the Right they claim to hate and detest?

That question, I feel, has its own answer.

Because they are mirroring the Right.

One wonderfully pithy comment about modern conservativism, by Frank Wilhoit, is "Conservativism consists of exactly one proposition, to wit: There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect."

I personally believe that there are three propositions of Conservatism. The one above is the first, but the other two are that, "There are a finite number of legitimate ways to live your life," and "people exist to perpetuate and be consumed by the system."

And what has happened is that the Left, rather than come up with their own Left-wing propositions (say, for example, "Everyone should be equally bound by and protected by the law," "We must tolerate and encourage diversity of life experiences and outlooks", and "social systems exist to support human beings") they've merely taken the Conservative propositions and turned them on their heads. So if, in the USA, the Right says that White People are the In-group protected but not bound by law, and People of Color are the ones bound but not protected? Okay, then on the Left, it's the other way around. There's still an out-group and an in-group, just flipped. The basic structure hasn't changed. The same goes for the other propositions--if you're not part of their particular ideology, you're an enemy, and you exist to perpetuate their system if you're part of their ideology.

And because of that mirroring, we see the same behavior from the Left that we see on the Right.

[maliciouscottonball]

Far Better Than Any Pill

Platonic Yandere! Ghost x GN! Barista! Reader

Wordcount: 3292

AN: I’m on a roll, babes. I love writing descent into madness oneshots. My dog is sitting on my lap, my blankets are warm, and the semester is over. Life is good. Another very grateful shoutout to @foolphenomenon for beta reading for me!!!

TW: Yandere behaviors, drugging, kidnapping, delusional loser man behavior, somewhat realism, mental health stuff but nothing in detail, mentions of the horrors of the service industry, an attempted mugging, violence, murder

♡♡♡

Simon didn’t know why he wanted a kid so badly. It didn’t make sense. His childhood was a nightmare, to say the least, and after seeing his mother’s marriage, he never wanted to get married either. He saw the men he went to bootcamp with settle down and start their own families and his heart burned with envy. He would go to team barbeques just to get to be around the chubby little babies that toddled around. The partners of his teammates always thought it was sweet that he was so good with kid and joked around about wishing he was always free for babysitting.

He stopped going to those barbecues after becoming a sergeant. It got to be too painful for him to see the others living the life that he dreamed of. He spoke to adoption agency after adoption agency during every single one of his days off and none of them would allow him to adopt from them. He knew why. He was a single man and his lifestyle wasn’t exactly conducive to having children. He was traumatized and was legally required to attend therapy. After an exceptionally bad mission, he was declared unfit for the field. He received a very generous pension but the one thing that he really had going for him was over.

He withdrew into himself after that. He only had his tiny shoebox apartment that he stayed in while he was on shore leave and it was awful. All he would do was dissociate, go to the gym, and take care of only his most basic needs like eating, drinking, and showering. He went to the store once per week and always got the exact same things. He knew how much he consumed and how much he needed to restock. It was the same every week.

Simon wasn’t really living and he knew that. He barely felt human. He was stagnating and he couldn’t get out of the pit that he was trapped in. He was on his way back to his apartment from the gym when something caught his eye. There was a tiny coffee shop with a “Grand Opening” sign in the window. The window panes were painted bright colors and he could see that the walls were covered in book filled shelves. The rich scent of hot coffee wafted out of the open doors, inviting him to come closer.

He hadn’t read something that wasn’t a bill or a report since… He couldn’t remember how long it had been. His guilty pleasure when he was younger was reading old classic novels. He used to have a small library of tattered paperbacks that he would drown himself in when things got bad and when his nightmares felt too real. He slowly walked towards the small shop while displaying an uncharacteristic hesitance. He stood in the doorway of the half filled shop before slowly getting in line. The coffee smelled divine and he’d be lying to himself if he said that his mouth wasn’t watering a bit. There were signs all over displaying the genres of the books on the shelves and advertising that customers could borrow any book they wanted.

He eventually got to the front of the line and peered down at the barista. You were smaller than him and had a chipper expression. Your face was shining with the excitement of starting a new job and it made him pause. You were young and happy. Your apron was quilted cotton fabric and it suited you. The pattern was a happy pastel floral and it made the cheerful look on your face look that much more sincere. He took a moment to read your name tag and was almost surprised when you spoke.

“Hi! What can I get started for you today?” You chirped in a cheery tone.

“I’ll have a black coffee, please.” He said quietly. His voice instinctively took on that gentle quality that it always did when he was speaking to a child. He had forgotten that it could do that.

“For here or to go?” You asked.

“For here.” He said in the same voice. There was no mistaking it. There was something about you that was just so… Childish. He couldn’t help himself.

“Great! Can I interest you in a pastry? You seem like the kind of guy that can appreciate a good strawberry danish. They’re my favorite.” You offered.

“Sure. I’ll take one of those.” He almost immediately said. He knew that being nice was your job. He knew that you were just trying to make a good impression on a customer but he couldn’t help but melt a bit for the first time in years when you mentioned liking the dessert.

“Wonderful! Can I get you anything else?” You asked.

“No.” He answered. He immediately regretted how harsh it sounded. A little thing like you shouldn’t have to deal with any sort of roughness or harshness. He felt like you were just too small for that.

You rang his order up and had him take a seat at one of the few empty tables after he paid while one of your coworkers made him his coffee. He sat for a few moments before grabbing a book that he had been eyeing for a little bit. It was an old hardcover copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. He flips it open and starts reading the first page. 

He was surprised. It was the first time that he had felt truly comfortable in ages. The cushioning on the chain helped calm the ache in his back that had been there since the beginning of his time in the military. The book was familiar and the smell of the coffee shop was delicious. The air was filled with the smell of coffee, tea, hot chocolate, and sweet baked goods. There was soft music playing in the background and the soft chatter of customers and employees made the atmosphere that much more cozy. The soft sound of footfalls caught his attention and he looked up to see you with his coffee and pastry.

“Oh, is that Frankenstein? I loved that one! I begged the boss to get that copy for the coffee shop. It’s the same version as the first edition. I liked it better than the later versions. There’s also a promotion going on. You get a free bookmark every time you come in this week. I hope you enjoy your order!” You babbled happily at him as you placed the food and drink on the table. You also put a bookmark next to his coffee. He looked over the bookmark, noting the whimsical art of the coffee shop and how it seemed just as bright and lively as you. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it helped to lift his spirits a bit. 

Over the next few weeks, he religiously visited the coffee shop and got the same coffee and whatever pastry you recommended. It made him happy and he liked being able to see you. You became less cheerful as time went on and the bags under your eyes got worse. He realized after a particularly eventful visit to the cafe that you were dealing with unpleasant customers and a grueling work schedule. You were there every day, after all. 

He decided to help. He was a scary guy and he was well aware of that. Instead of visiting after the gym, he started visiting a bit before the lunch rush. He would get his order with the addition of a sandwich and would simply read one of the books on the shelf while making sure that no one was rude to you. He gave unkind looks to customers that didn’t behave themselves and it easily cowed them into behaving. He was very pleased when you seemed less stressed and more chipper again.

He knew that you had a life outside of your job but he tried not to think about it after coming home from visiting you. He had recognized that he was making progress with going outside more. He would regularly go out of his apartment at least twice per day and he was starting to feel happy when he wasn’t with you. Granted, he was thinking about you, but he felt like it still counted for something. He had started cooking new things in order to have more things to chat about when he occasionally struck up a conversation with you. He was coming home from the gym again when your life outside of that little store truly came to his attention. 

He didn’t quite recognize what was going on at first. There was a group of people jostling around and he didn’t think much of it. He thought that it was just a gang of boys looking to make trouble until he heard a familiar voice. It was you. You were asking them, more like begging them, not to take your wallet or phone. He was looking over and finally saw your face from the other side of the street.

You were crying.

Oh, he hated that.

Nothing and nobody should ever make you cry. 

Not when you were the one thing making his life bearable. 

He ran across the empty street and immediately slammed one of the men onto the ground. He made quick work of all of them, systematically hitting each of the men in a way that left very noticeable and recognizable bruising on their faces. While he was busy smacking around the last one, the rest of them ran off. He was distracted by them running and took a few steps to make chase before being entirely blindsided.

You hugged him. 

You hugged Simon of all people.

You were still crying and he was so stunned that he just let the last man run off after the rest of the group.

It was fine. He would take care of them later. He had something significantly more important to handle at the moment.

He gently hugged you back and it was like a floor of dopamine straight to his brain. He had been on every antidepressant available on the market, plus a select few that weren’t, and none of them had any kind of effect like this. You were far better than any pill.

He finally coaxed a sob filled explanation out of you after hugging you and rubbing your back for about fifteen minutes. Your tears had soaked his hoodie but he didn’t mind. It was you, after all. You were walking home after work and the group had come out of nowhere. You were so scared, especially after they had threatened you. You were so scared that when he offered to walk you home, you accepted with no hesitation.

He carefully walked with an arm around your shoulders as if he was shielding you from the rest of the world. This felt good. Simon was in heaven. He didn’t know that this kind of human connection would feel so nice. He walked you the few miles to your apartment and politely declined when you offered to make him some coffee, making a lame joke about how he’d get some from you tomorrow during lunch.

Simon practically floated back to his own apartment. His heart felt full for the first time in a very, very long time. He decided to use an old notebook that he had gotten to record every positive experience that he had from now on. His life had a light in it and he wasn’t going to ignore that. He carefully scribbled down the date, the time, his experience, and how it made him feel in his terrible handwriting. He smiled as he looked down at the entry and tucked his new happiness journal under his pillow before falling asleep that night. 

He woke up in a much better mood than usual that morning. He couldn’t explain it but he was just so happy that you had relied on him for something. It was a similar feeling to when he would open a juice box for one of his friends’ kids or was given a poorly made drawing by one of them. He was actually happy and felt a bit of pride in himself. You trusted him to watch over you and keep you safe. He loved it.

That day during lunch, you were even friendlier with him than usual. Your smile was brighter and your laugh at his bad jokes was louder. You had such a warmth to you that he just basked in it. He made sure that you were okay after the incident the night before and then settled in to keep watch over the lunch rush and read his book. This would absolutely be going into his happiness  journal when he got home.

After lunch, Simon made a detour before going home. He had found the social media of the men that had attacked you the night before while he was eating breakfast. It wasn’t hard for him to find their locations and where they lived. It took him less than an hour to finish what he had started the night before but it took a while longer to dispose of the evidence. He was a professional. He may be retired but he isn’t out of practice and it felt good to do what he was skilled at.

He continued going to that little coffee shop and visiting you for months. You were adorable and he loved being one of your regulars. Over time, he learned all about you. At first, he was content to just enjoy the tidbits of information that you gave him while you two chatted but then he started getting greedy. He found your social media and learned about everything that you like and dislike. He learned everything that there was to know about you. It got to the point where he hacked into your phone to watch you through the camera when he got lonely. He loved seeing your concentrated expression when you searched up silly questions that he could easily answer for you if he were there with you. It helped him to justify the way that he saw you. You needed him to help you and take care of you. You couldn’t defend yourself and you certainly didn’t know enough to be able to take care of yourself. 

Every time he went to the little coffee shops you worked at, he felt an incredible sense of relief. He didn’t like how many shifts you had to take to keep a roof over your head but he liked that he got to see you every day. He still worried about your stress levels and safety and was trying to come up with a solution to the issue. One lunch, he realized that there was a very simple solution. 

He decided that the next step to helping you would be helping himself. He started looking at two bedroom houses in the countryside. He ended up buying one outright. Decades of doing the absolute bare minimum to keep his body healthy and alive helped his bank accounts get fat enough for it to not be as big of a deal as it should’ve been. He had it remodeled to make sure that it would be warm in the winter and cool in the summer. He had also started to pick out furniture and decorations for the rooms. It gave him a sense of purpose that he had never had before, not even in the military.

He had you tell him which decorations you liked better. He mentioned that it was for the child that he was going to adopt soon. You gushed over how you knew he would be a great father and how wonderful it was for him to give a kid a home. Simon just smiled and thanked you. You had no clue about what was happening and it was all the more reason to protect you. You didn’t even pick up on anything when you asked what the child looked like and he gave a vague description that matched you. You were just happy to help him choose paint colors and tell him which stuffed animals were cuter.

There was no warning when you woke up in a strangely familiar room. You went to bed in your own apartment and simply woke up somewhere else. You didn’t have a headache or any grogginess. There were no side effects to help you understand what had happened to you. You were just… Not in your apartment. You looked around the room and immediately began recognizing everything. The walls were the color that you recommended to Simon. The shelves were the type that you had recommended to him. The rug on the floor was the kind that he showed you while asking your opinion on it. Everything was just like you told him would be best for the kid he was adopting.

There was a set of clothes neatly laid out for you at the foot of your bed. They were colorful and exactly in your size. They weren’t anything crazy, just a soft cotton t-shirt and comfortable looking jeans. Your stomach filled with dread when you remember how you told him how much you didn’t like the trend of parents making all of their childrens’ toys, clothes, and homes beige and bland. You also remember talking about how natural fibers were better for the skin and how he should try to get more cotton and linen than polyester clothing for his kid. You remember his thoughtful nods as you look around the bright and happy room again.

You felt like throwing up. You were still in the pajamas that you had changed into the night before, thankfully. Nothing on you seemed amiss. You hesitantly get out of the bed and creep towards the windows. The sunlight streaming in through them makes the room glow in a comfortable light but you can’t focus on that. You try to open each one but they’re locked and you can tell by the thickness of the glass that you won’t be able to break through them. You stare outside and realize that you’re in the middle of nowhere. You can’t even signal for help. You take a few deep breaths before moving to the next logical choice.

You quickly and quietly walk to the door leading out of the room. You slowly turn the knob and, to your great surprise, it’s unlocked. You slowly open it and look around. The hallway ahead of you is clear and cozily decorated. You pause before tiptoeing your way through and glancing around. There’s a sizzling sound and you freeze. You take a few sniffs and your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Blueberry pancakes. You’re smelling blueberry pancakes. You decide that you just need to keep going.

You try to sneak past the kitchen and living room but freeze again when you hear a hearty chuckle. You turn around to see Simon smiling kindly at you. It was weird. It was really, really weird. You stare up at the tall man and look terrified. He takes a few steps towards you and you flinch, prompting a frown from him. Once he reaches your side, he reaches out and gently starts guiding you back to the room that you woke up in. You seem confused that he’s being so soft with you but you’re not about to complain about it. Once you both reach the door, he finally speaks softly, as if he’s afraid that the harshness of his voice and accent is going to scare you even more.

“I’ll finish up breakfast for us, sweetheart. Get changed and I’ll set the table.”