#<- just in case for any tags blocking this kind of stuff

[knownbyanothername]

periodic reminder that i generally do not fuck with exclusionists. especially anyone who fucks w ace or pan people.

[chalk-homunculus]

There's a few good irl friends we have that we unfortunately don't live very close to, but every time we do see them I can tell a part of our brain feels relieved in the sort of "home with my people" type of way. It's just that, on some level I also realize that's just us. We've always felt a bit like an outsider, even in groups where we're technically "allowed in" if that makes any sense. It's like... I can see the complicated, colourful strings that connect all those people to eachother, histories, inside jokes, and all- but for us, at best, we'll have one or two of those strings, connected to maybe one or two people, while theirs are fully woven, like fabric. We may be developing a few spider-silk like threads with some of them if we're lucky, but we're still obviously just a frayed edge, something to either burn off or patch over. And we're all too aware of this, and it makes us overthink. Interacting with people, even when we WANT to, is exhausting and stressful, because we think over every single thing we said, every single reaction we picked up from people around us, every single topic- and even the slightest perceived negative reaction (oh gods, did the way we worded this upset person 1? Oh no, did the way I explained that annoy person 4? What if the way I talked about this other thing was unclear, does person 2 think badly of us now because they think we were describing our own opinions?) Becomes a ghost in our head that keeps haunting us until we either know for sure it's been sorted out (which often annoys people, that we want to go over the same damn things a million times out of insecurity) or it cracks us and makes us entirely sabotage and burn that bridge ourselves, before anyone else can (because we've fooled ourselves into thinking that if it's us that burns the bridge, it won't hurt as much and it's better for them that way). It's the way we've become so flighty and quick to flee and run from people, that's in contradiction with the constant desire to make meaningful connections and have close friends. It's just another thing we're working on in therapy, but it feels like this one is one of the biggest struggles and I feel bad about it, not for our sake, but for those few actually strong bond friendships we have, where those friends have to put up with us being terrified of their larger friend group because no matter what we feel like a disconnected outsider

[juicykvnture]

SPRING BREAKERS

Jason Todd x fem!Reader x Roy Harper | Challengers AU

tags: AFAB reader, substance (alcohol & marijuana) use, mean!Reader, oral f!receiving (though clothes), hair pulling, like one smack?

a/n: yes. It’s inspired by that scene, thank you and goodnight.

wc: 3.7k

part 2 | masterlist

Dating is just a distraction, relationships have to take a backseat. Anyone who disagrees just doesn’t know what tennis is, tennis is a relationship. The most important one in your life.

You didn’t exert yourself to the point of passing out for no reason, all those scraped knees, all the sweat, the blood, the tears, it’s all part of your purpose. You were meant to be number one, no doubt about it.

It started on the court, like any sort of interaction you’ve ever had, and it wasn’t even your opponent.

Nope, just the two dolts standing in the corner staring at you. Two sets of eyes. One calculated, watching every swing of your arm and every single tilt of your head. The other? Flicking between you and the racket in his own hand with an almost dumbfounded grin.

On the left, is Jason Todd. His eyes narrowed with every single step you take. Ice they called him, his expression calculating, unwavering. How fucking cliche, huh? You’ve played against him before in practice matches, even though you two never really got conversational, you had a silent understanding of each other. No bullshit, no chitchat, just some good tennis. It’s not like you’ve got a high opinion of Jason or anything, sure he can play but he’s a goddamn Wayne at the end of the day, whether his Daddy’s money has anything to do with his place in Stanford or not.

On the right? The opposite. Roy Harper. He’s all dumb little grins and wandering eyes. Fire, cause of that stupid red mane of his, slightly swooped to the side behind his sunglasses. He’s quick though, you have to admit. Quick with his serves, quicker with his conquests, and a never-ending roster it seems. You don’t get it, truly. He can hardly have his head in the game if it’s constantly between someone’s legs.

“I’d let her fuck me with that racket.” Roy hums into his can of Coke, his eyes flickering from you on the court to Jason beside him.

“You’d let anyone fuck you with anything, Harper.” Is Jason’s only response, seemingly indifferent as his hand goes to snatch the can out of Roy’s hand, finishing what’s left of it in a quick swig.

“Hey,” Roy’s lips curl into the beginning of a stupid little pout, but he’s quickly distracted by the whistle blowing, Jason tossing the now crumpled-up can into his lap, already on his feet.

Wiping the sweat off of your forehead with the back of your hand, you’re crouched down on the court, staring at your laces as you catch your breath. You won again, of course you did. A wound to your own ego would bear greater pain than any physical injury you could ever imagine.

“You’re good,” Jason observes, his shadow blocking out the beating sun. Yeah, fork found in kitchen.

“I know.”

It’s been abundantly clear since you three started whatever the fuck this even is, there are no friends in your game. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with drinking socially to quell your loneliness, but this isn’t meant to mean anything, why would it? Tennis is your life, anything and everything else is secondary.

You blink, staring at the joint in Roy’s hand. You’re usually strict about this kind of shit, for your own good. You’d honestly rather tear every ligament in your shoulder before failing a fucking drug test before a game. But you’ve got all your stuff shoved into a suitcase anyway, tossed under your bed and ready for spring break. All of your practice games are done and dusted until the real thing this summer. You’ll be fine, it’s just one laid-back evening, besides Roy and his stupid puppy eyes kinda got you into it.

“Hey.” Jason sighs, unceremoniously tossing the case of beer he had to drag here from his own dorm onto the carpet, the bottles clinking against each other.

“Seriously, not an ounce of alcohol to your name, what’re ya, a nun?” -with a sigh he slumps himself down on the floor beside Roy, letting his head thump back against the dresser.

“No, it fucks with my focus.” You correct him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you reach for a bottle, cracking it open against your side table, leaving a small scratch in the wood.

“Do you shit diamonds or something? Loosen up a little.” Roy hums as he stares up at the ceiling, the joint hanging between his lips. You’re not uptight, really! You’re just committed, okay? There’s a difference.

Though still, in an effort to shut him up, you take a drag, sticking your tongue out as if to prove a point.

Jason just watches in silence, sipping at his beer until his gaze narrows just by a fraction, his eyes flickering down to your mouth until he receives a huff of smoke in his face, snapping him out of it.

“So,” you sigh, passing the joint over to Jason, your head tilting over to Roy, “How long have you two been-”

“Oh, we’re not really-” Roy begins with a sheepish chuckle before he’s swiftly cut off by Jason sweating like a sinner in a church,

“No, it’s uh, it’s not like that,” -his voice more than a half-dead drawl for what seems like the first time ever.

You’re in no position to be judging their homoerotic friendship by any means, but you have a functioning pair of pupils in your eyes and at least two brain cells to rub together, and judging by their reactions you aren’t that far from the truth.

“You don’t sound too sure there, Jay,” Roy mumbles into his bottle, chewing on his tongue piercing under the dim light of your dorm room. Within the last couple of seconds you’ve definitely felt a shift in the atmosphere, the air heavier and you swear it ain’t the weed. The glances shared aren’t so subtle anymore, especially with how Roy’s lying back with his head against your side table. He’s got that same grin on his face that he always wears but his eyes ain’t boyishly wide like usual, they’re half-lidded, his t-shirt riding up his torso just a little bit.

“We’re just close.” Jason clarifies as he clears his throat, downing another sip of beer. He hates how unsure he sounds, He’s Jason fucking Todd, he’s ice.

“We met when we were like ten at a tennis camp or something.. and he just stuck around like gum on my shoe.”

Roy shoots him a saccharine little pout at that, his tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet of beer that slowly drips down the neck of his bottle.

You almost feel like you’re walking in on something here, and honestly? Maybe you are.

“Redheads aren’t my type,” Jason grumbles, passing the joint over to you. He’s gripping that glass so hard that he’s got the condensation dripping down his fingers. He’s also sulking like a moody toddler, you’d laugh if you weren’t so weirdly intrigued. You’re not entirely sure just who he’s tying to convince here.

Roy just grins, tucking a stand of his messy hair out of his eyes before going for another drag, “You’re full of shit, Jay. What about-“

“Enough. C’mere.” You suddenly pipe up, rising to your feet, only to promptly slump back on your bed, your fingers drumming against the mattress.

Dumb and dumber just stare at you, Roy tilting his head to the side like a puppy seeing snow for the first time in his life, Jason’s expression faltering for just a moment before he washes the knot in his throat down with another swig of beer.

“Huh? Me or him-”

Before you even think to answer Jason’s question, both of them are perched on the edge of the mattress beside you, Jason still gripping onto his beer bottle for dear life, while the other offers a sheepish grin, dragging his blunt nails over the fabric of his shorts.

“Hi,” Roy breathes, slumping his head against your shoulder like one of those great danes who thinks it’s a lapdog. You can feel his eyes on you under his messy red bangs, unfortunately it’s almost cute.

“Hey,” Without thinking, your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb moving in little circles against his flushed cheeks. You can’t even laugh at him right now, his eyes as half lidded and teary as yours. He’s absolutely baked, all three of you are.

Tilting your head to your left, Jason isn’t much better at the moment, awkwardly drumming his fingers against the neck of the cold bottle, holding it to his face. He’s staring down at the floor mostly, but occasionally over at you two, how Roy leans into you like a plant chasing the sun. You can tell he’s a little tense, his chin on his knee as his free hand twirls the white streak at the front of his hairline around between his thumb and forefinger.

“S’all fuckin’ spinnin.’” He mutters, his voice oddly soft for once. The room, his brain, his feelings, everything.

Slowly, he feels a a hand tugging on his wrist, his fingers curling up slowly before his hand falls back down against the covers with a small thump. He’s not sure why your touch grounds him, truly. It’s like he’s smoked away all his pride, nudging at your palm with his head.

“Close your eyes.”

You’re not sure why you even said that, you’re not in the right state of mind either. Perhaps you’re subconsciously testing these two, seeing if they’ll actually listen to you.

Sure enough, they do. Of course they do.

You chew on your tongue, glancing between the two of them. Roy caved in first, but that’s only cause he’s barely able to focus on anything anyway, anything other than your thumb tracing under his jawline. After a blink, Jason followed, setting his bottle down on the floor with a small clink against the metal leg of your bed frame, his lashes fluttering shut until like Roy, his head lands against your shoulder, subconsciously nosing at your neck.

It’s spring 2006, you smell like weed, sun cream and that little perfume that lives on your bathroom counter, that pink one with little green diamonds. Jason isn’t sure what it’s called, he doesn’t particularly care. But every time he smells it, he just knows he’s going home with a busted up ego and an equally busted up racket.

You’re gnawing on the insides of your cheeks now, thinking. You were tempted to call bullshit on Jason’s defensiveness earlier, but that would’ve only ended in an earful and him not speaking a word to either you or Roy for the rest of the night.

You test them once more, tilting your head back to Roy, letting your lips brush against his. Despite his slow and sluggish movements otherwise, his hand finds your knee, crawling up your thigh and curling into the fabric of your shorts. His response is immediate, bumping his forehead against yours in a clumsy attempt to tilt his head and let his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He’d whine about it under any other circumstances but it’s just muffled by your own teeth tugging at the bar of his tongue piercing.

Jason barely has the chance to even let his eyes open before your hand moves to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the dark curls at his nape and giving them a firm yank, just to fuck with him, of course.

Roy being loud is a given, literally look at him.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sheer whine of filth to leave Jason like that, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his hands move with urgency equal to the one of his lips against yours, he’s pawing at you at this point, pulling your shirt in every which way.

Roy is busy mouthing at your neck, biting at your skin and soothing it with the cold ball of his tongue piercing as if to apologise.

The second you pull your mouth off if Jason to as much as breathe, he looks like he’s about to sob, near going cross eyed when he sees that thin string of spit break.

“No, no, no, come back,” He’s shaking his head like you’ve denied him his one and salvation, tugging at your shirt, the fabric closed tightly in his fists.

You’re quick to shut him up once more, briefly brushing your mouth against his before you tilt your head back, letting him trail his kisses down the other side of your neck.

Shit, your heads spinning now. Like really spinning, staring between them both as you feel hands wandering up your shirt, tugging at the waistband of your shorts, everything, everywhere.

As you’re watching this all unfold, something hits you. You’re tempted to mess with them again, like you so often are. Maybe it’s your own inebriation talking right now, but you just wanna test them a little bit more.

Your grip on Roy’s jaw tightens by a fraction, crossing your legs as you lean back a little bit, your hand in Jason’s hair giving him another little yank upwards. You’re not entirely sure what possesses you in that moment, nor are you in any kind of rational headspace, but you can’t help it.

Slowly, you tilt your head back, either hand still on Jason and Roy, cradling their faces in your palms.

Just as Jason tilts his head down to press a kiss to your inner wrist, you yank Roy’s jaw forward, ultimately resulting in the two of them bumping teeth, then lips, then tongue, and then holy fuck, they’re just fully going at it in front of you, Roy lazily cracking one eye open to help you tug your shorts down your thighs, just enough so he can snap the waistband of your panties against your hip.

Bastard.

It’s like making your Barbie’s kiss, just in this case, it’s two grown ass men.

Roy’s been around the block, he knows what you’re doing, leaning back on your elbows like you’ve got front row seats. You’re shameless about it too, which is actually one of the very few things you two happen to have in common.

Jason well and truly cannot formulate a coherent thought other than the raging boner he’s shifting his legs to hide, his eyes shut tight, feeling the ball of a piercing drag against the corner of his mouth.

He knows you don’t have one, you don’t kiss like that.

But he knows exactly who does.

You were right earlier.

That feeling like you’re walking in on something here, and now? You definitely are.

Jason’s so unbothered normally, they call him Ice for a fucking reason. But right now? He couldn’t hold your gaze in a conversation for longer than about two seconds before he was ducking his head with reddened cheeks and staring down into his lap, trying to ignore the throb between his legs.

Though apparently, he’s warmed up to everyone in Stanford but you. He certainly gets on with your Roy just fine, better than just fine. You wouldn’t even bat an eye if you heard those two fucking in the changing rooms.

The weed is just fucking Jason up right now, he knows, but he can’t—he can’t even do anything about it, he’s got his hands clutching his knees so hard they’re almost shaky, It’s weird and embarrassing and he’s been doing so well trying to act like this means nothing, like this is just a causal smoke.

Only Roy knows about his dilemma, and his only wonderful advice all year long has been to get his head out of his ass and a whack to the back of his head, followed by a delighted snicker of, “Fuck, you need to get laid more,” to Jason’s inconsolable grumbles.

Roy is honestly finding this shit more amusing than he has any right to, his words coming in a drawn out pant as he reaches a hand up to ruffle Jason’s hair a little, his grin unwavering.

“You embarrassed, Jay?” Roy hums, all too proud as he glances between you and Jason, his pupils blown like saucers.

You’re not sure whether to speak or not.

“Off,” Jason shifts slightly, letting his fingers uncurl from a fist as he tugs lightly at your shirt.

Roy only scoffs at that, his chin resting atop your shoulder as he eyes his friend, bumping his head against yours with a small huff.

“C’mon, you’re gonna freak out n’forget your manners and everything?”

That makes Jason avert his eyes, though only briefly before he’s staring at you again, tugging at the cotton.

“Off,” he repeats, “Please, take it off.”

You’re not a fan of people telling you what to do, especially guys who think they’re the shit cause they’ve got a couple good matches under their belts. You try to convince yourself that it’s just out of curiosity, that it’s another one of your stupid little tests - just to see how they react.

Your shirt is soon pulled off over your head as you move to lean back against your headboard, staring at them with a slight arch of your brow.

Oh. You’re so dismissive of them almost, just like you would be on the court. Of course you are. God, Jason feels stupid even sitting here. He spends enough time trying to prove himself as a player against you, but this is incomparable.

Roy on the other hand, is well.. Roy, letting out an obnoxious whistle before he’s silenced by your balled up shirt hitting him square in the face, catching it in his teeth.

“I’ll pay you twenty dollars if you lemme keep that.” He mumbles, twirling it around on his finger. He’s staring at you. Yeah, he knows where your eyes are.. but why would he be looking there if you’ve got a perfectly fine pair of tits be could be staring at instead?

“And you call Jason the freak?”

You’re doing that thing with your voice, again. The one that makes his brain sort of go fuzzy, you talk to him like he’s an idiot. He is.

God, there’s something seriously wrong with him.

Jason isn’t distracted by your stupid chitchat, he doesn’t care if Roy pokes fun at him or not, all he cares about is the pretty girl laid out in front of him. His lips trail down your neck, kissing and biting but not too hard, he doesn’t wanna freak you out yet.

You keep staring at him, with those pretty eyes, with that unreadable expression, and he’s not going to survive this. God. He feels like he’s dying. Maybe from embarrassment, or lack of oxygen, or a hard-on; but he feels like he’s dying. Like he’ll pass away any moment, and then never have to live through this moment again.

Roy shifts quietly, thumbing over the drawstring of his shorts as he moves to sit up beside you, the bed creaking slightly under the weight of three people.

Jason glances up at you through his eyelashes, holding the silver pendant of your necklace in his teeth.

He looks sweet for once, the white streak in his tousled hair falling into his eyes as he shifts down the bed, the top of his nose dragging between between your tits, down to your stomach before he pauses, fingers lightly tracing the waistband of your underwear.

“Can I?”

When you nod, Jason’s other hand wanders up your thigh, tracing little circles over your skin before he lifts your leg over his shoulder, anything in an effort to be closer to you as he catches the little bow at the front of your panties between his teeth.

Roy finds it funny actually, how a bitch like you shatters people’s tennis careers with a drawer full of pretty, lacy things.

He definitely wasn’t snooping in your drawer while you were looking for a lighter earlier.

Roy raises an eyebrow for a moment, his lips curling up into another one of his stupid smirks when his eyes drift down to the slight wet patch in your panties, he noticed it earlier when he pulled at your shorts while him and Jason made out.

“And I’m the freak? I mean you’re literally-”

He’s very swiftly shut up by your hand smacking the underside of his jaw, your hot breath ghosting against his lips.

“Nobody’s talking to you, Harper.”

There you go again, treating him like an idiot. Fuck, he needs to get his brain checked out cause that shouldn’t make his dick throb the way it does.

In efforts to muffle another utterly embarrassing sound, Jason pushes his face further into the lacy fabric of your panties, his blunt nails digging into your thighs, hard enough to leave little crescents on your skin.

You’re having none of it though, unimpressed with how he’s trying to keep himself quiet for the sake of his fucking pride. Men and their egos, huh?

Your hand goes down to tangle in his hair, lightly tugging at the long dark strands at the base of his neck, the action that resulted in that precious little whine earlier.

This time, it’s paired with an unintelligible ramble into your clothed cunt about how pretty you are, his hips pushing into the mattress beneath him.

Jason doesn’t even care if Roy laughs at him for being whipped for you at this point. He’s mouthing at you through the fabric almost desperately. He’s all over the fucking place, one second he’s got his nose bumping against your clothed clit, and then his lips are at your thighs, your hips, anywhere he can reach, any way he can be close to you.

“Please,”

Kisses all over your thighs, shaky pants as he tries not to grind against the mattress too pathetically, his eyes half lidded as he uses the last of his common sense to try string together a sentence.

“Please let me fuck you.”

Roy can feel his heartbeat in his ears as he palms himself, unable to stop his hand sliding under his waistband.

You’re cradling Jason’s face again as he keeps mumbling into your thigh, tilting your head up to glance at Roy.

“You just gonna sit there and watch, freak?”

a/n: part 1, possibly????

yes I totally wrote this for myself.. yes I may or may not be cooking up part 2 if anyone’s interested..

asks and requests currently open ;)

Okay, I’m gonna go lay down, love you bye bye x

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ WHAT LIES UNDERNEATH [cult member peter parker x reader]

pairings: dark! peter parker x reader

blurb/part 2

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after losing your family, your friends, and your boyfriend, Peter Parker casually crashes in your life out of nowhere. His presence was welcoming, as his so-called village is too. But his hospitality seems to have something darker underneath

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ NON-CON/DUB-CON (RAPE), heavy manipulation, toxic relationship, cult beliefs, oral (fem receiving), drugging (use of an aphrodisiac), p in v, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, obsessive behavior, mild violence, mentions of death, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied murder. lemme know if I missed any. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

If you don't wanna see my dark stories, please block the tag #madi: dark content

a/n: this is loosely based on Midsommar, it's a really good movie. I have changed some stuff that i didn't feel comfortable writing or I just didn't want to write. Also this maybe the worst smut you've ever read probably. don't steal any of my shit or I'll steal ur head.

"I'm sorry sissy, the darkness is consuming me, and I will take them with me"

Those were the last texts your sister sent you. You were worried sick about her cryptic message and wanted disclosure from her, but she hasn't written back.

Your sister has been known to be a rather mentally challenged person. She was just venting to you. Right?

It was unnaturally still in the air, sitting at your kitchen table with the phone pressed close to your ear. Your fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against the edge of the table, still collapsed trying to ground yourself. All night, your sister has not picked up her phone. The strange text messages she had sent earlier in the day replayed like a broken record in your mind.

How many times have you been thinking of something really wrong, more than you would admit, but still dismissing it?

Somehow tonight felt different.

You texted Harry to reassure you, but the typical unsympathetic reply only served to add more weight to that chest heaviness again. Now you are left alone with your thoughts, and each one seems darker than the other.

You were about to not pick the phone because it looked like a spam call to you. The number was unknown, but that gut feeling inside you made you press accept.

"Hello?" Your voice dared as you strove to steady it.

The unknown caller said your name as they spoke, "Is this her?" The voice on the other end was calm but carried a cold detachment that made your stomach drop.

"Yes," you replied.

"This is Officer Hill with the NYPD. I'm sorry to tell you we've had an incident regarding your family," she said.

Air disappeared from your lungs suddenly, and your grip tightened against the phone. "What kind of incident?"

"I understand this is tough," she said, her voice carefully measured. "But I need you to come to the station. It's better to speak in person."

The issue of reality has been stretched and heavy between you, and it was so unbearable. “No,” you spoke finally in a panic voiding interiorly. “Please, just tell me now. What happened?”

There was a moment's hesitation in Hill's case. In that moment, you could feel the world starting to crack around you.

"There is no easy way to say this," she finally managed to come up with. "Your parents and sister were involved in a fatal accident. I am so sorry."

You could not comprehend those words for a moment. They swayed in the air outside with an unreal and incomprehensible quality. "What do you mean? Are they okay? What—"

"They didn't survive," Hill said softly, and that cut through your spiraling questions.

The phone fell from your hand and banged tipsily on the table. To this resonating rattle in the small space, however, your ear was tuned out. Your chest tightened, and the phrase ran in your brain, echoing in shallow gasps.

They didn't survive.

The days that followed the funeral just passed in a haze of hollow condolences and noise deafening silence. Your world had been torn apart while everything moved forward—all relentless and lame. Harry, your boyfriend of 2 years stayed as he assured you, but his presence seemed more of a fulfillment of an obligation than any comfort.

He was not exactly a cruel person; at least not really overt, for distance was a high-dubious chasm with every awkward conversation and with every minute spent by him scrolling through his phone instead of talking to you. Not blind are you to those glances he exchanged with his buddies once they assumed you weren't watching. There is pity instead of love and comfort in his eyes whenever you cry.

The last straw fell on a quiet Friday evening. You had dragged yourself to the apartment of Harry, looking for refuge in his presence after yet another sleepless night. He was lounging in the couch with one hand gripping a phone while the other was a beer.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," you admitted softly and settled next to him. Your voice cracked, and at last, the tears that were kept in were poured out. "I don't know how to do this without them. I don't know how to… keep going."

Harry glanced towards your direction, the look on his face inscrutable. After that, he set his phone down and fell into this heavy sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I understand, okay? But you can't keep unloading things like this on me. It's…it's too much."

Your heart sank. "Too much?"

"I'm not your therapist," he said in defensive. "I don't know what you want me to do. I can't fix this for you."

"I'm not asking you to fix it!" You snapped while accepting the anger that had replaced the hurt. "I just need you to be here. To actually care."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he diverted his gaze from her, tightening his jaw. "This isn't fair," he muttered.

"What do you mean fair!?" you yelled, your volume rising. "Me grieving my whole family? It isn't as terrible as needing the person who's supposed to love me to act and comfort me?"

Harry stood up immediately and started pacing the tiny living room. "I didn't sign up for this," he said. The words cut like knives. "I feel like… like I'm drowning too. I'm trying to keep my head above water, but here you are, pulling me under."

Your breath literally caught in your throat at that last sentence, as if a blow on the physical plane had hit home. "Is that really how you see me? As one who drags you down?" You asked in disbelief.

However, he stopped pacing and turned toward you, shoulders sagging. "I don't know," he said more quietly. "I don't know what I feel anymore. My friends tell me I should end it. They say I can't do this to myself. But I thought, you know, that might help."

"Help?" you echoed, voice breaking. "You think pity keeping me would help? Do you know how humiliating that is?"

Harry looked away. "Well, I'm sorry! alright!? It's not like I want to be part of your fuckin tenth reason in your suicide note!". Guilt was scrawled across his face when those words left his mouth. "I didn't mean for it to be like this."

You stood waveringly. Nevertheless, your voice remained firm. "If this is too much for you, then spit it out. Be frank for once, Harry."

He hesitated, his silence answering the question you hadn't dared to ask outright.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Well, that's what I figured."

You took your bag and stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind you just before the torrent of tears fell as you stumbled down the street. For the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. Sure, Harry wasn't the best boyfriend, but now you didn't have family, Harry, heck, you don't even have friends to pat you in the back and tell you it's alright.

You were truly alone, crying in the middle of the streets.

A week later, at the dinner party of an old classmate's friend, Peter Parker walks into your life.

Peter wasn't meant to be there—he admitted that soon after you started the talk. "I kind of crashed this," he confessed with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "I heard there was free food, and, uh… I have no self-control."

You laughed against your will. It was a real laugh that felt vaguely familiar after weeks of grief.

He was awkward but charming, with rapid tumbling out of words out of his mouth as he tried to start a small talk. "So, uh, how do you know Sam? Are you a friend from work? Oh wait, no, you don't look old enough to work with him—wait, not that you look like a kid or anything. I just meant—"

"It's okay," you interrupted, smile still there regardless. "I get it. I am also kinda crashing here, I never really got a proper invite, I just found out from one of my old classmates that there was a party, now here I am"

The more you could talk to him, the more you would discover how easy it was to be in his company. Unlike Harry, who had always been polished and withdrawn, Peter was frank and genuine, emotions laid out for all to see.

And by the end of the night, he had known your family. You had not intended to tell him, but somehow the way he listened— actually listened— made it spill out.

"I'm so sorry," Peter said softly, voice laced thickly with empathy. "That is… I can't even imagine what you're going through. But, if you ever need someone to talk to—or like, someone to distract you with dumb jokes—I'm here."

You've been taken aback by his earnestness. Finally, after what felt like years, someone might have noticed you.

It was indeed one of those nights which made time stretch out into eternity. You were there with Peter on a park bench where the faint light of the flickering city lights was shining through dense bushes and trees. The air was crisp, a cool kind that could very much seep into one's bones, yet Peter's company made it bearable.

He had this way of filling the silence without forcing it: sometimes talking, rambling on about whatever random thought invaded his head, sometimes just sitting with a person comfortable in the quiet, and today, he was acting especially thoughtful, staring at some faraway towers protruding above the skyline.

"Can I ask you something?" he suddenly blurted out, breaking the stillness.

"Sure."

He hesitated, bit his bottom lip as if he couldn't decide how to start, and began speaking. "Do you ever feel like…I don't know, like you're stuck?"

You blinked. It caught you off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Like everybody around you is moving ahead, but you're just there standing still," he explained, his words pretty crumbling out in that earnest, awkward way of his. "Like no matter what you do, you can't catch up."

The question was a little more awkward for you than you'd expected. "Yeah," you quietly admitted. "too many times than how I want it to be"

"It's tiring" he said, his eyes still far. "I get that. After my uncle… well died, after all that, I felt like I was trapped in this… I don't know, this loop. So, I couldn't allow myself to be happy because it would feel wrong, you know? Like I didn't deserve it."

You were gaping at him, flabbergasted by his openness. Peter was not the kind to talk much about himself—not like this, anyway.

"How did you get out of it?" you asked in a soft voice.

He smiled faintly. "I didn't. Not really. But I found something that helped."

"What was it?"

Peter gazed upward at the stars. "My hometown. It's a little dot in the middle of nowhere on the map. Quiet, kind of old-fashioned place. But there's something… something grounding."

He stopped for a brief while, casting a doubtful glance at you. "I go back every summer. It's like hitting a reset button or something. And, uh… would you want to join me this year?"

Totally unexpected. "You want me to go with you?"

"Yeah," Peter said quickly, blushing in the face of it. "If you want to. No pressure, or anything. Just you have been through a lot, and I thought maybe time away might help or something. It's not fancy or anything—definitely not the kind of place with five-star hotels—but it's peaceful. And I'd be there, so… you wouldn't be alone."

At his words, your throat became somewhat tight. He was not offering a vacation. He was inviting you to an escape.

"I don't know," You finally ventured with a little quiver of voice. "What if I just feel worse?"

"You won't," Peter said firmly, his brown eyes locking onto yours. "I won't let you."

There was something so genuine about the way he said it, like he truly believed he could protect you from the weight of your grief.

"What is it like?" you asked, helpless curiosity walking over your hesitation.

Peter's eyes set aglow at that moment, brimming over with a lot of excitement. "Oh gosh! Now where do I even begin? Okay, so there's this diner right in the middle of town. It's run by Mr. and Mrs. Beck. They've been married for like fifty years or something, and they make the fluffiest pancakes you've ever tasted in your life. And then there's this old library. Small, yes, but it has this weird charm, you know? Everything is crooked, and half the books are falling apart, but I love it. Oh, and there's this great big field just outside of town—it's perfect to stargaze because you can see the Milky Way out there. It's insane."

Now he was practically bouncing out of his seat, his enthusiasm almost contagious.

"It sounds… amazing," you found yourself admitting. A small smile tugged your lips.

"It's amazing," Peter said earnestly. "And I think you would love it. Everyone is so welcoming there. It's like… a little bubble of goodness in this horrible world sometimes."

For just a moment, you let yourself imagine it, far from the city and the reminders of everything that had been lost, somewhere I might again breathe.

"Okay," you said finally, barely above a whisper.

Peter's eyes lit up. "Really? You're going to come?"

"Yeah," you said, surprising even yourself. "I think I need this."

"Trust me; you won't regret it," Peter continued, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this trip wouldn't fix everything. Maybe it wouldn't fix anything. But for now, it was enough to know you wouldn't be facing it alone.

It was a surreal feeling about the trip toward Peter's hometown. It was almost a relief because you sensed that you were really leaving everything behind, even thought it was just a few weeks. Driving in a comfortable pattern with Peter talking animatedly about all of the town's strange things, while you listened and occasionally chimed in with a question or a laugh at one of his goofy replies.

As you drove farther from the city and the scenery opened to rolling hills and dense forests before you, Peter shifted in his seat to adjust the radio. The soft tune filled the car and merged with the sounds of the tires over the road.

"You are going to love it," Peter said, glancing at you with an innocent smile. "Air's so fresh it nearly smells fake, and the stars. They're nothing like anything you've ever seen before. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," you said, smiling despite the nervous knot still twisting about in your chest.

The town came into view just about the time the sun started sinking, dipping the horizon in gold and pinks. It was a little bit smaller than you had in mind, the kind of place that probably knew everyone by name.

Peter slowed the car as you entered the main street, which was lined with quaint buildings that appeared to have been plucked from another era. A few of the local's whereabouts were either on their porches talking, in their gardens working, or taking their dogs out for a walk. They would almost wave at Peter as they drove past.

"See? Told you. Nicest people on the planet," said Peter returning the waves enthusiastically.

"No shit," you said, watching a woman coming across with a basket of flowers smile toward you warmly.

Peter stopped in a graveled driveway leading to a homely two-storied fairy tale house. Crooked white picket fence and wildflower-laden garden, there was little that screamed charm.

The moment the car stopped, from the front door, she came, a petite woman in her 30's with brown hair, beaming with kindness in her eyes and warmth in her smile.

"There's my darling nephew!" she called out.

Peter jumped out of the car, practically bounding onto her, hugging her. "Aunt May!"

"And you must be the girl Peter keeps talking about," she said, her bright eyes finding their way to you. "Peter has told me so much about you."

"Oh, um, hi," you said, stepping out of the car and giving a small wave.

"Then that's it," she said, surprising with her strong hug for her small figure. "It's so lovely to finally meet you. Come in! It's rather hot out here during the summers"

Once you stepped into the house, you were met with interior that was as cozy as anyone could expect, the design suggests mixes between vintage and modern furniture, with colorful throw blankets and knickknacks making it feel lived in. There was also a faint waft of freshly baked cookies, which you soon spotted on the kitchen counter.

"Make yourself at home," May said, "Your room's already set up upstairs. Peter can show you around."

"Thanks May," Peter replied, already grabbing your bag before you could protest.

Up came Peter, leading you to a small but cozy guest room overlooking the backyard.

"Hope that's cool," said Peter, dropping your bag next to the bed. "Not fancy, but it's quiet."

"It's perfect," you said, placing your backside on the edge of the bed and taking a moment to breathe.

In the following days, Peter became your own personal tour guide, leading you through the town every nook and cranny, and introduced you to everyone as if you were already a part of the community, and to your surprise, they all welcomed you with open arms

Mr. and Mrs. Beck would insist on serving you their best pancakes while there at the diner even after breakfast time.

"We have heard so much about you," Mrs. Beck said it with a twinkle in her eyes. "Peter's nearly counting the days until you came."

Peter turned red and scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks, Mrs. Beck. Subtle as always."

Library, this was to be; the charmingly ramshackle structure seemed to sag under the weight of its many books. Peter's eyes lit up as he walked through those rows of crooked shelves with his fingers trailing over the spines.

"This here was my escape growing up," he said, pulling a worn copy of The Hobbit from the shelf. "Any time things got… overwhelming, I'd come here. Just me, a book, and a whole lot of silence."

This was the kind of moment when one caught a glimpse into Peter's world of quiet, reflective, introspective thinking where the depths beneath the sunshine state, as always, reside.

The very field that Peter had described so vividly turned out to be even more breathtaking than you ever imagined. The grass stretched out in every direction, swaying gently in the breeze, and the sky above was that of a canvas painted with stars, brighter and bolder than he had ever seen.

With a dramatic sigh, Peter flopped onto the ground, patting a spot next to him. "Come on, you're not getting the full experience unless you lie down."

You hesitated to lie down beside him, letting the cool grass tickle your arms as you stared up at the infinite expanse of sky.

"Wow," you breathed.

"Yeah?" he said, turning his head towards you. "It's like the universe decided to show off or something."

They lay there silently for a good while with the sound of the rustling grass and an occasional chirp of crickets. That was the most peaceful you had felt in a long, long time.

Maybe it was a little initial self-talk that told you it was just small town hospitality. People in cities don’t wave at strangers, though maybe that’s simply what people do out here. Maybe they were just genuinely curious about a stranger in a little place where everyone knows everyone.

But as the day went on, those small gestures, those innocent jests began to feel… different.

It started out slow.

At the diner, Mrs. Beck lingered longer than she ought to while refilling your coffee, her smile warm but sharp, penetrating eyes boring onto you.

"You're feeling like one of us already, aren't you?" she would have said, almost as if it were a statement rather than a question.

You gave a polite smile with no idea of how to answer. "Uh, yeah, everybody's really welcomed here."

"Oh, good," she said, with a firm nod. "That's what we want."

There's something in the way she said it, words weighing a lot more than they were supposed to.

And so it went; the Becks household was not the only one. The pattern held true for nearly every encounter.

"How are you settling in?"

Not "welcome" or "hi and how long are you staying?" The last kind of question you would expect from someone meeting a newcomer. The question, however, assumed permanence. It assumed that you were settling in, that you live here now.

Initially, you passed it off as just another one of those quirks that could be attributed to small-town hospitality. Maybe that's just their way of being polite. But after a few more days, it became pretty hard to ignore the repetition.

You brought it up to Peter one morning as the two of you sat on May's porch, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

"Is it just me," you began, keeping your tone light, "or does everyone here ask the same question?"

Peter looked up from his mug, a confused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What question?"

"How I'm 'settling in.' Like, literally everyone has said it."

"Oh, that?" Peter chuckled, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. "That's just how people are around here. Small towns, you know? Everyone's in everyone else's business, and they just want to make sure you're happy. It's aggressively wholesome."

You nodded while struggling to let his explanation take root in you, but that feeling of unease lingered.

Then came the presents.

The librarian insisted that you check out a copy of Little Women, even if you just went there to browse.

"You'll love it," she said, sliding it over the counter to you with a knowing smile.

"How do you know?" you asked, only half-joking.

Her smile didn't waver. "I just do."

At the hardware store, the owner gave you a tiny potted shrub. "Every home needs a little bit of green," he said cheerfully, but his eyes had a dark intensity that made him more intimidating.

"Thanks," you mumbled awkwardly, holding the plant as you walked out.

It was the kind of gift given to a father like you, not at all because you wanted it, but so they could wave it in your face.

The real breaking point occurred one night at the diner.

Peter was treating you to dinner there after spending the afternoon wandering around town. It was quieter than usual, the counter occupied only by a few regulars. The place smelled of coffee and fries, and while Peter was busy demolishing a plate of the latter, you excused yourself to go to the washroom.

The hallway at the back of the diner is dark and narrow, the overhead fluorescent lights humming in slightly grating tones. At the door marked "Women," you caught snatches of voices from the kitchen-garbled, urgent.

"…And she's settling in?"

"She seems fine so far. Peter's doing a good job keeping her comfortable."

You were frozen with your hand on the doorknob. Your pulse raced. "Good, she has to feel like she belongs, it's important."

Then there was a crashing sound of many dishes, followed by a long heavy pause.

"So," says the first voice, "you think she suspects anything?"

"No. Not yet."

There, silence fell between the voices after that, then just the faintest clink—the sound of silverware-and the quick pounding of your heartbeat resounded in your ears.

When you stepped back to the table, Peter's easy smile greeted you. "Everything cool?" he asked as he dipped a fry into ketchup. "Yeah," you said quickly as you slid into your seat. "Fine."

The mind remained racing.

They must be talking about someone else—a new hire at the diner. Maybe a new family into town. There was no way they were talking about you.

Right?

You tried to shake it off, sinking into Peter's chatter about the upcoming festival, but the unease clung to you like a second skin.

May's small guest room became so beautiful in the rays of the morning sun that they filtered through lace curtains and softly flecked the walls. You stared ridiculously at the ceiling, a heavy weight on your chest, making sleep unusually elusive. Thoughts had been just too loud and tangled.

Those whispers from the diner, the rehearsed kindness from townspeople, and the way he seemed to brush it all off so easily were elusive things you couldn't shake off. The most you told yourself was that it was probably nothing.

This is what you told yourself as you forced yourself out of bed and down the stairs. Peter wouldn't lie to you; he was the most genuine person you knew. Right?

The smell of pancakes and coffee greeted you in the kitchen.

By the stove stood Peter, his hair at odd angles and humming a tune under his breath. For a moment, you let yourself relax. This is Peter, your Peter.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" he greeted, grinning at you with that boyish grin. He slid over a plate of pancakes drenched in syrup and topped with fresh strawberries.

"Morning," you replied, low enough to be heard.

"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah, just didn't sleep much," you tugged and picked little at your food.

"Frowning," Peter said and kept down his fork. "Anything troubling you?"

"No," you lied quickly. "Just one of those nights."

He studied you for a moment, and you forced a small smile. Whatever the unease was, there was no reason for dragging Peter into it. He'd just dismiss it as he always did.

At last, the day was spent in a well-practiced blur of activities. It seemed Peter had made up his mind to keep you as busy as possible, even dragging you around the town park and to that creek he used to catch tadpoles as a kid. And if that weren't enough, he picked you up from the bakery where the sweet aroma of pastries was very strong. Offering you so many pastries till your stomach ached

Evening had cloaked the house in darkness, and so much for bottled up emotions. After dinner, the two of you sat alone in the living room: May well and truly off to bed. And that left you here with Peter sprawled across the couch flipping through some book, while you closed yourself into a tight little knot in the armchair.

"Peter," you broke the silence.

He blinked up at you with alarmed eyes. "Yeah?"

"I need to ask you something."

His brows knitted slightly, but he set aside the book. "Sure. What is it?"

You pause, heart racing. "Last night at the diner I heard something. Two people in the kitchen were talking about me."

Peter's face remained impassive. Still in his eyes, there was a flicker of something that disappeared as quickly as the light.

"What did they say?"

"They said you were doing a good job keeping me comfortable. That I need to feel like I belong." You paused, faltering with your voice. "Peter, what does that mean?"

Peter leaned forward, dangling his elbows on his knees. "It's nothing, they were probably just being nosy. People here care about each other, and when someone new comes in, they get… curious."

"That is not how it sounded," you said shaking your head. "It sounded like, intentional. It sounded much like plotting."

"You're overthinking this" Peter sighed rubbing back on his neck "Seriously, this town—it's different—close-knit. They just want to ensure you feel welcome, happy here, nothing but that".

“Then why does it feel so fake?” you pressed, raising your voice. “Everyone acts like they already know me. Like they’re expecting something to come from me.”

Peter tensed his jaw, and then he did not speak anything for a moment. He then stood up suddenly. "I brought you here for your help," he said in a hard tone. "I brought you here so you might begin a fresh mental state, a place where you could heal. And instead of appreciating it, you are looking for ways to tear it apart."

"I didn't ask for this!" you shot back, standing as well. "I didn't ask to be dragged into some town where everyone acts like I'm part of some… some secret club!"

Peter turned to you, eyes flashing. "You didn't have to ask! You were falling apart. You needed this. And I've been trying my best to make things easier for you, but you can't even see that, can you?"

The words hit you like a slap. Staring at him, breathless, tears filling your eyes. "Peter… why are you doing this?"

He softened immediately, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to—look, I just… I care about you. I hate seeing you so lost. I thought bringing you here would help, but maybe I was wrong."

You wiped your eyes, and the mind is busy with thoughts. Maybe he is right. Maybe you are over-reacting. Peter was not that manipulative. He was just worried.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice shaky. "But if this town is so great, then why does it feel like there is something you are not telling me?"

Peter's eyes drifted towards the window momentarily—as if to check whether there were eavesdroppers outside—"It is not like that," he said, whispering faintly barely audible.

"Then tell me what it is," you said. "If you want me to trust you, then stop keeping secrets."

Peter sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "Alright," he said. "But you're not going to like it."

"And that's supposed to mean what?"

He moved closer, looking you straight in the eye. "Some things are better demonstrated rather than told," he said, his tone even more pleading. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Just…give me another day."

You gawked at him, feeling your belly tie up in knots. Every instinct in you screamed to demand answers right now, but for some reason, the look in his eyes stopped you. He looked… desperate.

"Fine," you said with reluctance. "One more day."

Peter nodded, a relief washing over his face. "Thank you," he said almost inaudibly. "I assure you, it will all come into perspective soon."

But climbing into bed that night only made more pronounced the doubts gnawing at you louder than they had done before.

The cold, crisp evening air wrapped tight around you like a noose, as they led Peter into the woods. Try as you might to ignore the uncomfortable hollow in your gut, the longer you sat in this strange, unsettling village, the more you felt that something dark ran underneath it all. Every villager's smile, how they seemed to know just a little too much about you—everything just felt orchestrated, perfect.

You had held the doubts to yourself, buried deep down because Peter had always been the perfect anchor. But tonight, something flickered in his eyes—his tense shoulders and that almost undetectable flash of something darker crossing his face—told you that you were no longer in control.

You entered the clearing, gasping for air by the time you stepped into the structure resembling a stone chapel. The door agonizingly creaked open, bringing in the cold air from outside in juxtaposition with the stifling heat within. There, illuminated softly, were the others. A few you recognized from the eerily quiet familiar faces that watched you through predatory eyes.

It felt thick and heavy in the air, almost stultifying. The walls were closing in, and the silence was becoming almost oppressive. Peter gently but firmly drew you forward, his comforting presence still providing warmth, though everything else seemed wrong.

He was more weathered and older than you imagined, the drawn skin of his face tight over sharp features, pale and unblinking eyes matching his face. The robe hung dark and almost blended into shadows as he approached you. A murmur swept through the people gathered, and you paid little attention. Everything spun in your head and your heart drummed against your ears.

"Peter," said the man with a voice which grated like a rusty hinge, as if he had been whispering for years. "She has come."

Peter's eyes had been fixed on you for some time, and now he nodded slowly. The heat of his gaze made your skin crawl. The man checked you out from head to toe, and his intense eyes seemed to promise a lot of something. "Perfect," he said under his breath but not for too long so that others could hear him as he shouted, "She is the one. It's time."

Time, just like that word, seemed hollow, reverberating in the air around you like a bad omen. Instead, you opened your mouth to argue or question what part of this was really happening, but then, Peter squeezed your shoulder so tightly that it felt like it might crush your bones.

"It's okay," he whispered against your ear with his very warm breath. "I'll explain everything. You'll understand soon enough."

But understanding was the last thing you wanted to happen. All you had in mind was running. The man stepped forward, never breaking the eye contact. "Our village has managed to survive for many centuries and still thrive at its odds. But there is one rule that we have to abide by—there is one rule that can't be broken. After every eighteen years, one of our own must depart from this world and find someone in the outside world—from beyond these walls to someone pure."

Your mouth went dry. "What… what do you mean by that?"

"Every time a child turns eighteen, he must leave for a period of time to spend in the world outside, learn its ways; but after this period, he must return, and he must bring someone from the outside to add to the village."

Your body suddenly turned ice cold. "What do you mean, bring someone from the outside?" You spluttered. Your voice barely made an impression on the silence.

The smile of the man became broad. "A new family member. A mate. Someone to whom they will get married, with whom they will create children. This is the law."

You turned to Peter with wide eyes filled with horror as your heart stuttered deep in your chest. "What do you mean… a mate? You want me to…?"

Peter tightened his grip on your shoulder and breathed shallowly. "That's how it is done. This is how we survive. The village needs strong new blood. The children produced from these unions keep the bloodline pure, preventing inbreeding."

Inbreeding. That one word roared through your mind like no other thought. You couldn't breathe. You felt suffocated under the weight of all that.

"What… what are you saying?" you gasped, stunned and unable to take in everything being revealed to you.

Peter stepped even closer; eyes dark with something almost predatory. "That's how this works. You're part of the plan now. You have no choice. You are here because you were chosen. You are going to help us keep the village alive. Our survival depends on… "

"No," you whispered, stumbling backward as you tried to retreat. "No, this isn't right. You can't—this isn't—"

And suddenly, an old man stepped beside you, his shadowy tallness overshadowing you. "You will understand soon. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Every child who leaves returns with someone. And they will mate, they will bear children. This is how we preserve our people, how we protect our bloodline." He said as if it was your duty, as if this was your destiny.

"No!" You screamed tearing the air with your voice now choked in emotions. "This is insane! You're insane!"

The gentleness from Peter that used to soothe you all vanished, replaced by the steely resolve. He took another step forward, and instinctively you recoiled. "I did not want you to have this," he said, his voice low and strained, "but it is how it is. You will come to understand, and you will see that it is for the best."

The other villagers watched you with silent intensity as the space surrounding you felt as if it were closing in on you, with walls pressing from all sides. You could feel their hungry and expectant eyes on you.

You wanted to run. You wanted to yell.

But as soon as the old man reached out his hand to grab you, Peter's hold on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you anchored. "You don't understand yet," he said quietly, his voice tinged with something darker, something that, as it sent chills down your spine, made you think he was going to take you off somewhere to be tortured. "But you will. Soon, it will make sense. The only way to survive is this. This is something we can't let you ruin."

You were trapped. The weight of their expectations crushed you, their smiles now twisted masks of something monstrous beneath.

"Your child will also do the same duty," the old man said softly. "When they come back to the village with their mate, they will fulfill their destiny. They will carry our future."

Your chest constricted. Every part of you screamed to escape, to run, to fight against the suffocating nightmare into which you had been dragged. All the while, in the depths of your consciousness, you knew that there was no escaping this; they had planned for this. They had chosen you.

Back against the stone wall of the chapel now, your breath came in rapid, gasping suction since the reality began to drown in you. It beat loudly in your chest, a frantic mind racing for exit routes, for freedom from the path that had been laid out for me like a spider's web in all its horrible detail.

Peter's gaze was cold and cruel; it was no longer the warm presence one had hoped for. The heady words of the old man echoed in your ears, chilling and impossible to escape, like a curse. "You will return. You will bear our future."

As impossible as it was to believe, you finally realized it, this fucked up cycle wanted you to be part of it—and not by choice.

But you weren't going to let that happen.

You pushed past Peter and felt the sharp sting as he grabbed at your arm. You broke free, legs now trembling beneath you, as you headed for the door. You had to get out. You didn't know where you were running, but the woods were the only option. The only chance at freedom. You burst through the chapel door and into the cold night air, stumbling over uneven ground.

You heard footsteps behind you, but you didn't dare look back. The wind howled around you, swallowing up any sounds from the village. Your lungs burned as you pushed yourself faster, harder, your breath ragged from panic clawing at your chest.

You didn't look up when you heard a car approaching, but you didn't stop either, as your mind told you to keep running, to escape, but your legs were beginning to fail you.

The car stopped short before you, the headlights blinding. You turned with a wild heart as the door to that vehicle swung open. A man in a police uniform stepped out, his expression unreadable.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked, with a soft voice but underneath carrying an authority.

He wouldn't let you trust him, and you could be in danger. "I-I need help," you stuttered, barely able to catch your breath. "They're chasing me. They—they won't let me leave."

The officer stepped closer, his eyes darting toward the woods behind you. "Who's chasing you? What happened?" His voice was smooth, coaxing, calm.

You stumbled toward him, the last shreds of your resistance slipping away. His presence was comforting, the uniform a familiar sign of safety in this strange world that had turned upside down. "Please," you gasped. "I need to get out of here. Please help me."

The officer smiled, that warm, almost paternal smile that gave you a moment's feeling of cocooned safety. "You are well within safety here. Get into the car and I'll take you to the station. They won't find you."

You didn't even think twice about it. Worn out and shivering, you climbed into the passenger seat of the car. The door slammed behind you, then the engine revved into life. You sank into the seat, closed your eyes, letting the sound of the engine create an illusion of safety. Finally, you escaped. Finally, you could breathe again.

The engine growled before heading out with the officer looking at you and softening his expression to almost a grin. "A strange night out here, huh?" Are you really sure you are, okay?"

You shook your head, catching your breath. "I need to get away from those people… I don't know who they are but they're dangerous."

"People can be dangerous, can't they?" he mused.

You glanced at him. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't know who to trust anymore."

Soft chuckle from him, as if to sense that it sounds contrived, that it has to be learned. "What's trust? You just have to know whom to get along with and whom to avoid. It requires experience."

You just turned to the window and trees and darkness rushed by. The mind was reeling from the attempt at grasping everything that has happened as it was really too much: the town; the event; Peter's cold stare; and now this—this officer who has apparently materialized at just the right moment. He must be the one sent to rescue you.

"Where are we off to?" You asked

"Oh, just a little way out of town," he replied, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. "Nothing to worry about."

You nod, fatigue dragging heavily on your eyelids. For a moment, it felt good, like all was well. But then the cop's voice became a personal one.

''I'm Steve by the way, Steve Rogers. Was just coming here for a quick stroll," he began, "I never thought I was going to be out here, helping someone like you. It is really funny, how life turns out."

Brow furrowed, and incomprehension written all over the face. "What do you mean?"

The very slight narrowing of the officer's eyes at you, just for an instant, was followed by his returning gaze to the road ahead. "I spent a lot of time in these parts, and the people can be somewhat…. they are peculiar. But then, I guess you already know that."

Heck, what was he talking about? "What do you mean by a little hard to understand? Who do you mean by that?"

Just above a smile, something confidential, something dark, flickered across the officer's lips. "Well, my wife, Peggy… she was from around here. She got them, you know? Understood what was going on. It took me a long time to realize it, but eventually, I figured it out. I did too."

Your heart stops, hammering against the confinement of your ribs. "Peggy… Carter?" That name rang in your mind like a bell, sharp and dissonant. You had heard that name before, only in whispers, a long time ago.

From what you remembered Peggy Carter was one of the most vicious woman in the police force, even in her short time in doing her job. One day she got married to a man named Steve and nothing was heard from her again. As if she disappeared, she completely left her job and duty, and so did Steve who was a fellow police like her who also vanished from the face of the earth. That was all you knew, and all of that happened 10 years ago. Many believed they moved. Some believed

The officer's smile brightened, but now it had no warmth. His voice went down low, as if telling you a secret you weren't supposed to know, "That's right. Peggy Carter. She was special. A part of something much bigger than either of us ever realized. I didn't understand it at first. Thought she was just a regular woman… but then I saw it. I saw everything for what it was."

It had caught in your throat because your mind was connecting all the dots. Peter, in actual fact, couldn't stop saying that you were here for a bigger thing, that you actually belonged. And now there is the officer, Peggy Carter, the strange village thing, the quite twisted ceremony—now everything starts to get clearer while terrifying you.

Your pulse raced, and once more, you cast a glance at him, eyes wide with realization. "You… you’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of their… their plan.”

For just a second, something shadowy, something colder, flicked through his eyes; and with that flicker, somehow you knew you'd made a terrible mistake trusting him.

Steve Rogers, the cop smiled "I was hoping you'd come around sooner or later. You're a bit smarter than I thought," his voice was light, like he was discussing the weather. "However," a dangerous tremor lurked below his words. "Peggy always said you'd be the perfect addition - just like I was, just like she was."

You sprung back, your first instinct was to reach for the door handle, but before your brain could register what was happening, the vehicle shifted violently. Body flung against the door; your head crashed against the metal side with a sickening thud. Stars exploded behind your eyes, and suddenly, everything muffled.

When you woke up from what felt like the worst sleep in your life, but you weren't sleeping, or did you just doze off and you couldn't remember any of it? Everything felt like a blur, memories were juggled up, and everything seemed out of place. How did I get here again? You thought to yourself.

It was strangely silent all around. The engine's rhythmic humming gave way to a stifling, heavy silence. You couldn't move. The air around you was thick and stifling; you had a throbbing headache that was likely to make you nauseous.

You couldn't even comprehend what was happening before you saw the door of the car opened, your whole-body weight made you fall off the vehicle. You audibly groaned as your body hit the rough dirty cement

Lo and behold, standing right in front of was Steve Rogers, towering above you, his face expressionless. His cold stare that piercing through your soul at you while your arms continued to adjust the sleeves of his uniform with a calm expertise.

He circled you as if he was predator cornering its prey. He stopped just at your head. He looked at you with an expressionless face, he slowly smiled, the creepy type of smile you would see psychopaths do on movies.

You wanted to run, punch him in the face and fucking run. But you couldn't, it felt as if your feet have already given up on you, plus the blooming pain in your head made it hard to think.

"It just never gets the job done" He frowned momentarily, your eyes widened in fear as you saw him take a beer bottle from behind his back, you shook your head, no please, please, please. You tried your best to crawl away from him, but you couldn't even feel your legs.

You sobbed in defeat, but he just caressed your cheek and wiped your tears away, as if to lure you into a false sense of security. With all the softness of a feather, he said, "You'll be fine," really more to reassure himself than you. "The ceremony's just waiting for you."

Before you can act, a hard bang on your head seems to lurch your stomach. The officer had swung a beer bottle at your skull; it hit with a sickening crack and within the instant the pain exploded into darkness pressing behind your eyes, and the world went black.

It was the scent of incense—sickeningly sweet and heavy enough to churn in the stomach. Candlelight flickered. shadows danced on stone walls, making the small space feel smaller by the second.

You woke up all lethargic with a blooming headache. You felt relaxed underneath the soft bed that you laid, but once you took in the stone walls, it felt like a train has hit you. All of the events from a few hours ago running you over.

Your mind raced, scrambling for an escape route, but all you saw was Peter standing between you and the door.

He never looked more like a stranger.

The once boyish charm which drew me to him was now a hollow mask as he hid himself behind his dark eyes. The face had no malignance—worse, it was soft, almost tender, like he really believed in what he was about to do. And that thought haunted me most terrifyingly.

"You are trembling," Peter said, his calm and soothing voice only making the fear spike higher. "I know it's a lot, really overwhelming, taking it all at once… but… it will be okay, I promise you."

"Peter, please," you whispered, your voice breaking into pieces at the seams. You could hardly utter a word without your throat choking it. "You don't have to do this. Let me out. I promise I won't tell the police—"

But that was where he cut you off by shaking his head sadly. "You don't understand. This is my home. It is where I belong. And now, it is where you belong too. We are part of something bigger here. Something meaningful."

"Meaningful?" you spat. "You kidnapped me, lied to me, and brought me here to…" The words cracked at the tightness in your throat. You couldn't even say them. I dawned onto you that you have been too trusting with Peer, but who wouldn't? Who knew that clumsy little sweet Peter was capable of doing something this fucked.

Peter stepped closer, casting a shadow over the too small room where it suddenly felt claustrophobic and anchoring. “I didn’t kidnap you. I saved you.”

His voice is insistent, though not harsh. “You were lost out there. Alone. No family, no one who cared about you. Don’t you see? This is your chance to start over, to have a purpose. To be loved.”

“Loved?” The word struck your lips like venom. “This isn’t love, Peter. This is… this is sick.”

It darkened slightly his countenance, as a spark of frustration crossed his face before it was replaced by forced patience. "You're scared," he softly pronounced. "That's normal. But fear does not last. Once you embrace your role, once you understand what we're building here, you'll see that it's not sick. It's beautiful."

“No,” you whispered, the soft sound swallowed by the thrumming of your heart. “No, this isn’t survival. This is—”

“But” Peter cut you off firmer now like a knife slicing through your protests. “It’s already decided. The village chose you. I chose you. And now… it’s time to fulfill your purpose.”

Peter looked at you, with a voice deceptively soft. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what the village needs. What I need. We can’t let our bloodline die. Every generation, we bring someone in—someone like you. It’s how we survive. How we thrive.”

“Not,” that voice barely came out through the rapid pounding of your heart. "No, this isn't survival. This is—"

The words sent the waves of nausea throbbing through you. Your knees buckled, landing you onto the edge of the bed, your body shaking violently. Peter knelt before you, hands gentle as they gripped your knees. The touch made your skin crawl, but you were frozen, paralyzed by fear.

"You are afraid," he repeated, the tone almost tender. "it needs to be this way. After the ceremony, you'll see there is clearly a need for it."

"Peter," you choked out, barely in a whisper. "Don't do this, please."

He tilted his head, softening in expression as if he really thought given how pitiful you look. "This is for them. For us. For the village. You'll thank me one day."

The door creaked open, and two women stepped in to the door. They moved with quiet, almost unnerving precision their white, long, and flowing robes covering the ground as they entered. Both had faces that seemed devoid of emotion—serene but cold as if they had performed this ritual hundreds of times before.

You instinctively tried to press yourself into the corner of the bed pulling down from Peter. “Who are they?” you asked unsure though your voice came out shaky and weak.

Peter turned toward the women; his posture casual almost welcoming. “They’re here to help,” he said softly as though the explanation should comfort you.

Help. The word in your stomach was like poison. You didn’t need help. You needed to escape.

One of the women carried a bowl filled with a dark unknown substance that shimmered strangely in the candle's light. She laid the bowl down on a small wooden table near the bed, her movements carefully controlled. The other carried a smaller cup with her fingers clutching tightly as she looked at you.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling as you shook your head. “I’m not drinking that.”

It’s just to help,” he said calmly. "You’ve been through so much. You lived so much. You’re shaking. You’re exhausted. This will relax you.”

“I don’t want to relax!” you cracked your voice rising in desperation. “I want to leave! Please, Peter, don’t do this!”

He sighed, as though disappointed but his patience did not waver. “I know you’re scared,” he said reaching out to hold his hand on your knee. “But this isn’t about fear. It’s about trust. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your stomach tilted and a cold wave of nausea was rolling over you. Why would he even ask that question? "Peter, you are not the person I thought you were. I don’t trust you. I don’t even know you anymore.”

Peter’s jaw tightened somewhat ever so slightly, as if flickering with guilt. Peter was the funny and clumsy guy you met at a party, but this Peter. You don't know which dimension he came from. But his guilt was immediately gone in an instant replaced by the same calm, unnervingly patient expression, accompanied with a reassuring smile that could've been comforting in different circumstances.

“It’s my fear. I think that can be said,” he said, his tone softening again. "Once you let go of this, you will see. You’ll feel better.”

He gestured toward the woman with the cup to reach closer to you. Her movements were graceful, fast rehearsed as she held the drinking. The cup itself was simple, wooden. But compared to what's inside looked nothing compared to ordinary. It was a dark murky brown with faint swirls of crimson that seemed to ripple on its own.

Your stomach churned at the sight of it, you wanted to gag at the thought of even coming in contact with that liquid, you said again "I won't drink that." Your voice barely above a whisper.

The woman didn’t respond. She held the cup in her hand, as if waiting for you drink it still.

Peter reached for your hand and firmly gripped on it, but not a forceful one. "It’s okay,” he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. “This will help you. I promise.”

You tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened, and the woman moved the cup closer to your lips. Panic rolled. Your heart began to beat, and tears were falling from your eyes. “No!” you shouted thrashing against Peter’s hold. “Let me go!”

But he didn’t let go. His strength was shocking and unyielding as he held your and instructed the woman to force the drink in your mouth. The dark liquid sloshed down the rim, spilling onto your trembling chin as you refused to open your mouth, moving your head back and forth so that you could just avoid the unknown and disgusting liquid.

“Please don’t fight this!” Peter shouted; his tone now laced with urgency and desperation. "It’s better if you just let it happen."

The woman tilted the cup and poured the thick liquid into your lips. You clenched your teeth, refusing to let it in. Peter’s hand moved to your jaw, his fingers pressing firmly until your mouth opened involuntarily. Liquid graced on your tongue, its taste vile and metallic like rotting herbs and rust.

You gagged and coughed violently as they forced you to swallow. The bitterness burned all the way down, leaving an acrid aftertaste that made you want to rip out your tongue, you fell on the bed as you gripped your throat—massaging your throat, a pathetic attempt to soothe the taste that felt like it travelled all the way down to your throat, it didn't have any burning sensation, it just felt like your throat had taste buds.

You convulsed on the bed, “What the- What was that?” you asked; out of breath as you tried to gasp for air.

Peter stood “You’re going to feel it soon,” he said, pushing a damp lock of hair off your brow.

It was a gentle warmth blooming in your chest, then outward like the bright afterglow from the strongest of drinks. Then it grew. It scorched through your veins, making your skin feel alive with a burst of tingling sensations. Your breaths came quicker as you kept trying to dismiss the feelings, but they just wouldn't listen.

“W-What is happening to me?” came the stammers from you in a trembling voice.

Peter knelt beside you again, touching your knee ever so lightly with his hand. “The elixir is working its magic on you,” he said kindly. “It allows you to let go. To free yourself to connect with what is meant to be.”

This warmth soon transformed into a more diabolical sensation, a slow burn that throbbed low in your stomach that stretched to your clothed womanhood. Suddenly every nerve ending on your skin was hypersensitive, sending a shiver down your spine against that crawl of fabric over your body. Heart racing, but it was hardly with fear.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t right.”

Peter merely smiled all the wider and relaxed his squeeze on your shoulder. “It’s okay to feel this way,” he said. “Your body is just responding. It’s natural.”

While your mind was telling you every reason to fight it off, your body would have none of it. That heat, the damn heat; it clouded everything snuffing off every thought but that strange feeling growing in you.

Peter leaned in closer as he whispered “This is how it’s supposed to be. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”

Your brain screamed against this intrusion, invoking all the force it could muster to reject it, to reject him. But your limbs felt heavy, thick, sluggish, as though they had been clapped into a steel frame. The drug took effect, you loathed it and wished to deny the dull calling of unwanted pleasure.

"Please," you managed to whisper, letting your tears flow down your cheeks. "Don't do this."

In every way this was wrong. You didn't want to partake in this, you wanted out. Peter was not the person you thought he would. Maybe he was before all of this, but not now.

Peter held your face with both his hands—gentle yet firm. "It's been done," he said, pinning his gaze on yours with steady resolve.

The heat had become unbearable; it drummed against your thoughts and created ceilings that pressed down on you. You could hardly breathe, each breath barely manageable since all control was lost over thoughts revolving around him. The very touch of him inflamed every nerve in your body.

Peter continued to lean forward until the distance separating your two faces became almost nonexistent. The darkness of his brown eyes was rendered soft, for all that, it was chillingly out of place now. "You're trembling," he said softly, his voice dipping with mock concern as he brushed his palm over your damp forehead, lingering perhaps a moment too long.

You turned your head away, yet your body was heavy and unwilling to cooperate. "P-please," you whispered, not even sure what it was you were begging for at this point—mercy, some distance, anything but this.

Peter's hand slid down again to cradle your face, thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch felt like additional treachery against your body, which leaned into his hand, once again, even though the screams of your mind were saying otherwise. "Shh," he said, his voice dropping to a soothing pitch. "It's okay. You're safe here. With me."

His words twisted a knife that lodged in your heart, and you were still trying to find a protest when his other hand clamped on your waist—gentle yet firm. Just enough pressure was applied to make acutely aware of every detail of your closeness: the scent of wood smoke and something faintly sweet, flooding your senses and drowning all your composure.

"You've had to fight for so long," he said; there was almost a tenderness in his voice. "Let it go—let me take care of you."

You shook your head weakly, your lips parting to say no words that would come. Everything in you resisted, heavily dulled by the drug that now crumbled your defenses and left you helpless to bask in warmth blossoming in your chest and the sickening affinity of Peter's presence.

He angled his face, gazing down at you as the thumb of his right hand traced the curve of your jaw. "So beautiful," he murmured, almost a whisper. "Yet you don't even see it? You are something else—so special."

The tears that had built up in your eyes crashed down, scalding lines down your cheeks. "Please," you said again, but it came almost like a feeble whisper, your power to protest fractured.

Peter leaned forward, and his breath ghosted over your lips. "I've waited for this," he murmured, as though revealing a secret. "Waited for you. I thought I would never even have a chance with you since you were so fucking smitten with your dick of a boyfriend. But you're mine now,"

And before you could think, hit him back or convince him otherwise, his lips crushed against yours.

The kiss was languid, purposeful, and claiming. His mouth flowed with an unsettling confidence, an almost eerie manifestation of such rehearsed movement, if it existed at all. You wanted to break apart from him and scream and fight him, but your body let you down one last time; it was folded under the drug and against the full force of his presence.

His hands moved, one remained cradling your face, while the other tightened at your waist as a gentle reminder that you belonged nowhere else. It was a kiss more claiming than forceful, a silent proclamation of his ownership over you.

He finally pulled away but only to press his forehead to yours, feeling warm against your skin. "It's time" he whispered, it was loud enough for the women to hear. They immediately scurried out of the room and closed the door on their way out.

Before even asking what was going on, Peter attacked your neck. You shrieked at his sudden actions. He kissed, licked, and bite every single portion of your neck.

Peter's hot tongue licked your skin as he leaned closer, lips barely grazing the curve of your neck. A shiver made its way down your spine as he softly sucked on the sensitive flesh, forming this sweet vacuum that made your heart stand still.

Peter kept on kissing and nibbling at your neck, fueling his excitement that grew hotter like a fire, determined to engulf you both. His hands tightened around your waist, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss, lips and tongue moving together in a dance that spoke both pleasure and pain.

You winced; you want nothing more but for this to end. You tried to imagine yourself in another scenario, a happy one. That one time where Harry bought you this wonderful necklace for your one-year anniversary. Things were still calm, peaceful.

You were so deep in thought that the ripping sound of fabric made you flinch. You have realized that Peter has ripped off your thin graphic t-shirt, leaving nothing but your bra on full display for him. But of course, the bra didn't stay on for long.

He ripped your bra off you with such force. He threw the bra elsewhere, that was the least of his worries as your he saw your mounds with all its glory. Blood rushed up to his cock at the sight of you half naked and slightly damp from sweat. You on the other hand just wanted nothing more but all of this to end.

Peter leaned in, his lips grazing your skin down to the soft curve of your delicate breast. His mouth latched onto your nipple, and he started to suckle; the soft gentle tug sent a jolt of sensation radiating through your body. Your hands fisted the sheets as you let out a shriek.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment" His words came in muffled since he was still stuffing his face with your breasts, but you heard it loud and clear. How blind were you? Peter has been lusting over you, longer than you even met him, how come you never realized it? All the warning signs were there, but they were subtle, now they're just coming to light now that it was too late.

He had grown more daring now, sucking, kissing, and licking every inch of your breasts. He nibbled and sucked at the curves, gently biting the flesh around them. Meanwhile, his hands traveled all over her torso, cupping and squeezing dear breasts as if to remember every contour.

"So beautiful," he whispered in between kisses. "Perfect. Mine." Those words sent a shuddering chill up your spine.

Peter stared into your eyes while he was sucking and nibbling on your breasts. They would have been a sweet sight if the present state of affairs were any different.

He released your nipple from his mouth, as drool connected from his lips to your erect nipples.

With urgent impatience, Peter fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and then tore it off, revealing a sculpted torso that demanded attention. The muscles of his torso flexed while he moved, and for a second, you could not help but look at the sheer grace and control that radiated off his body.

Now, Peter had long ceased to be interested in himself; he was now concentrating all his energy and attention on you. The moment he grabbed hold of your pants, and his fingers had clasped tightly around the waistband, panic ran through you at the sight of him pulling down on them. You didn't want to give in, not now, not ever.

Your hands went straight up to push against him; you punched at his chest with all the remaining strength that you have that wasn't stripped off by the drug. Your fruitless attempt on trying to gain some space between your bodies.

"Peter, no," you said, your voice wavering but earnest. "I don't want to. Please!"

His eyes never left the prize, and nothing was going to stop him. He yanked your pants down, regardless of how you kicked and thrashed against the force with which he was pulling. Your underwear met the cool air.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you as you realized that Peter was staring down at the small scrap of fabric that barely covered you in your most intimate area.

He wrapped his fingers around your underwear's waistband. You tried to squirm away from him, but he held you tight, his grip like a vice. In one swift motion, he ripped the fabric from your body, leaving you completely bare.

Peter's eyes had wandered across every inch of your naked body, you tried to look away from him, but your face was met with a wet pillow, you didn't even notice that you have let out a few tears.

Peter dove on to your crotch and his warm breath rolled over your sensitive skin like a wave of fire. His tongue flicked out as he suckled at your clit, and involuntarily, jolts of electricity pulsed up your spine. You attempted to push him off you once more, but Peter was far too strong

Peter continued his assault on your pussy, you felt a familiar sensation happening. You shook your head as your body betrayed you. Peter seemed to notice this, "There she is"

Before you knew it, he inserted a finger in your hole as he continuously licked your clit with such vigor.

You let out a strangled moan as your hand flew to his hair. Peter smirked at this as he slowly fucked you with his finger, which was a stark contrast to his tongue who ravished you like you were his last meal

"God, such a tasty pussy" He murmured, which just sent vibrations to your pussy. He continued, his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. "Good lil fuckin pussy" He moaned as if he's the one getting head.

He continues to lap on your juices, slurping any arousal seeping through as if he hadn't drunk water in many years.

His voice low and soft, whispering how good it is, how perfect your sweet pussy was for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet—so good for me. God, I'm so glad your mine now." He kisses it so passionately, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

And as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, you felt a building pressure inside yourself. It felt like every nerve ending had been ignited by Peter’s ministrations.

Your legs stiffened, your hips jerked upwards, and your entire body began to tremble with anticipation.

With such joy and pain, you felt like you were seeing stars right in front of you. The intensity was too much to bear as your grip on Peter's hair tightened

That instant when the knot finally snapped and a deluge of pure, harmless ecstasy engulfed you, your body contorted, muscles oscillating and contracting rhythmically; an intense orgasm swooping upon you like a tempest.

Your legs stiffened and your toes curled in pleasure. You clutched at anything and everything. Peter's hair, bed linen, anything to hold on to the threads of reality, as everything before your eyes dissolved into an ocean of forced bliss.

River of tears were falling from your eyes. You couldn't help but reminiscence your time with Harry. For the first years you were together with Harry, he was sweet and loving, even if your relationship has turned sour after Harry found another hobby, he would never force himself inside you. When you had sex, it was always consensual.

With the final ripples of the orgasm fading away, Peter finally pulled his head from between your legs. His gaze brushed over you with a kind of possessive pride, and he took the disarray of your body in the messy fondle of your hair, the daze that lingered from where he brought you so close to the edge that you fell over it, and the slick of sweat glistening over your skin.

“You look tired,” Peter said with a soft almost guilty tone, "But I'm afraid that that was just to prepare you, were just beginning"

When those words came out his mouth you shook your head as you begged him, "Please Pete, please" You sobbed, your words barely even intelligible.

"Shhhhhhhh" He shushed you, "The more your accepting, the sooner this will end" No, you didn't want to accept this, there must be another way, there must be.

As he stood up and took off his pants, exposing his erect cock. His cock slightly bounced once the boxers were fully off of him. He climbed on top you as both of you were now fully naked as the day you were born.

"The bedding ceremony is about to begin” Peter said, low in his throat, his voice husky with desire. “It's going to hurt, but I think I prepped you enough”

He then aligned his cock to your slit. You gasped as his bulbous tip entered you, he wasn't big, but he was thick. He slowly pushed his cock inch by inch inside you, your sensitive flesh was still sore from the previous orgasm.

Peter suddenly thrusted deep inside you, fully losing patience, with a forcefulness that took your breath away. His cock touching your cervix when he bottomed inside you, it felt almost painful how intense it was.

“Please, Peter,” you pleaded, attempting to push him away. "You're hurting me."

But Peter just smiled at you, it gave you tingling shudders through your spine. “That's the first step of the ceremony” he said, pulling out then plunging back in. “You just have to learn to accept what I’m giving you, if you learn maybe Goddess will reward you"

His relentless cock was battering your insides, and you were starting to tear up. It was nearly unbearable agony; the pleasure was subtle that you could barely even get the gist of it, the searing warmth that burned itself into your very essence.

“Stop,” you said again, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Please just stop."

Through the pain and the fear, you never lost hope. So you fought back with a passion you never had before.

Your hands raked Peter’s chest, ripping at his skin to the point he grunted in surprise. Your fingers sank into his skin, but he only chuckled—a sound that was hollow and empty.

Unfazed, you fought on. Your teeth dug into his shoulder, biting down hard enough to make him hiss. But even as he grimaced, he wouldn’t stop — his hips pumping a relentless rhythm, one that threatened to swallow you whole.

You swung your fists, punching into Peter's face and chest with a frenzied abandon. Forced down in front of him as he sunk his cock deep within your needy hole, you tried to twist away, to squirm free as he held you in place, the weight of his body pinning your hands above your head, forcing you to take this.

And you tried, even though it was entirely pointless. You kicked your legs to try and buck him off you. But he was too heavy — too powerful — and he laughed again as he kept your legs pinned down beneath him.

With each thrust Peter grew more aggressive; almost brutal the heat inside you was burning you up; threatening to consume all reason and make you numb.

You were lost in the agonizing bliss, as Peter's cock continued its merciless assault on your insides. The fire in your belly grew more intense, it felt like it was spreading through your insides like wildfire.

"God, you're squeezing me so hard" Peter breathed as his thrusts slowed down just a little bit.

Yet whilst you sensed you were in pieces on the inside, that you were toppling apart, something in you relished it. It felt like your body had turned against you, reacting to the vicious attack with a disgusting cocktail of agony and pleasure.

Peter thrusts forward and you felt your hips bucking in time with his, your mind spinning in horror. It was like your body had created its own consciousness that responded immediately to the arousal with animal instinct that couldn't be suppressed.

You were losing yourself in the sensations, being sucked into a world both dark and depraved, where no line could be drawn between pain and pleasure. It was the most terrifying feeling in the world, when you wondered if you would ever find a way out of the grip of this monster who was responsible for everything.

With every thrust, Peter became more aggressive, more brutal - You could feel yourself losing control; teetering on edge, ready to plunge headfirst into unknown; uncertainty ignited both fear and anticipation.

Your breaths were coming in small gasps now as Peter gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like a vice. You attempted to move; attempted to wriggle against him—but it was futile: he was too strong

This friction just poured gasoline into the flames that had been raging within you—turning those pleasurable sensations into unbearable ones. The edge of your sight blurs out; stars dance along the border of your vision as the world narrows down on a single point of focus: Peter

In pure ecstasy moment you found yourself surrendering, submitting to the wave pleasure that is tearing up your body. Its fear inducing and freeing sensation — like leaping off a precipice without a net — not knowing what awaits at the base.

The world went white and quiet. You hear Peters voice in your ear whispering "Come for me" and with that your body explodes into thousand pieces

You weren't sure what happened, your mind all fogged and your pussy sore. The only thing you have noticed was that Peter was still thrusting inside you.

He leaned as he whispered the most haunting words into your ear, "I almost feel bad for you. I guess you should always follow what your parents says, don't trust strangers"

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

[spanishskulduggery]

so this might be kind of difficult for you since it heavily relies onnyour knowledge of the english terms, forst and foremost, but do you think you could compile a list of LGBTQ related topics, since it is Pride Month after all? honestly there might be some that are either hard to translate and others might be straight up untranslatable (since they'd feel weird if translated) besides the sexualities and gender identities, stuff like bear/twink/pillow princess/top/bottom etc would be make for a very enlightening read if they turn out to have spanish equivalents! i fully understand if thats something you wouldnt want to do for any of the aforementioned reasons, but i figured it wouldnt hurt to ask. and in any case, you might welcome the challenge?

So there are some terms I know, and some I don't - because there are quite a few that are simply loanwords in Spanish like un twink

But I'll include what I know... just know that the default terms like homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual etc are the same in Spanish and English

If I'm missing any that you'd like to know, please let me know. Truly the best ways to find the cutting edge of slang is probably Spanish-speaking Tumblr or Spanish-speaking Reddit, particularly if you're going through Drag Race or some of the Orgullo tags etc.

Wikipedia in Spanish will give you a lot of the basic words though, just not always current slang

To answer your question about top/bottom that one is pretty universal for Spanish:

activo/a = top

pasivo/a = bottom

vers / versátil = versatile [I've heard it can also be called inter for some countries so this might be regional]

The words mean "active" and "passive" in any other situation - like in linguistics, la voz activa/pasiva etc. just in gay sex terms, that's the "top/bottom"

As for other words to know...

gay = gay [note: sometimes it's spelled differently in Spanish, but it's pronounced like English] el / la gay = gay person

lesbiana = lesbian [note: just like English; lesbiano/a can refer to someone from the island of Lesbos] sáfico/a = Sapphic

el orgullo = pride

el desfile = parade

ser de la otra acera = "to play for the other team" [lit. "to be from the other sidewalk", sometimes it's de la acera de enfrente which is "the opposite sidewalk"... not that la otra acera means "the other side/team" in general, so if someone were a double agent or double crossing they could trabajar para la otra acera "to work for the other side"... but in gay terms, la otra acera is a euphemism]

salir del clóset = to come out of the closet salir del armario = to come out of the closet [no difference; some places use el clóset from English; others use el armario which is "armoire" and more French-related... you will see both]

tapado/a = closeted, "not out" [lit. tapado/a means "with a lid on" or "covered", but it means someone who hasn't come out yet and is very common; the other term I've seen is closetero/a which is like "closet case" or "closeted" - but tapado/a is used very often, even more so than closetero/a............. also note that el tapado means something like "a cover-up" so you might see this in other situations; tapar is like "to cover up" or "to block out" which is where this is coming from, and it's often a word used for "to deliberately hide" or "to block out"]

el sexo = sex [the act, and biological sex]

el género = gender [also means "genre" in books"]

asexual = asexual [sometimes people call themselves as which is "ace"; like in cards and in English]

arromántico/a = aromantic, "aro"

transgénero = transgender

el/la trans = trans person una persona trans = a trans person [trans is unisex, and transgénero is

no binario/a = non-binary

Now I need to break up this vocab list to discuss gender neutral things in Spanish. Of course, Spanish is really gendered, and English has more ambiguity. The way that Spanish-speakers prefer to use gender neutral language is by using E instead of A or O

As an example; él "he", and ella "she" are the default pronouns for 3rd person. Gender neutral is elle "they" singular

In plural, that's ellos, ellas, elles with elles being gender neutral plural

What I have noticed as a trend is that people who identify as masculine or feminine will use the standard gender rules for groups of people. That is to say, for plural the standard rule is if it's all women you use feminine plural. If it's mixed, you use masculine plural.

In other words, in a group of all women you'd say nosotras "we" [femininine plural]. In a group of all men, or in a mixed gender group you would say nosotros "we"

For non-binary, the tendency is for non-binary people to use the NB endings in a way that replaces masculine plural. The idea being that they tend to be more aware that there may or may not be other gender neutral people there - so you'd probably see nosotres or if a NB person is talking about a group of people they probably say elles

The gender neutral endings tend to override masculine plural; and so someone who is cisgendered might use NB pronouns with someone NB, but may also decide between NB plural

I'll try and do a larger post on this in the future, but just know NB people in Spanish (at least in the media I've seen) tend to use the E endings in a way that replaces masculine plural, so you'll see nosotres, vosotres, elles, etc.

Moving onto vocab again...

el/la drag queen = drag queen [usually drag queens use feminine gendered articles in drag, but might use masculine outside of drag]

el/la travestí = cross-dresser [the tra is related to trans... and vestí is related to vestir "to dress", so it's someone who dresses up in the clothing of the opposite gender]

el/la transformista = "drag queen" [this might be old-fashioned; el transformismo is a branch of biology in theories of evolution; but transformista meant someone who could change clothes very quickly so you sometimes still see this in theater for special musical numbers like Cinderella etc... so this word CAN be used for drag queens, but people usually say drag or reina de drag etc]

la reina = queen [can be used the way English uses it, both as "drag queen" like reina de drag, or it can be someone effeminate]

el twink = twink

el oso = bear [also just "bear" in a Spanish voice]

el cachorro = cub

la nutria = otter [again, the actual word for "otter" the animal]

For lesbians this is where it gets boring, because the terms butch and femme get used the same as in English

Note: You'll also see the word lésbico/a used for "lesbian" particularly in genres or romances; it's like "Sapphic", and I tend to see it more as a term or category, often for literature or culture not usually used for individuals [though it is also another term for "from Lesbos"]

However, there are additional words to maybe know just in general:

machona = "butch" [from the word macho/a this is "manly", but literally machona means "manly woman" with an augmentative...... so it can be "dyke" in some circles]

marimacho/a = tomboy / "butch" [from María the most default female name in Spanish, and macho/a this can be used to describe a girl who is a "tomboy", but people do use it as "butch" or "dyke" too]

The word for femme is usually femenina or just femme like English, or saying una femme etc.

I don't know if this term applies to lesbians, but there's also afeminado/a which is "effeminate" - usually it's for men, but it means "womanly" or "with feminine characteristics"

And just in case you ever needed to know, the slurs associated with lesbians are usually torta or tortillera... I have mixed feelings about teaching slurs but they do come up so better to be aware of them

The general slur for gay people is marica, though it specifically tends to be used for gay men

This word is a diminutive of the word María - however just know that in some countries, marica is like saying "wow" or "gosh" like an expression of surprise/dismay [particularly Colombia; it's not meant as a slur but it is somewhat impolite]

Note: marica can apply to anyone gay, but specifically gets used for gay men - the big term that you do not want to call someone is maricón which is used for gay men and that's basically the F slur. There are times when gay men will call each other this, but be aware that this is a word that will start a fight if you use it carelessly

-

Also be aware in some contexts people will use the terms raro/a or rarito/a for "queer" - some people find it offensive, others don't. It literally does mean "strange" so when you see "queer" used to mean "odd" in older literature it's fine. It's just with people it can be considered disrespectful, and with some it's not a big deal; just be careful

I would also mention that the terms for "intersex" are usually intersexo or intersexual

[jungkoode]

I know I don't owe anyone explanations—but I do feel a kind of emotional responsibility, especially since I know this space is a source of comfort for some of you. So just in case I seem a little more quiet than usual from now on:

I recently got some really heavy news about a family member's health. I'm still processing it. Still figuring out how to exist around it.

I might be less active for a while. Slower. Quieter. But I'm still here, just moving through it softly.

Thanks for holding space for that. Please take care of yourselves and each other. ♥︎

JOIN KIKI NATION HERE!

And gain your spot to vote on the occasional polls. <3

masterlist : if you want to check out my fanfics taglist request : if you want to be notified when i post a certain fic about me : if you want to know a little more about me! commissions: if you want me to write something personal for you! tags : how i tag stuff in my blog work organization / guide: to understand where everything is and how it’s organized in my blog ask the characters: in the post linked playlists and moodboards for all fics

author intros & TWs: must read before starting ANY of my works.

things to keep in mind!

i write extremely slow-paced slowburns. that means you might be 300k words in before a feeling gets acknowledged. if that’s not your thing, that’s okay! no hard feelings—but my stories simply aren’t built for fast payoffs or casual reading.

my stories are not easy to read. they’re very detailed and you have to pay a lot of attention and dissect everything. more about this is explained in my FAQ. if you can’t digest that type of stories, that’s okay, but please let people who like that enjoy it.

all of my stories are written in limited point of view. you are reading from inside the character’s head—their thoughts, their feelings, their assumptions. that means unreliable narration. they will misinterpret things, make flawed judgments, and romanticize behaviors they shouldn’t. that is on purpose. you are expected to separate character perspective from authorial intent.

i have zero tolerance for bad faith, hostility, or discourse bait. if you come here to stir conflict, guilt-trip, or manufacture outrage—especially by willfully misinterpreting posts or fic content—you will be blocked. if your engagement isn’t in good faith, you’re not part of this community—and I’m not obligated to make room for that energy.

supporting plagiarism is a choice. if you make that choice in any way (be it comments, reblogs or hype) kindly show yourself out. this space values originality and respect the work that goes into it.

update schedule is explained in the faq. check it before asking.

this blog is diehard ot7. negativity toward any member will not be tolerated and will be removed.

if you make a post about my fics, use the tag format. for example, tag fuck me up as #fmu and include the character (#fmu!jungkook) so i can find it and interact with you.

ask away, but read FAQ first ❤︎︎

— if you disregard FAQ, your ask will be disregarded too.

LATEST FⵊC UPDATES

Fuck Me Up | FMU — chapter 25

The 25th Hour | 25H — chapter 10

Kkangpae | KGP — chapter 19

Altars in Shallow Waters | ASW — chapter 5

5 Seconds To Freedom | 5STF — chapter 2

We Grew Up somewhere along the way | WGU — chapter 1

Code : Epitaph | C:E — chapter 1

find me on:

ao3 | wattpad | ko-fi | x | tiktok

sneak peeks, large snippets and early access on my ko-fi

i don’t have any other accs. if you see anybody impersonating me, let me know.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

the albatross - m. murdock

a/n: hi everyone! so this is that weird and off putting reader i was mentioning earlier! she's not that weird but she's sort of odd so yeah. also i know bucky is the winter soldier but idk how else to tag this so oh well! i do have lore and stuff for readers time as a soldier so i'll include that in later installments! i was kind of in a writers block and this pushed me out of that. so enjoy! please please tell me what you thought and if you want more! warnings: cursing, mentions of death, war, torture, pain, people being dead, reader having horrible people skills and ptsd, mentions of sex maybe? uhmmm in general reader is just sort of strange and this is her and matt's early relationship, so sorry if i missed anything ! word count: 3.6k summary: you have spent the past ninety (give or take) years tortured and in pain. then, a handsome stranger comes into your life and changes everything. pairing: matt murdock x winter soldier!fem!reader now playing: the albatross - taylor swift "i'm the albatross/i swept in at the rescue/the devil that you know/looks now more like an angel/i'm the life you chose/and all this terrible danger"

You’re working a morning shift at the bakery when he comes in. The pastries in the case are laid out just so, and you have been meticulously working on this sign for your fall specials. You are determined to focus on something that is not how poorly you slept, your hair tied up in a braid behind you as you work.

You’re determined to get these pumpkin stems drawn correctly; a green marker clenched in your hand. Your knuckles are white with the tension you are holding in your fingers. It’s around eight in the god damn morning, and you have been awake since around three a.m.

You don’t even hear the bell ring, nor do you hear the click-clacking of a cane on the tiled floors, you only hear an awkward clearing of the throat, to which you spin around, about to throw the marker at the customer, but stopping when you realize what you’re doing.

The customer smiles awkwardly at you, and you recognize instantly that between his glasses and cane, he is most definitely blind. You almost feel silly, until you remember everything, and you wish that there was more moments where you think you’re silly for being paranoid.

And there’s something else, too. You look at this man for a few moments, before realizing that he is so god damn hot. Which, is weird, because you have not felt anything for any man or woman in years, too busy focusing on other things, too busy thinking about everything that’s happened. But god, the stubble tracing his face, the way his dark hair falls, and the way his hand wraps around his cane..

But what gets you really is his lips. Maybe you’re staring, maybe you don’t care. But his lips are this pretty pink, and you find yourself getting lost in the nicest daydream you’ve had in a very long time..

And then, you snap out of that fantasy to remind yourself that you are working and don’t even know his name.

“Hi, sorry,” You cough awkwardly, “Was just focused,” You tell him, approaching the counter. You wipe your sweaty hands on your apron, before putting on your best ‘I’m a friendly bakery worker who just wants to sell you pastries, also tip me please!’ smile on. “What can I get you?” You ask.

“Do you guys have apple turnovers?” It is the first time this fall that is under 65 degrees, so you understand that there is some cravings for autumn snacks.

“Yeah, yeah,” You move towards the case to get some, “Just the one?”

“Three, actually. For the office.” He hums.

“Some big office,” Your voice is a sarcastic mumble, not really for the an to hear but he chuckles at it, and you almost think it’s weird that he an hear you but your brain tells you not to judge, since there is a whole lot the handsome stranger could judge you for.

“We’re a small business. Very friendly, very personable.”

You cannot help yourself, and you find yourself asking, “What sort of business are you in?” What the handsome stranger does not know is that you are insatiably angry at yourself for asking that because you had pretty much promised yourself that you were never going to have any sort of relationship—it wouldn’t be fair to them, it wouldn’t be fair to you. And as previously established, that wasn’t a problem, because you weren’t really attracted to anyone before this handsome stranger waltzed on into the bakery.

“I’m a lawyer.” He smiles. A lawyer.

“Well, Mr. Lawyer, your total is 10.75.” He pulls out a twenty and when you hand him change, he asks, “Which one is the five?” and you wordlessly pull out the five from the stack you handed him, before he puts the rest of the change in his wallet, dropping a five and a small card into your tip jar. “You have a good day now.” He hums, before making his way out of the bakery.

You watch intently, maybe a little too intently, and you hear the voice of your best friend from your teenage years in your head saying, ‘You hate to see him go, but you love to watch him leave.’ And a small smile finds its way to your face.

Then, you notice the card he dropped in the jar before fishing it out. On the front, it reads,

‘Matthew M. Murdock, Attorney at Law.’ On the back, you read,

‘Nelson, Murdock & Page, Attorneys at Law,

Hell’s Kitchen’

Accompanied by this is a phone number and an address.

You pocket the card, and before you know it, costumers are flooding in, and you ease into the day, forgetting about the handsome stranger until you leave the bakery at around six o’clock that night. You finish cleaning up from the day before letting the woman who works to prep for the next day. Then you leave, heading home to the too quiet, too small apartment.

You don’t have much in your apartment. You sleep with a gun under your pillow and you have a cheap TV on your dresser. You spend most of your time catching up on books or movies. You make yourself box mac and cheese before eating it right out of the pot, sitting on your kitchen floor.

As you cook the mac and cheese, you say his name over and over again, letting it sit on your tongue and escape your lips, thinking about him intently. You glance at your watch and decide that maybe it’s early enough that he might still be at his office.

You fish your tiny flip phone out of your pocket, dialing the number on the card and waiting. You’re holding your breath as the phone rings. A thought runs through your brain that maybe he gave you a wrong number and then your brain immediately reminds you that no man is ever going to give you his card, printed out, just to fuck with you.

“Nelson, Murdock & Page, how can I help you?” A voice asks, and you blink, hesitating for a minute.

“Uh, I’m looking for Matthew.” You say, and there’s some light shuffling, and again, this regret shoots over you until you hear a very smooth, very familiar voice,

“Hey,” His voice is like honey and you long to hear it clearer—The first time you’ve desired a better phone. “I was hoping you’d call.”

“Yeah, well, Maybe I just like the sound of your voice.”

“You know usually, that’s my line.”

“Wait, that works on people?” You hear his laugh on the other side of the phone and a shiver runs down your spine as you itch to make him laugh more.

“Telling people they’re beautiful doesn’t hit the same when you’re blind.”

“I guess not..” There’s a silence on his end of the phone, before he says,

“I never got your name.” For a moment, you consider giving him a fake name, but you find yourself giving him your name, the one that your parents gave you all those years ago. It’s foreign on your lips, a rare gem that you do not often give out. He repeats it and you swear you could almost die right then and there. “What are you doing tonight?” 

You’re taken back by his forwardness, not anticipating that maybe this handsome stranger, Matthew, wants to be around you just as bad as you want to be around him. And then you look around at your dingy apartment, with your boxy TV, the gun under your pillow, and you, sitting on the floor of your kitchen, having just finished eating box mac and cheese with a wooden spoon that just for a second tastes like the one your mother used to cook with, the one you’d get tastes of sauces, soups, anything you could get your hands on.

And then you remember everything that happened after those days sneaking tastes of your mom’s cooking and you feel guilty for pursuing handsome Matthew, because he has no idea what he is getting into.

“Just finished dinner. Was planning on just relaxing.” Reading until around midnight and then getting an hour or two of sleep.

“Well, how about we go do something?” You detect a bit of hopefulness in his voice. You find yourself asking before you can stop yourself,

“Like, like a date?” And he laughs again.

“Yes, like a date.”

“I don’t know,” You start, “Usually I have to ask my father’s permission before I go out on the town with a boy.” You want to slap your hand over your mouth because you sound your age. Oh god.

“Really?”

“..No.” You hope he finds your weird, totally not a cover up, joke funny. And he laughs again, telling you,

“You’re funny.”

Yeah, really fucking hilarious.

“So, a date?”

“A date.” You consider this for a moment. A date might lead somewhere real. Somewhere dangerous. Somewhere you haven’t been in.. years. Years might be an understatement. Your heart thuds against your chest, and you find yourself full of that nostalgic thing you call desire.

“What would we do?”

“Anything you want.” He tells you.

“Anything? That’s dangerous.” Because this whole thing is dangerous, you want to tell him, maybe you should mention the whole age thing, the whole assassin thing, the whole brainwashing thing, the whole thing.

“Yeah? What dangerous things do you have in mind, doll?” You have to hold the phone away from your ear to breathe, because it feels like someone just took the winds out of your sails. Suddenly it is 1940 something and a boy is flirting with you, and you have to act like a lady in hopes that he will treat you right.

Odd thing to think about today, but you’re an odd person.

“What about ice cream and a bookstore?” You ask, and for a moment you want to hit yourself for not suggesting something cool like a club or something and then you realize that you have no idea what counts as a cool date in this day and age.

Did you know when you were a teenager and had the world at your fingertips, eighty (give or take) years ago?

But to your surprise, handsome Matthew just responds,

“That sounds nice. Do you want me to pick you up at your apartment?”

The idea of handsome Matthew being at your tiny apartment that is not suitable for a date makes your heart race.

“I’ll meet you at the ice cream place in an hour. You know the one near the bakery?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

“Yeah. See you.” And when you hang up, you realize just what has happened. For the first time since 1944, You have landed yourself a date with a handsome man that is genuinely interested in you and in your infinite wisdom decided that ice cream and books were the best way to impress him.. Books.. Blind man.

You lightly bang your head against the counter behind you, muttering to yourself how stupid that was. But you an only dwell on it for a moment before you are standing up and making your way over to your room to get ready.

You’re still in your work uniform. And you look like an idiot. So, you clean yourself up and pull on something presentable, something comfortable. There is no confusion as to the nature of this meet up, you two are going on a date and you asked a blind man to go to a bookstore. You feel like an asshole. And you’re aware that you’re putting emphasis on that, but still!

You go through outfits and outfits, trying to figure out what an appropriate outfit is for this first date. You end up in something casual, and you hope you’re not underdressed. Honestly, you know you’re making a fuss over something as standard as a date, but you are genuinely desperate to have this go well.

You finally decide on an outfit and make your way out the door, grabbing your jacket and stepping out of the apartment. You stop outside of your door before turning around and going back into your room to change your top.

But eventually, you do get to the ice cream place Matt and you had discussed on the phone. And there he is, in all his glory, wearing the same outfit he wore when you saw him in the bakery that morning, only, without his tie, and he looks more disheveled. Somehow it’s more charming to see him like this, more exhilarating to imagine a life with such a low stakes man (You’ll look back on this thought later and laugh)

“Hi,” You greet, and Matt smiles in your direction.

“Hi.” He hums, and again, you feel nervous! So, before he can say much else, you blurt out,

“So, This is my first date in a while.. So. Sorry about that.” You say awkwardly.

“A while?” He asks, tilting his head like a curious dog. You’re struck by the fact that he is around 70 years younger than you. “Like, a few months?”

A beat.

Handsome Matthew is much busier than you are, it seems.

“More like a couple of years.” And by ‘a couple’ you mean eighty some odd years, but Matt doesn’t need to know all of that right now. But he just hums and nods, before answering,

“That’s alright, I’ll be gentle.” Your face flushes, and with a nervous laugh, you ask,

“You mean we’ll take it slow?”

“Sure. Whatever. We’ll figure out the details of it all later.” His hand finds yours, and before you can protest he pulls you into the ice cream shop. Handsome Matthew orders chocolate chip cookie dough because he is perfect in every way, and you order..

“Butter pecan, please.” You get odd glances from Matthew and the seventeen year old minimum wage worker behind the counter, but neither of them say anything. You manage to beat Matthew to paying for the ice cream, and as you walk, he asks,

“Butter pecan? Really?” And you roll your eyes. Young people today, always judging.

“You’re lucky they didn’t have butterscotch, that’s my real favorite.” You respond, before taking a lick of the ice cream. Your handsome date, gives you another bizarre look.

“Okay, what’s your third favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Mm..” You take a few minutes to think about it, before deciding on your answer. “A tie between pistachio and coffee.” And at your answer, Matt laughs at you. You let out an offended gasp, although you’re not being serious, before asking, “what’s so horrible about that?”

“You have the ice cream preferences of an eighty year old,” He laughs and you laugh too, because oh, if only he knew.

“Sorry, my pallet is straight from the 40’s.” It’s a joke. That’s a joke. Not at all based in facts or actuality. You continue working through eating your ice cream and talking to your handsome date. “So, does the handsome lawyer have any family I should know about?”

“You think I’m handsome?” He grins, and your face flushes.

“Answer the question.”

“No siblings. My dad died when I was young and It’s only recently that I’ve been talking to my mother.” Interesting, you think, and then this dawning realization happens where you realize that the next thing out of his mouth will be the inevitable question, “How about your family?”

You consider lying but you decide against it. If this is going to lead anywhere good, you don’t want to base it off lies.

“Not much to say. I’m the sole survivor.” You shrug, keeping it vague. He frowns a bit before squeezing your hand.

“A couple of orphans, huh?”

You squeeze his back.

“Seems like it.”

You kind of aren’t over the death of your parents and your siblings and quite literally everyone you knew as a teenager and young adult—You’re not over so many fucking things that if you went through it all, you’d probably keep poor Handsome Matthew up all night.

But instead of talking about that, Matt finds himself walking with you to the bookstore. You hold the door open for him and begin to wander. You quickly move past the books on World War II, as if faced with an ex you want nothing to do with them.

You begin to look at the romance books, scrunching your nose at how cheesy and surface level so many of these young adult novels are. But then you remind yourself that you are a hundred years old. But you look like you’re in your late twenties, early thirties. As you’re looking at the books, Matthew makes his way to the aisle next to yours, and talks to you through the stacks.

“So, what’s your favorite book?”

“That’s like asking a mother her favorite child.” You answer quickly, and you hear him laugh. Your face flushes.

“Try for me.”

“Uh, I really love Great Gatsby. I’m kind of fascinated with the zombie genre, too, it’s sort of new and interesting, and uh, oh, I read this Neil Gaiman novel, uh, Stardust? I really liked that.” You confess. Matt listens as you fumble through novels, both of you making your way towards the end of the aisle.

“And movies?”

“Why is everything about me? I didn’t hear your favorite novel.”

“The Outsiders.” He responds, and you make a mental note to try and find it in the bookstore. “So, movies?”

You’ve had autonomy for around three years now, so.. Your movie knowledge has been kind of stunted, so you wrack your brain to try and come up with something impressive.

“I really like the Indiana Jones series, uh, oh, The Matrix, and..” You ponder your brain. “Oh! And King Kong!” You saw that one in the theatres for your thirteenth birthday.

“Like, the one that came out in 2017?” He asks, and again, you consider lying, because you actually have seen that one because when you looked up ‘King Kong’ it came out, and it really blew your mind how far CGI had come.

“No, the one that came out in ’33.” As if it is the most normal thing in the entire world.

“One of your favorite movies is one from 1933?” And the old woman in you wants to insist that you loved the decades you grew up in, and that seeing King Kong in the theatres was a marvelous thing because you could barely afford rent. And then you remember you shouldn’t reveal your history with the Great Depression to a man you’re on your first date with.

“Yup.” You assert, and ask, “You?”

“Star Wars, any of them, and the Princess Bride.” Again, you make a note to add it to your list.

“Interesting.” You hum, and you find The Outsiders, wanting to read it, to consume it, to consume him, and every thought he has. The two of you meet at the end of the aisle, too close to be platonic as his hands come to find your arms, and you shudder at the affection.

“Touch starved, huh?” He grins. You flush and roll your eyes.

“You’re so mean.” You huff, and he laughs. His hand moves up your arms and cups your jaw, enjoying the feeling of your warm cheeks.

“Well, you’re odd.”

“Odd?”

“Everything about you. Your movie tastes, your jokes, your ice cream flavors.” He hums, with a soft shrug. “It’s not a bad thing, I’m just.. Trying to figure you out.”

“You’d be the first to accomplish such a feat.”

He laughs at that, and he’s so beautiful.. That you cannot help yourself when you lean up and gently press a soft kiss to those beautiful pretty pink lips that had caught your attention that morning. He kisses you back, without hesitation.

You feel at peace for the first time in years, as if everything you had gone through, every moment of torture and pain, has been worth it because it leads you to this. To Handsome Matthew, who kisses you so tenderly that no matter how simple it is, you are left breathless and desperate for more. You lean into him, deepening the kiss, pushing him back a bit, his back pressed against the stacks. The book in your hands is crumpled, and eventually, Matthew pulls away, before pushing you back a bit.

“Easy,” He says breathlessly, and you need the reminder, because you try to catch your breath. Holy shit. “Easy, easy..” he repeats, his hands rubbing up and down your arms a bit. “I’ve got you, just breath.” He laughs, and you lean your forehead against your shoulder. Fuck.

“When can I see you again?” Is your only thought, and he chuckles gently.

“Whenever you want.” He promises, and you nod, before leaning up to kiss him again.

One day you’ll tell him everything. You’ll tell him all of the horrible things you’ve done and have had done to you, and you’ll tell him why the nightmares came, and why they won’t ever go away. One day, you’ll tell handsome Matthew why you sleep with a gun under your pillow and why you have no family and why you are so odd.

For now, you decide that you deserve a few nice things.

And when he kisses back, you realize that maybe he is just as infatuated with you as you are with him. Maybe. Maybe he is full of secrets and his own horrors that plague him while he sleeps, and maybe that’s the unspoken reason you are so deeply fascinated with one another.

Maybe.

Maybe you’ve spent the past ninety years going from fight to fight, to nightmare to nightmare. Maybe you’re owed some time in the sun with Handsome Matthew.

Maybe.

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #7410:

Those people are playing with fictional dollies in a corner of the internet where blocking and ignoring has long been a thing. If you're in a position where seeing a pair of fictional drawings kissing will give you psychic damage AND you can't ignore it after rolling your eyes or making an "ew" face (something people often but don't expand on because why bother?), maybe that's your problem, not other peoples', and you should avoid those tags etc, like the rest of us. It's also very telling that people in certain fandoms are totally okay with certain kinds of abusive ships, but simply go after people writing the "wrong" kinds of abusive ship, but as soon as any other kinds of ships are present, they will flip out. They'll yell at someone for shipping the Lannisters, while concurrently reposting fanart of Will bleeding to death where Hannibal, who has a knife in his pocket suggesting he did the deed, is holding him adoringly. Drawing gore is somehow fine, but a ship where the characters are eighteen and nineteen is the devil's spawn, even though both in real life are bad, and on paper, neither character is being harmed. They are concepts, dollies, not real people.

Like, "bad ship" has no meaning - it's become a stupid matter of "my fictional thing is fine, yours crosses the line, even though technically, it's just as bad, or not bad at all" because... It's all. Bloody. Fiction. Yet nobody's going to bat an eyelash if someone watches the Saw movies, or if someone is a horror aficionado and loves horror movies in general, but so many people, especially younger kids, have issues with sexual content in particular. It's just a rebrand of Christian puritanism and moral paranoia. Everything and everyone is a pedo to them. They look at new media through the lens of "I must ensure this show, person, etc isn't a pedo". Yeah, there are creepy people on the internet, some people get off on certain stuff. It doesn't mean everyone who draws an age gap ship is a creep - just like how everyone who likes gore isn't a murderer, even though there are, indeed, people who get off on murder. There are kinks for literally everything. I mean, there's an entire website devoted to celebrity feet for Christ's sakes. But for some reason, nobody ever looks at fictional depictions of non-sexual abuse (or even anything else), and wonders if someone is getting off on that. But a lot of people still are. Nothing is sacred.

If someone is posting graphic content of something in a tag, they should be tagging it. With scenarios like that, MAYBE (emphatically) you could make a case for it being "harmful". But even then, this is the internet. Fandom spaces are not like Club Penguin, they do not have a responsibility to assume the burden of parenting or making someone's individual choices for them or clearing out as soon as a minor is in the space, and there's an inherent knowledge that we all will, at some point, run into things that gross us out because fandom spaces are a melting pot of different ideas.

And you have a right to be grossed out by a lot of stuff. There's a lot of disturbing, weird, icky shit out there. But it's not about harassing the people who make it, who have shown no signs of actually being a bad person. It's about putting the onus on yourself, like an adult, to avoid the content. There's no use in self-harming by seeking stuff out, going into certain tags, etc when there's a high chance you'll see something that squicks you. Because at the end of the day, you are responsible for your own content consumption and browsing, and you are responsible for understanding the risks of being in certain spaces. If someone is unable to understand this, and cannot exercise self-control, they shouldn't be in those spaces, possibly online at all.

Signed, a very, very bone-tired fandomgoer of 40+ years.

[karmacharmeleon18]

Just close your askbox if you won't answer any questions ffs I was really interested in your opinion about San since he's my bias but you never post about him (I've seen you talk more about Jongho??) but obviously you're just another coward hater

Anon, anon, anon...

😔

Things that have happened to me since I've started talking about Ateez on Tumblr.com:

I've had people block me for no reason that I can discern

(we never interacted, and I only noticed because I can't reblog their posts when I see them on blogs of Atiny I follow)

I've had people reach out to me privately, asking me to write some Mingi meta, and to please tag them when I post it, and then block me a couple of days later

(maybe I wasn't quick enough? was that a direct order and my autistic brain just mistook it for a friendly offer to discuss Mingi, and I disappointed them when I disobeyed? Mind you, she's the same person that told me to "go make your own post" when I commented - positively - under her own Mingi meta, and when I apologized to her for being annoying she was perfectly civil and friendly, told me that she loves long comments so why are you apologizing?, complimented my knowledge of Ateez and Mingi, all very polite, until she blocked me after asking for more Mingi meta??? so I AM CONFUSHON like, I really don't understand what they wanted and what I did wrong?? people also told me she's a know fandom bully?????? So maybe I was just ignorant and fell into some sort of trap that I'm too stupid to understand???? idk)

I've seen people liking my posts "in secret" (ie with different blogs, not their Ateez-focused ones) and then not acknowledge my post at all with their Ateez-focused blogs

I've seen people mention my content on their blogs with their Atiny friends, without mentioning me (because maybe it would upset the people that have blocked me? maybe they want to reach a wider audience, and my name would put people off? someway? somehow?)

(Say My Name, Say My Name, SAY MY NAAAMEE)

I've had people that I've interacted with in a very friendly manner suddenly start ignoring me, to the point that I don't tag them in stuff anymore - they won't answer anyway - and don't reblog from them anymore either in case seeing my name in their notes might annoy them (I'm also debating unfollowing them, but I do like seeing their posts on my dash 😩)

And lately *drumroll*

I have received insults, death threats and suicide bait for daring to make a post about Ateez and plastic surgery

Though I'm kind of used to it, because I've already received lots if insults, death threats and suicide bait for the mild criticism I've directed towards San in the past

(I'm sorry to say this, but I've never met anyone as bloodthirsty as San biases? Yunho biases understand he has flaws and even agree with me; San biases stubbornly ignore his flaws, pretend they don't exist, pretend he's just an adorable little kitten and I lowkey feel offended on San's behalf? because his own fans diminish his character so much? He is a man, he is a professional, he is acting)

Though the hate and threats don't disturb me as much as the sudden stonewalling from people

I've started posting on tumblr because I was looking for a community that is just not there on tiktok or twitter (where long meta is impossible). But I'm actually debating going completely silent again or leaving altogether because I'm obviously not welcome

(And I understand why: my comments are always annoyingly long, I do have almost no filter, I am a bother; it makes sense that people on here got tired of me, but I am a human, and it upset me 🤷🏾‍♀️)

But right now any time I post something I feel guilty about taking up space in the tags. I have to keep telling myself that Atiny will enjoy videos about our lovely boys no matter what, and will just ignore the fact that I posted them, that they are on my blog; we are all adults (most of us) here, so surely they can tolerate that I posted something if they get a silly or hot video of Ateez out of it

And in the midst of all of this, you've been continuously asking me to take a baseball bat to the hornets nest that is San's sub-fandom

If taking some time for myself to recharge and put some distance between me and this community is cowardice, then yes, I'm a coward

(I call it survival instinct lol)

But sending me dozens of asks about the same topic won't magically change that? 🤷🏾‍♀️

I also really dislike the implications of your comment about Jongho. You seem to think that he's not worth talking about? You obviously think he's less worthy than San

And I just don't vibe with this type of behavior.

[cafffeineconnoisseur]

intro post ~✧.☆｡⁠*⁠ ♡

This was honestly so long due, but here we go~

✧ I don't have a tumblr pseudonym as such, but most people here call me coffee, or you can come up with your own nickname!

✧ 18 | she/her | desi | Bisexual | INFJ

✧ 20 december 2006 (Sagittarius)

✧ productivity blog (on and off):- @procrastinationconnoisseur

✧ I can speak english, marathi, hindi and spanish

✧ I come here to rant, voice my thoughts and talk to my lovely moots!

Some of my interests include~

✧ Art ~ doodling | painting | sketching | writing | poetry | crocheting | cooking | baking

✧ Music (in no particular order) ~ Conan gray | Laufey | Lana Del Rey | Troye Sivan | The weekend | CAS | Chase Atlantic | BTS | Keshi | Lauv | Frank Ocean | Bruno Major | MAX | 1D | kali Uchis etc

✧ Shows/ movies ~ I don't usually like watching shows or movies, but when I do, they become my entire personality. I usually enjoy rom-coms or sci-fi kinda stuff.

✧ Stem ~ I am a bioengineering major so I love love biology esp genetics, human physio, cancer bio, neurosci etc. i enjoy tech too, that includes AI and coding. Not to flex or anything but I am kinda good with maths and physics too ( I just hate chemistry). Leisurely I love reading and knowing about space and the cosmos.

✧ Others ~ self care| dressing up | desi food, movies, clothes, songs what not | pasta AND pizza | travelling and exploring | nails | coffee (ofc) | cafe hopping | swimming and working out | feminism | Beaches | Babies | flowers | jewelry | sky | nights | stars | women | dogs AND cats | cute stationary | fruits | just romanticizing life ig

What my mutals can get from me~

✧ We can interact/ talk about our days or life in general

✧ You can vent to me in dms or asks and I can give you advice or comfort whatever you want

✧I am open to giving or receiving song recs and open to receiving movie recs (I just haven't watched enough to give out recs)

✧ I can happily make you a small doodle or write something for you if I am not too busy (don't be shy to ask this, I need to get out of the slump I am in)

Some things to note~

✧ I get overstimulated very easily, so I might forget to reply to tag games or other replies. In that case, don't hesitate to send me an ask or send a dm

✧ I in no way tolerate any kind of hate speech towards anyone or any community. You will be blocked.

✧ I only accept dms if we are mutuals or if your blog is not nsfw. I am tired of men sending me creepy dms. If you even interact with any of my posts, I will block you.

✧ I don't answer donation asks just cuz neither do I have the money nor do I have the time to verify if the ones I get are authentic or not (i support Palestine and I have made donations in the past i just don't have the time and money to help out every single of the hundreds of donation asks i get)

✧ (tw) I deal with and have dealt with several mental health issues. They include anxiety, ed, sh, and depression. I am open to talking about them and how I got better, but it would be better for you to talk to a professional about it. Also, please be careful when bringing up these topics.

✧ I don't use tags, so good luck finding a post on my blog.

✧ Although, if you are curious as to how I look, you can go on the sorta face reveal? tag to get a slight idea.

Thank you so much for making it this far. I hope you have an amazing day~

[dawnbeast]

...sooo yeah, I've seen a lot of posts about "tiktok therians" and also younger therians in general and I might as well get my two cents about it out here.

Short version: leave them alone; if they bother you that much then block them and move on instead of wasting your energy

Long version: Loud sigh... I feel like I might get some hate for this, but I might as well get it off my chest sooner or later.

Look, I get it, people are frustrated with how things are being watered down, but please think before you cause needless damage. What if, instead of your teacher correcting your answers on a quiz or test, they just insulted you, ignored you, and kicked you out of class? Not only would you not learn anything, but you'd probably end up disliking the teacher, if not developing a dislike for the subject they taught as a whole (as younger crowds tend to do). I've seen this happen in LGBT+ spaces and it saddens me to see it here, too.

Doesn't anyone else remember what it's like to be a teenager, exploring your identity, exploring concepts of the world in general, learning things, growing and maturing as a person? People get stuff wrong and misuse terms ALL. THE. TIME. Especially when young! That doesn't mean that some of them policing terms and identities is okay, of course; I don't blame anyone for taking a stand when it comes to that.

It's important to ensure that misinformation doesn't spread, of course. And that isn't done with gatekeeping and rage; it's done with compassion and patience. Not everyone is built for that sort of thing, of course; I'm not saying everyone out there needs to have the patience of a saint to correct people when they get certain alterhuman-related concepts or terms incorrect. Just know that being a bully on any level, no matter the excuse, will cause more harm than good.

"But it's the only way they'll learn!" No. Those are the words of someone who is letting their frustration and anger guide their actions. Maybe some people will need that kind of kick in the rear, but that should never, ever, ever be the action of choice. To be fair, I might be biased in this regard; my abusive guardian used that excuse all the time to make me do things because she didn't fully understand how my neurodivergence affected me. As a result, every time I see/hear anything similar to that, I'm strongly against it because it only reminds me of the bullying I endured.

Those who have been in this space for a while need to be welcoming to newcomers, willing to point to resources on some level, but still be firm in their boundaries in case someone decides to start trouble. Gatekeeping is not the answer and will never be the answer; the only thing it does is make the whole community look bad while ultimately causing damage. Of course, if you don't have the spoons to deal with any of this, then just block and move on. don't waste your energy on something you know isn't going to do you any good.

Those who are new to the space NEED to do their research from older, more established sources instead of only defining things in a way that they prefer. Things are going to exist in ways that don't make you the most comfortable, but you have the tools to keep that out of your space and you should absolutely make use of them.

I think everyone needs a reminder here that You are in charge of you. If something upsets you, it's your responsibility to block the appropriate people, set up the appropriate filters, whatever you need to do to make your space safe. If you claim an identity, you should at the very least know what it means and refrain from trying to needlessly police it.

And, I say this as a sex-repulsed asexual: sexual things are going to exist in every single space, be it an identity, fandom, hobby, whatever. It's not inherently bad, but it's certainly okay to not like it and it certainly shouldn't be aimed at minors. Set up your filters, block as needed, and move on. (And if you're the one posting NSFW stuff, tag it or otherwise mark it appropriately.)

If you're coming to tumblr from Tiktok, welcome! I hope you can find a safe space here. If you're a minor, please remember to practice basic internet safety. Don't share your age or location, don't show your face (masks are great for this!), be careful who you talk to, etc.

Please, don't fight each other. Educate each other and stand together. The world is a scary place; we don't need to add more bickering where it could be avoided. And we certainly don't want to alienate people who don't need to be.

(Obligatory disclaimer because this is the internet: please remember to use common sense and critical thinking; I'm not going to tolerate any logical fallacies. I don't have the patience for that.)

[monscrow]

intro post, i guess!!!

askbox open only on weekends (when i remember lol); got too overwhelmed by spam, my apologies.

last updated 10/feb/2025

⚠️flash warning for blinkies at the bottom⚠️

free gaza, free palestine, stop genocide. you don't agree? block me.

i go by mons, crow and vic/víctor!!

my pronouns are they/them, he/him and any neos/xenos that you think would fit either comedically or off of vibes.

lvl 16, so, a minor !! beware

aroacespec, something like that; qprs are sick asf and all hail relationship anarchy.

art sideblog is @monscrowdraws

audhdcd (asd + adhd + ocd 😻😋) and hEDS. i use tonetags, feel free to ask for clarification!!!

bday is oct 7. 🎉🎉🎉

i'm mexican 🇲🇽!! i speak both spanish and english.

timezone is cst/utc-6.

i say slurs i can reclaim (mainly the f and t queer ones) and swear a lot, though if that makes you uncomfortable please either block me or lmk so i can try to tone it down when around you.

i love interacting!! feel free to tag me in stuff, send some asks (be it on anon or not), or message me! moots can ask for my discord even if we've never actually talked before. though i suck at keeping consistent; nothing personal i promise</3 /gen

i tend to spam-reblog so do with that information what you will.

some tags you might see me use here and there:

#mons rambles ← just my thoughts, ideas, opinions, and whatever i feel like throwing into the tumblr void.

#ask a crow / #anon asks ← askbox replies.

#save / #art save / #fav / #hellsite faves ← these are more for myself, but yeah they're pretty self-descriptive. just in case you get curious or anything.

hyperfixations/interests/things i'm passionate about !!! i guess, kinda

→ mcr (+ most of the members' solo projects)

→ killjoys (california + national anthem, but mainly calif and fanon)

→ demolition lovers lore (i have literally written like at least three different essays about it for school help me i'm so serious)

→ emo/alt/diy culture

→ will wood

→ bandom in general

→ sonic the hedgehog (franchise)

→ graphic design, arts and crafts, illustration, animation (that's right y'all graphic design IS my passion 😔)

→ fnaf (bonnie fnaf they could never make me hate you)

→ cosplay/costume-making

→ d&d

→ crows (no way, crow, really???)

→ australian shepherds

→ the umbrella academy (s4 isn't canon in my heart + currently reading the comics !!! )

→ gravity falls

→ neurodivergencies/psychology/disabilities (this one's pretty meta ngl)

→ lgbtqia+ identities (emphasis on the aroace-spec ones + relationship anarchy)

→ politics/activism

→ linguistics + conlangs

→ fantasy in general (high fantasy, magic, vampires, tieflings, you name it)

→ boardgames

→ the count of monte cristo (book + 2024 movie)

→ webfishing :3

→ uhhhh there's more but i don't remember rn, i'll keep adding as i see fit (probably... maybe..... perhaps....... quizás........ puede ser..........)

dni

trump supporters, terfs, transphobes, anti lgbtqia+/queerphobics, exclusionists, ableists, racists, prolifers/antichoicers, proshippers/anti-antis, irl gore, pro-israel/zionists, pro-ai generated "content", pro-nft, non-critical media consumers, classists, ed blogs, sh blogs.

also, i'm aware that dnis tend to not be effective and i probably will still get shitty ppl in my inbox so i can and will block. though i'm p chill as long as you're chill. this blog is run by a very neurodivergent, mentally ill, mexican, transmasc, aroace faggot, and any kind of bigoted hatred will not be tolerated.

blinkies made with blinkies cafe !!!

pssst btw, before you go, if you read my intro post i'd heavily encourage you to like it, so i can know!!! :] (/nf though!)

[mugzymiik]

LAST UPDATED: June 19 2025 - LATEST UPDATE: added THIS Towards the end now + added to byi/remember

important

fandom reblog (+ some other stuff) acc: @moonflower-qpr-ceo (filler url ig i cant decide)

HI HELLO!!! call me Gold. or October or Bug. those r my names but idgaf what im called as long as i can recognize it as me :D (pls don't call me Mugz or Mugzy though)

i am transmasculine; he/they + any neopronouns

est timezone

DNI:

homophobics, transphobics, misogynists, racists, sexists, pretty much anyone whos bigoted and/or just an asshole

people who are under 13 (im an older teenager and i dont feel comfortable interacting online with people who arent even SUPPOSED to be online yet)

people who are or support transrace/transabled/transage/transx/transid/whatever the fuck

proshippers

pedophiles

users or supporters of ai """"art""""

supporters of cryptocurrency/nfts of any kind

drama stirrers

supporters/friends of cintagonisupet

supporters/friends of hxngr/constant_hungr/hungry_starving/whatever the fuck he goes by now. i didn't go through 6 years of grooming+abuse just to be hunted down by people who support him. if you support him despite everything, i hope you die a brutal death just alongside him. /srs

supporters of mirei touyama animations/brebear jones

people named Ry*n or Q**nn. sorry hhh

people who obsess over Dead by Daylight. i have real bad experiences with a person who really likes that game- i wont say full-on dni if you like it because thatd be pretty damn stupid, but if you constantly post about it please dont interact. please also tag it if you can, its a trigger

^same as above, but with Forsaken from Roblox. it's too similar to DBD, also a trigger

trump supporters (ew??)

18+ only blogs (im a minor)

byi/remember:

im a minor !!

i have autism, adhd and anxiety, among other things. im heavily disabled in general and i also joke about that a lot- if you dont like it lol sucks to suck , its my experiences to cope with not yours

‼️‼️‼️PLEASE!!! PLEASE!!! DO NOT USE BUG IN ANY SORT OF AUS/STORIES WITHOUT PERMISSION!!!‼️‼️‼️ DRAWING HER IS ABSOLUTELY FINE OF COURSE AND I'LL EVEN LET YOU COME UP WITH HEADCANONS/DECIDE TO GIVE YOUR OC SOME (NON-CANON) RELATIONS TO AER- BUT DO. NOT. USE. HER. FOR. ANYTHING. PERSONAL. WITHOUT. ASKING. I BEG. i do NOT trust very many people to portray her correctly, so if we're not close/i dont know you very well its likely going to be a no to if you can use her or not (there are some special cases however-); im really sorry if this seems rude but she is genuinely a HUGE comfort to me and i feel REALLY uncomfortable when people decide to do their own thing with them without permission and/or keeping me updated

tone tags r needed aaa

NO WARPED FACIAL BODY HORROR AROUND ME PLEASE

i ignore unsolicited dms from people i dont know too well unless it's important, and sometimes i delete asks if i dont know how to respond to them ;; i apologize

i block people who make me uncomfortable

i have a slight tendency to be super dramatic when im upset/distressed- please ignore me whenever i do this, theres an 80% chance I don't actually believe the things i say at those times

if i forget to cw tag anything & its absolutely needed please let me know- as said above, i am Very Forgetful

please dont gush over my old art in really old posts- i barely get anything for my current art and seeing my old art get tons of love suddenly is really discouraging for me

i am a paranoid little freak so pleaaasseeee don't say things to me like "im in your walls"

im hypersexual and i make a lot of suggestive jokes/sex jokes- i tag/warn for the more intense jokes (nothing REALLY intense i promise im not THAT bad) but if i need to tag for lighter jokes ask me on the post and i will tag :)

my fandoms:

dandy's world

warriors

stray

other smaller hyperfixations, some of which come and go

my tags:

#mmmramblez (rambles)

#art + #animation/#writing/#shitpost

#ask

#drawing ideas + #for later

#kinposting

my fandom tags:

idk

my au tags:

#bugverse (my main tpc au; basically a tpc rewrite, in a way)

#dubby's world au (TPC: BugVerse x Dandy's World)

#dw assistance au

my blogs:

@pinkcorruption-verysillyedition (tpc incorrect quotes; submissions are always open, probably looking for mods too if it gets active again 😭)

@pinkcorruptionconfessions

@tpc-bugverse

(there r other ones but uhh im not listing em theyre REALLY inactive </3

FRIENDS & MOOTS!!!!! <333:

The Goobers <3

@darkhatkid - the square to our triangle, pentagon and circle 🩵

@many-faced - the pentagon to our square, triangle and circle 💚

@/m00nlit_sage - the circle to our square, triangle and pentagon 🧡

other friemds that are Just As Cool!!! :D

@trash-jsab

@paw-ureyesout

@kitcatttt

@comet--storm

@anonymously-night

@cielos-pasteles

@astronic-fr

@lavthequad

@orchuris

@1nto-the-zone

@cyberrcyanide

@greenpentagon

@taxi-dummy

@cowboytorrenter

@tasty-eggs

@streetmurder

@thesealantern

@octahedral-chaos

@makothedorito

@fandomt4keover

@something-named-vexxie

@packitupkittycat

me other socials:

discord: @/mugzymiik

youtube: @/mugzymiik

bluesky: @/mugzymiik.bsky.social

instagram: @/mugzymiik

deviantart: @/MugzyMiik

toyhouse: @/MugzyMiik

toyhouse (au edition): @/goldenuniverses

art fight: @/MugzyMiik

sheezy.art: @/MugzyMiik

strawpage: @/mugzymiik

linktr.ee: @/MugzyMiik

roblox: @/MugzyMiik (*i do not have any active alts (aside from a private one which i barely use anyways), and i have no alts with usernames similar to my own. ive had a problem with impersonation before so please tell me if you see someone else claiming to be me and their username is NOT "MugzyMiik")

pixel cats end: @/MugzyMiik

pokefarm: @/MugzyMiik

my discord server!!! (*if youre coming from any of my dandy's world posts, PLEASE ask to join beforehand. i have nothing against any of you /gen, i am just Very Scared Of The Fandom)

tpcblr discord server! (not mine)

miscellaneous stuff i also wanna say cus why not:

i am a Very Heavy Kinnie of Gold from TPC and the triangle player from JSaB :D and also Bug (tpc oc) too

^my headcanons go for Gold Kin™ too :help: i feel.....snak.

^i am perfectly fine with doubles ofc!! in fact I really like interacting with other kins of the same character its Very Inch Restin'™, its like looking in a mirror! /vsilly

i fucking love cheese and ranch

#1 Mother Mother fan trust

believe it or not my favorite animal is cats not snakes

im so normal about triangles trust

i own Hit TPC OC Bug hi /silly

in my DW interest, Glisten, Looey and Astro are my comfort characters :3

im also strawberry birthdaycake's #1 fan trust (/j but srsly theyre my comfort ship atp)

i love everything you hate and/or cringe at :)

other stuff:

art Status

commissions: closed with exceptions (cashapp is currently fucking me over the head with receiving money)

art trades: open

requests: closed, only open at times when i say theyre open

art info

commission information (DM ME)

other post shit i made

my tpc headcanons

tpc google drive

squeemsh

TPC SHOWDOWN

DANDY'S WORLD: ASSISTANCE AU

divider credits

[rileyh20]

Welp

I finally made an intro for y'all, because why the hell not? (I'm bored)

Hi, hello, konnichiwa, all that jazz. My name is Riley, but you can give me any nicknames or anything as long as I am fine with it after you use it! I write fanfiction mostly, but I'll write some stuff that isn't if you wanted me to.

I am going through a gender crisis, but I'm going as gender fluid for now. I'm using he/him as of now/today, I'll change this and other things that say my pronouns when needed

Things to call me: Literally almost ANY pet name, I love pet names :D. You can give me nicknames if you want. If I don't like something you've called me, I will tell you and ask you to please call me something else. There are only THREE things NEVER to call me as they are triggering to me, they are: babe, princess, and bear! But otherwise you can call me anything.

Things I'll write:

Angsty stuff

Fluffy

Crack fic's :3

Any Fandom's I'm in :>

Ships

Whump of almost any kind

Self harm of almost any kind (Specify what kind of kind you want)

Drug over-use, or alcohol intake

Abuse

Child Abuse

Family Abuse

Hinted NSFW, maybe smut depending

I basically have almost no restrictions.

Suicide/Suicidal themes

Any sort of LGBTQ+ themes (Not coming out tho)

Mild SA/Rape themes (Not much tho, beware)

Sometimes x reader if you're lucky, but mostly male reader

Things I wont write:

NSFW on minors, or minor actors

Minor x Adult (Especially explicit)

Fandoms I'm not in

Hurt no comfort (Maybe?)

Pregnant stuff (Idk, just don't even ask-)

Coming out fic's, for now at least (LGBTQ+ coming out)

Fic's where the main plot is about breaking up (I just suck and don't like them)

Fandoms I'm in, and WILL write for:

The Outsiders by se hinton

BBC Merlin

Voltron: Legendary defender

Teen Wolf (Not the movies)

One Piece

ATLA (Not really Korra)

Demon Slayer

TMNT (Mostly 2012 and 2018)

Fandoms I'm in, but probably won't write for:

All Rick Riordan books

Stardew Valley

School Bus Graveyard

I will update this later depending! I'm mostly working on The Outsiders, with slight Voltron tho.

You may introduce me to a fandom, and I may join it!

My Ao3 is Introvert_Extrovert!

Uhh, I don't think I have a DNI list at all. But if you DM me any thing about romance, or kids, or being MARRIED, I will respond but I might block you if it gets out of hand. I'm aromantic, not asexual, but still.

Just, don't DM weird things romantic/sexual stuff, I'm cool with platonic stuff. But just don't if it's anything more. And no, don't ask for a photo of me or my face or anything. I will not show it.

And also, say anything about Dio Brando, and I will be giving it my best friend, also known as The Dio Simp™ (@simp4diobrando). Don't be surprised if you see them a lot on here lol.

I update this a lot, so maybe check this again before requesting just in case! General tags below.

-💧

[therobotmonster]

Let's talk about Toys in Cereal

This is a part of several posts of mine that have gotten big, but I figure it's best to address the phenomenon itself in a new post.

If you want to just browse a ton of cool old cereal toys once we're done, go to: www.cratercritters.com. It's a neat site.

Cereal toys are a long-standing American tradition. Some tag-questions asked if they went away because of greed or because of regulations, and that's complicated.

There are food regulations that complicate things. You may have heard that Kinder Eggs are not legal in the US.

This is usually framed as a "fear the stupid American Kids will eat the toy" kind of thing. This is not the case.

The actual regulation that blocks the Kinder Egg is about food safety from bacterial and undisclosed allergen contamination. Inserting a baggie with a toy into that exposes everything in the cereal bag to the outside of the toy package, and that's a no-no in the US market. The rare thing we're more strict about than the EU.

But that doesn't affect cereal toys, because they can get around it by having it in a separate package outside the food bag, between the inner back and the cardboard box. Much easier on the parents to find when you open the box, too.

Kinder has, themselves, addressed the US Kinder Egg problem the same way, with the Kinder Joy.

Splitting the package. into two sections that are individually sealed.

But a big blow to the practice was the end of the Australian R&L Toy Company.

R&L made tons of simple pack-in Premium toys from the 60s through the 80s. They were the primary supplier to Kelloggs, and made everything from simple one-piece figurines to little build-yourself-action-toys.

For instance, these "Wacky Walkers" worked by tying a string to the figure and the weight, then dropping the weight off a table. The figures would hobble forward on their feet, pulled by the weight. Neat-o!

Then there's stuff like these Toolybirds. I'd sell any one of you to the goblin king for a set of these, because I sure can't afford them at $25 apiece or more. I'll probably just make some dinosaur-knockoff version or somesuch to 3d print, eventually.

R&L went out of business in the 80s and its molds were sold to a toy manufacturing company in Mexico that produced their stuff as bag toys for awhile, before everything just faded away.

Meanwhile, the cereal market was forced to contract elsewhere without a devoted company doing essentially just that.

Liscenses came to the rescue. Fun fact, if you wanted toys from most of the Disney Afternoon, your only hope was Kellogg's.

As time went on, you started even getting software in cereal.

Chex gave out a free, PG-version of DOOM for free. Not a couple of demo levels, a whole game, run on the doom engine, with aliens you zap with a spoon.

But as time went on, companies got less and less into the idea of enticing with freebies, and parents started objecting to the marketing of sugar cereals with toy surprises, because given the opportunity, most parents will blame the company for making something the kid wants for their unwillingness to say "No."

The eternal conflict:

Cool thing the kid would enjoy that you might have to put your foot down over because enforcing moderation is a parent's job, verses unobjectionable conformist mush designed to increase your kids' "goodness levels."

I think the banning of cartoon mascots for snacks in certain countries is also ridiculous.

Thing is, any company could bring them back at any time.

The Monster cereals did figurines of their mascots in cosplay in 2021. Of course, they did it as a limited edition bullshit thing where the actual monster cereal mascots were chase figures, but they made them, they could do them at any time if they wanted to.

They could bring the magic back. Nothing is stopping them.

'cept there's no room for joy on the spreadsheet.

Gotta hit you with a little ennui. It's that ambergris stink that makes the perfume truly sweet.

[sublime-roadkill-eating-bastard]

°•~PINNED POST~•°

Be wary of this blog, travelers. Below is a guide on how to make sure you don't become mincemeat around here.

Name(s):I have been called many things over the years. Eternal, eepy, fish, size 2, size 2 fish, fish tin, tintin, tin man, Tony, Anthony, twinkalicious, it goes on and on. Just scream one of these while tagging me and I'll randomly appear.

Pronouns:He/It

Gender:Vaguely masculine or something idfk no labels have described my experience good enough. Not a woman in the slightest though. Apologies to the girlkissers.

Sexuality:Aroflux/Asexual (Panromantic when I feel it) polyamorus

Undiagnosed neurodivergency. I have an idea of what's up with my brain but I don't want to say anything in case I'm wrong.

Timezone:EST, I am straight up available right now time-wise!

Nationality:AMERICA RAAAAGGHH 🦅🔥🇺🇲🛢️ (Please get me out of here, I hate it.)

DNI:Bigots and fascists of any kind, assholes, and anything else I missed. I just block whoever I don't want to interact with me.

Current Interests (Recent to oldest acquired):Moon Garden, Viscerafest, ENA DREAM BBQ, The Gaslight District, Baldurs Gate 3 and the orginal one too, Nevermore webcomic, Antonblast, Far-fetched, How fish is made, Mouthwashing, ULTRAKILL, Pressure, Cult Of The Lamb (Cotl), TF2, Subnautica, Stardew Valley, Minecraft.

Hobbies:Gaming, writing, baking, occasional art, doom scrolling, languishing, being mentally unstable, not sleeping, sleeping in too much, having too much tboy swag and kissing every gender, your mother, Breadhead, Telling people to watch Moon Garden

Warnings for this blog:Reblog suggestive stuff, things that contain slurs that I can reclaim, swearing, violent art due to the nature of some media I engage in (Nothing too hopefully insane or fetish content, I don't do that stuff!) stupidity, and gay.

DMS?:I'm a lonely bastard, and unless you intend on sending me whack shit go ahead.

Asks?:Anons are on, don't be afraid to send me dumb stuff! If I get sent anything unhinged I will turn off anons and/or ask box until further notice.

Fundraisers?:I cannot donate, and due to the rate of which I get sent asks is too many. I'm going to be brutally honest with how I am on here to forget my troubles...probably. I will still share fundraisers if I come across them, but by god do not rely on me ever. I am incompetent and my skull is full of holes

Other inquiries?:Send em in the ask box. I have no life.

Music:Check out my spotify account, all my public playlists are there!

Oh, and since you got to the end, please click for Palestine!