#I’m not sure 100% what to tag as a tw

[lamentingpat]

there is a scary amount of people who pair their wol with Alphinaud. he’s 16. that is a CHILD

[wowevenmoreloveonearth]

I really need to stop going into the general 911 tag bc some of y’all are so stupid and that’s ok but you’re also really mean and I’d like you to please keep it away from me (I have blocked so many people already)

[nightsmarish]

Summary: after talking to Regulus, you both decide to take the offer to stay with the Potters, and barty gets thrown across the slytherin table by Evan

Pt1

A/n: very focused on Reg for some reason, not 100% sure why, but it's lovely, also we love bestie barty. ALSO ALSO, reader is aggressively, very aggressively, hinted to be slytherin

Poly!moonwater x reader (Remus lupin x regulus black x reader) | 1.4k words

Tw: toxic family, running away? Family disappointment, ect. Barty jinxing Gryffindors for sport and an owl flying into a chess game

Asked to be tagged: @misacc08

★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊

It's finally two weeks until the end of this year at Hogwarts. Class times have been filled with going over study guides and reviewing for the final exams only a few days away. 

Neither you nor Regulus have said yes to staying at Potter Manor this summer. Despite James being very adamant about it.

“I’ll just mention you blokes might be joining us.” James told you when you visited Gryffindor table one morning, as he wrote his parents. 

“James-” 

“No, no, let ‘im. No harm in it? Is there?” Sirius cuts you off, feet extended to rest on the bench across the table from him. 

“But Mrs. Potter shouldn’t prepare an extra room if neither of us will be joining.” Your points are acknowledged when James hums to confirm he heard you, but his quill never stops moving.

Remus has been looking at you the whole time. Not in a creepy way, you're both pretty sure not in a creepy way at least. Just in an undivided attention way. Practically ignoring the other two boys to admire you, other than when he occasionally slaps away Sirius’ hand on his fifth attempt to grab Remus’ food. 

You look down to where Remus sits as well. Honestly, he's not that much shorter than you sitting down, but wherever. Your hand that's not holding the strap of your bag gently scratched the hair at the base of his head before kissing his cheek, mumbling a small promise to see him during your study time later. 

ᯓ★

It's not like you don’t want to go to stay with everyone else. It’d be amazing; it really would. But the idea of going when Regulus stays at the Black House feels wrong. You know being with your parents won’t help him, nor will being at James’ house, but it feels wrong. 

Remembering how destroyed he was when Sirius left. When he came back to school, you two hadn’t known the Marauders like you do now. The anger he knew was misplaced, but he couldn’t help but feel abandoned by Sirius. You remember it—the crying, the way he couldn’t focus until a month into school. And you remember Sirius being disowned.

And maybe that's part of it too. The idea of being disowned. Even if you know they are horrible people, people you don’t wish to be related to. The idea still makes you sick. Their horrible and evil, but dear Salazar, parent approval is so addicting and you hate how much you still want it. 

So which is worse, feeling like you betrayed one of your boyfriends, or your parents disapproval? 

“Regulus?” You keep your voice low in the library. The aforementioned boy looks up from his textbook sitting across from you. Remus, next to you, pauses, moving his quill to focus on you two as well.

“Yes?” His voice matches yours, despite being a little more stiff. 

“I wanna talk about it again. About James’ house.” You rush the words out. Probably because you know Regulus will want to shoot it down immediately.

“Love, you know I’m not going.” He sighs, sitting up straight in his seat. 

“Why? Why not go?” 

"Dove-" Remus tries to interject, not sure how well direct confrontation will go after Regulus has already denied it far too many times.

“What would I do?”

Both you and Remus pause, looking right at Regulus. Who stares right back at you.

“What do you mean?’ Remus says what you think.

“I leave, I get disowned, I lose the family fortune.” There are unspoken words there; everyone knows. He loses the Black name, he loses the reputation, and he loses everything he ever knew. Sirius had always wanted to leave; he had dreamed about it long before the possibility ever even crossed Regulus’ mind. The older Black had an idea of what would happen long before he left. Regulus hasn't gotten that right. 

“We can figure it out when we get there, love.” Remus rests his quill in the small ink pot, reaching both his hands to cup Regulus’ hands between his own. 

All three of you stay silent for a second, Regulus looking down at Remus’ hand covering his own, you staring at Regulus, and Remus looking between the two of you, trying to figure out what to do. 

"If..." you sigh, shifting in your seat, “if... you go... I’ll go, and we can figure it out together.” 

Gray eyes shoot up to yours. “Are you serious?” His voice is unsure, like you're going to take your offer back for no apparent reason. 

“Yeah. I’m scared too, but I don't think I can bring myself to go back, not this time. But at the same time, I won’t be okay with going if you don’t go.”

Remus takes a deep breath, one hand still holding the younger boy's hand, other moving so his arm wraps around your shoulder, gently rubbing your upper arm. “So, it's settled. I can tell James.” 

“Thank you,” You whisper, and Regulus takes one of his hands from the lycan to intertwine your fingers. 

ᯓ★

The letter felt wrong to write. Less than a week before you're off to Potter Manor is when you get a response.

You're sitting at the Slytherin table in the morning when the letter holding their response arrives. Your owl landing smoothly, unlike the poor Hufflepuff owl you see sly head first into a game of Wizard Chess.

The seal of the letter belongs to your family, and it's painfully obvious. Regulus had gotten his response within a few days. Hurtful and harsh, despite never reading it yourself.

Looking around, Regulus is watching Barty, who is sitting on the long table rather than at it, cast small, mostly-hopefully harmless jinxs on a few older Gryffindors who haven't seemed to notice who's doing it. While Evan is whispering more and more jinxs for Barty to use.

Deciding that you might as well get it over with, you break the wax seal. The letter was nothing but vile, as you expected, the threats, the anger, the disappointment. Yet, you are honestly relieved. Like a huge, bolder is off your back. Sisyphus would envy you.

"And what do you have? A secret admirer? Are you planning on finally leaving the wild beasts you call boyfriends?"

Barty turns his attention to you as you finish reading, snatching the letter to inspect it.

"Ew, is that from your parents?" Evans nose scrunches up, noticing the names signed at the bottom of the parchment when he leans over Bartys shoulder.

"Yeah, I wrote them last week that I'd be staying with the Potters this summer, and they finally got back to me." Your voice remains surprisingly even, despite feeling somewhere between calm and like you're going to vomit, cry, and punch a wall.

Evan and Barty continue to scrutinize the letter, the phrasing, and how your mother writes the letter S weird. While Regulus leans closer to you.

"Everything okay?" His quite, a stark contrast two the boys sitting acorsd from you as Barty pushes his boyfriend off the seat for something or another and Evan kicks a little too close to Bartys dick.

"Yeah, it'll be okay." You hum, scooting closer to the pale boy, "would you and Remus want to come stay at my dorm tonight? At least for a little? Serenella and Iris are both going to be out all night."

"Of course, love. I'll grab Remus after charms and we can meet you there before dinner?" A soft kiss is placed on the top of your head when he finishes his sentence.

"That sounds good."

The peace of the situation is cut off by Barty falling off the table towards you, taking you down to the floor with him.

"God damnit Barty!" A smile far to big for the situation paints your face face.

"Evan threw me, gem! He tried to kill me! I'm wounded." Barty sits half on hus knees, half laid out on the gross Hogwarts in such a pathetic manor Regulus chuckles under his breath.

"And I'll do it again idiot!" Evan sits back on his spot at the long table. Huffing while smoothing out his hair and uniform.

"Oh God, gem, I won't make it." Barty throws himself onto you, your back to the ground as you laugh. "If I die will you leave your loser boyfriends to join me and Evan?"

"Okay, junior, that's enough." Remus appears in your vision, slightly nudging Bartys side, like touching him too long will make whatever is sodding wrong with the boy rub off on him.

"Hello, big boy." Barty stands up and takes you with him, dusting off his and your clothes. "You know, both of you could leave Regulus and-"

"Okay Barty!" Regulus pushes Barty to sit back down, shutting him up as he begins to bicker with Regulus next.

[its-nate-the-sharpshot]

Open rp: burn it all down

Tw: violence, burning buildings, intentional murder, mental breakdown

Nate’s violence had been getting worse. Way worse. He kept coming home broken and beaten and soaked in blood after vanishing for days on end. No matter what anyone said, no matter how hard anyone tried to keep him inside and safe he always got away, and more people ended up dead. Overkill? Sure. But the people he hurt deserved it. And yeah this wasn’t ’normal’ sixteen year old stuff but he hadn’t been a kid in a very long time, as well as he plastered a smile on his face and kept joking. Kept laughing.

There was a warrant out for his arrest and a list of names scratched out one by one in his room. Over 300 down, just 12 left, and they were all in one building. He’d dropped off the radar for almost a week, no contact with anyone. Until his little appearance now.

Nate stood outside on the street, flicking his lighter on and off. Yards and yards of fuse and literal gallons on petrol were now inside that building, every vent and wall and unused room one spark away from flame. And he had the spark.

Other people would get hurt, other people would die. The fire would spread. But at this point he didn’t really care, not anymore. The idea of suffering was numbed, and the thought of finally, finally killing the people he’d been after the whole time filled him with a giddy excitement he didn’t want to think too hard about.

They killed my mom. I’m gonna stop them from doing it in the first place.

Nate smiled to himself as he flicked the lighter on one last time and lit the fuse at his feet, the spark running across it and vanishing into a pipe in the building’s wall. In ten minutes the thing would be ablaze, and those monsters would be dead. He could finally sleep at night.

Until he heard something behind him. Footsteps. A familiar voice.

No no no no no not now, any time but now

“You know it’s kinda rude to stalk people? Especially when they’re busy”

————————————————————

//AND THUS we begin Nate’s proper villain arc. He is acting not normal and very irrational and will lash out. He is completely beyond reason and your efforts will fail. This is an angst rp proceed with caution. I’m gonna tag people but PLEASE don’t interact if you don’t feel 100% up to it.

@clintbarton-thearrowguy @laura-barton-shield @the-good-redheaded-witch @natt-romanoff @under0-0s @chaotic-shapeshifter @whosafraidoflittleoldme17 @thebetterbartontwin @your-fav-russian-assassin

[forever-141]

A Push In The Right Direction.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley X FemReader (Mentions of John MacTavish)

TW: Some Angst. Mentions of Johnny’s passing.

(This is my first post. Work was boring and I’m pretty sure my time of the month is coming. Not sure where the thought came from and I’m 100% positive there are more like this but my brain was in overdrive today and needed to do something.)

They all knew who you were. Johnny’s pretty little bird they called you. Soft, curvy, and always so lovely whenever he brought you around for functions or random get togethers with the team. It had been no surprise to them when he showed up at the last dinner he shared with them, preening about how you had said yes when he asked you to marry him a few days ago, forcing you to flash the ring he had slipped onto your finger to everyone.

Life seemed to be going in the right direction. At least for a little while anyways. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to be the one to tell you that Johnny passed away on their last mission. Simon stood at your door, arms never feeling heavier than at that moment.

He could still recall the scream that left your throat when he told you and handed you his dog tags. Simon knew the tags should have gone to his family, but deep down, he needed you to have them. That scream, and the sight of you clutching your chest while trying to keep yourself upright by holding onto the door was a sight that haunted him, both awake and in his nightmares.

After Johnny’s passing, you had disappeared. Simon knew it was for the best. He couldn’t possibly know what it was like to lose the one person you thought you were gonna spend the rest of your life with, but if he did, he’d disappear to.

Almost 2 years had passed since it all happened. Simon had spent a good majority of that time keeping his head afloat. He had been going to therapy because Price had mentioned it would be a good thing for him. Which prompted him to take some time away from his job, from what he called, the normal.

His last therapy session had turned into a conversation of “wanting to get away for a bit” and that’s exactly what he had done. He had heard that Johnny’s family had given him a spot in their cemetery plot, no body, just a simple marble header with his name, the day he was born, and the day he passed, the usual.

That’s how he found himself walking into an unfamiliar area, rows of rock, marble and other memorable works of art that left small bits of information about those who were buried here. The only thing in his hand was the black balaclava with the white skull markings he always used to wear. “Somethin’ to leave on Johnny’s grave,” he had kept telling himself.

Simon had been able to get a hold of one of Johnny’s sisters, asking for the location of where they placed his header. As his feet took him further, he could feel himself getting heavier and heavier with each step. But those steps stopped the moment he found what he was looking for.

It was like all air had left his lungs the moment Johnny’s gravestone came into view. But it wasn’t because he had finally made it, no. It was because his gaze landed on something he never thought he’d see again. Something that made his entire world flip upside down.

You.

He stared at your standing form, eyes glued to the marble piece in front of you as you spoke to Johnny like he was there. Simon was about to move in when you shifted just enough that he caught a glimpse of a young child cuddling against you in your arms.

Simon’s eyes landed on the small human who was staring back at him. Johnny’s eyes, piercingly bright blues, stared back at him. A small babble of happiness spewed from the young boys mouth which caused you to turn and come face to face with someone you thought you’d never see again.

“S-Simon?” You stuttered out, your eyes wide as the large brooding figure just stood there, unable to rip his gaze away from you or the little one clinging to the collar of your sweater. You could see the gears turning inside of his head.

“Is…is that..” He couldn’t even get the words out that he wanted to say. His legs forced him closer, closing the distance between your frame and his. “Johnny’s?” He finally croaked out. His gaze followed the slow nodding of your head before turning back to look at the little boy.

His heart was beating like a drum behind his ribcage, hands all of a sudden had become sweaty as his grip on the balaclava tightened. You were scared for a moment at the sudden switch in his demeanour, but it quickly went away when his arms encircled your shoulders, pulling you in for a tight hug, being careful not to squeeze the boy in your arms.

Simon wasn’t even sure why he was holding you, but there was a small voice in the back of his head telling him he needed to. “You didn’t tell anyone,” he had finally said, his voice straining to keep the emotions at bay. “I couldn’t,” you remarked in a whisper, “please understand why.”

Letting go of you, Simon side stepped around you and gently laid the balaclava over the curve of his gravestone, smoothing out the fabric. “Let me help take care of you.” The statement caught you off guard and as you went to say something, he stopped you by raising a hand.

“Just let me do this, for Johnny, for you, and for...” he continued, motioning a hand to the little one who was the spitting image of his father. “Please.” You could see the turmoil in his eyes. He had to do this, not for Johnny, but for himself.

“Okay,” you replied softly, your lips curving up into a warm smile. “John,” you said suddenly, your eyes still locked on the large dark ones that were still on yours, “His name is John.”

[deer-prongs]

//imma tag whoever i remember in this, feel free to participate even if you arent tagged though ALSO I DID NOT READ THIS ADTER WRITING SO THERE WILL MOST PROBABLY BE ERRORS just go with it// @why-am-i-the-one-drowning @killerbeecj @br1ghtest---star @ uhhh oops. I dont remeber. Okie, anyways, feel free to tag people in the comments if you remeber their url

TW: uh self harm, not really graphic though. If you squint you might see something with an eating disorder, not purposeful though. Kinda, like, a panic attack? Maybe? Idk. Also, it feel very criptic sooo uh, yea.

James lets out a sigh as he colapses on his bed after class. Care of Magical creature had just let out after a test about the evolution of Magical creature compared to the evolution of Non-magic creatures with similar ancestry and he was 100% sure he failed it. His grades have been declining throughout the past couple weeks and every time his parent’s called him he hated every lie that came out of his mouth.

He can’t seem to stop lying though.

First to his parents about his school work,

then his teachers about needing to go to the bathroom

then to his friends about, well, frankly everything

And now to Regulus.

Well, he didn’t lie entirely. He truly did have a shitty day yesterday. But he’d been having a shitty day almost every day recently. Yesterday he was just especially out of it. His friends noticed it, too. Asking why he wasn’t eating at lunch, “oh, i just really need to finish this late work, i’ll bring something with me back to the dorm, don’t worry”. Asking why had so much late work, “i dont know! The teachers have just been giving so much homework don’t you think?? And all on the same week too! It’s ridiculous!” Asking why he didn’t participate in the conversation, “oh, sorry! I just don’t have much to add, really.” Asking why he was staring at his desk, “what mate? Oh, yea, i’m just really tired. Not even sure why.” Asking what was wrong with his thigh “just really sore from practice is all. Don’t worry, i’ll stretch it out later.” Asking what he was doing, “just gotta go take a piss is all.” Asking where he was going, “I just need a break is all. School has been giving me such a headache, a breath of fresh air and run will do me good.”

And then Regulus.

He had followed him all the way into the forest. James had hoped to be alone, but seeing his boyfriend was nice. Being able to cry into his shoulder and hug him had helped.

But clearly not enough.

Because now he was laying on his bed, looking directly at the bathroom door, the small container in his pocket weighing heavily.

Another sigh.

another rub to his thigh.

A pulsing in his wrist.

Oh. That was new

He’d never felt to need to cut there.

He looked down at the smooth skin, pressing in just where Reg had kissed the day before.

BaDum

BaDum

BaDum

pulsed under his fingers as images pulsed in his head.

the flowing of blood out of a small line

BaDum

a blade slowing slicing through the skin

BaDum

a crimson river going down his arm

BaDum

down his leg

BaDum

spilling put faster

BaDum

as more cuts we sliced into the skin

BaDum

metal to flesh

BaDum

metal to flesh

BaDum

metal to flesh

BaDum

His hand flew away from the pressure point

Blinking away to clear his thoughts, he stood up, putting his hand in his pocket and the other on the door knob.

Twist

Pull

Step

Step

Step

His head felt just as clouded as it was yesterday. Thick cotton blocking his thought from his body. Holding on to the railing to not fall, he made his way down to the common room. And out of the common room. Not sure where he was going. Not even sure if he was going somewhere.

He made it somewhere though.

Specifically he made it to a small room in the first floor of hogwarts. He had found it while making the map, but decided it was too small to tell the others about. He had forgot about it since then.

Well, apparently not.

He let out a shaky breath and sat down on the cold, dusty floor. Wrapping his arms around his body and feeling pathetic while doing so.

. . .

. . .

Don’t

a nail dug into his wrist,

Don’t

pulled at his skin,

Don’t

and let go.

the wrist made his way to his mouth,

teeth dug into the skin,

and let go.

Deep breath in

Deep breath out

Deep breath in

Deep breath out- of fuck this

Small blade out

Small blade in

Small blade moved across his skin

nothing

nothing

red

blood

blade

nothing

red

blood

blade

nothing

red

blood

pain

pain

pain

sigh

[muwapsturniolo]

Let’s talk about it.

Tw! Mentions of suicide, slurs, rape accusations, triggering shit in general

As most of yall know there has been drama this past week that I was dragged into as well as rose. This drama started off as something petty that rose and I didn’t want to be involved in, and because I unfollowed the people involved, and told them it wasn’t right to drag rose and I into it, and rose blocked the people involved, suddenly one of the people is dead and rose and I are being blamed.

Now, death is a serious thing, however you’re not gonna blame someone killing themselves on me when I didn’t do anything to them. That’s horrible and disgusting, and it’s fucked up. Do you understand how serious of an accusation that is? Of course I’m not going to care if someone is dead and I’m being blamed for it.

Posts are being sent to me on anon and I’m seeing people say I joked about death. I didn’t joke about shit, I made a few insensitive comments and said I don’t believe she’s dead and I stand on that. I already messaged this acct but to make a video and say “this is just like telling someone a person faked a raped accusation, I’m gonna believe her until she is proven guilty” is actually crazy considering this is two different fucking things, and there’s actual evidence that I didn’t kill nobody.

(Convos with Aaliyah proving I didn’t say anything crazy to her)

This sounds harsh but idc because it needs to be said. If you kill yourself because you dragged two people into sum shit that they didn’t ask to be dragged into, and they react by telling you that you were wrong and they unfollow and block, there is something actually wrong with you.

This is giving the same energy as a manipulative toxic narcissist boyfriend/girlfriend/whoever the fuck, that threatens to kill themselves because you want to break up.

I was literally being harassed on instagram live, a person was watching the live and sending me anons calling me all types of slurs and responding to what I was saying. They kept accusing me of “killing their friend” and that’s bullshit.

How is it possible I killed your friend when them ending their life has nothing to do with me? Like honestly think about it, I’ve posted the messages between me and Aaliyah, nothing bad was said. So no, I didn’t kill your friend nor did I tell her to.

And also, as I was on live yesterday, I showed two accts, one that ik for a fact is Aaliyah, and one that I’m 99% sure is Aaliyah. The 99% one is 99% because I went through their old stories and they were speaking French (which Aaliyah was), was black (which Aaliyah was), had the name Aaliyah and followed me on both my instas, and also looked 13-14 (which is what people kept claiming her age was) After I showed the one I wasn’t 100% certain about, people in the live were getting blocked by that acct and the weird person harassing me on the live admitted they were on the acct and blocking people. The said it was cause I showed her face but there were no photos on the acct of Aaliyah nor was the pfp her. ALSO THE ACCT LITERALLY WAS POSTING EARLIER THAT DAY

Now, I’m starting to believe this was all Aaliyah because she didn’t want to take accountability, but part of me still believes it’s Lila because she has done odd shit in the past which was confirmed by someone.

(Confirming that Lila has made multiple accts to interact with rose and rose keeps blocking her)

Also Lila claims she never blamed me or rose and someone else claims bendetta never did. Is she didn’t, then what is this?

Is this not Lila trying to have a gotcha moment ?? Mind you, Lila unblocked me just to tag me in this post. Then when I called her out she blocked me immediately because she knew she was wrong for blaming me and rose.

So basically to sum up this post, I didn’t kill anyone, rose didn’t kill anyone, stop talking on shit you don’t know anything about, and don’t fake your fucking death and accuse people.

[mossstep]

More sagau (self aware genshin au) headcanons(plus a little bit of writing) These ones are a bit more focused instead of general.

Ghost!reader sagau headcanons

As always: I am a minor, don’t be weird with my posts!

Note: these posts are made with the intention of lightening up the sagau tag, also, if you’re interested in me writing an entire story using my headcanons just ask and I’ll be happy to!

Tw/cw: sagau, swearing, references to the 4.2 archon quest (not 100% sure if this is needed)

Arriving in teyvat

Waking up in teyvat was certainly not on your bingo card for this year. You had only been playing genshin seriously for about a year or so. You had played before that, but had gotten bored after the Monstadt archon quest, because of the steep ar requirements for the Liyue archon quest.

So waking up in Liyue, specifically wuwang hill was, jarring to say the least. You had recognized the area immediately. You had basically lived in the crimson witch domain farming for your Hu Tao. Not that you had Hu Tao yet, having lost your 50/50 on each of her reruns. (Seriously! Talk about bad luck!)

As you get up you notice a vague feeling weightlessness, looking down, you noticed that you were partially see-through? What?

-

So the creator would probably meet Hu Tao first, as she likes the hang around wuwang (I don’t know her lore to correct me if I’m wrong) and Hu Tao would almost immediately recognize the reader as the creator due to their “golden aura.” Despite this, she’d treat you as your average ghost

-

The creator’s appearance would be like the ghosts seen in a game. But instead of that blueish-white color outline, the creator’s would be golden.

-

The creator’s ability to interact with things would be limited, only being able to slightly nudge or push things. They wouldn’t be able to pick anything up, or eat anything.

Despite this, they’re able to be seen/talk to vision holders and other elemental beings. While regular humans would only be able to sense them.

Also, the creator can possess shit, because ghost!

-

It’s likely that Zhongli, after catching wind of the creator’s arrival in not only teyvat, but also Liyue, would try to meet with them.

I can see the geo archon getting in contact with Ei or Neuvillette about making a mechanical puppet/body for the creator, since they were very limited in what they could do.

-

In their ghost form the creator would likely be able to take advantage of laylines/teleport waypoints/statues of the seven/etc. to travel around teyvat, which is how they meet with their favorite characters, wether or not they know about the creator’s arrival

Creator: hi tighnari :3

Tighnari: ARCHONS WHERE DID YOU COME FROM!?

Creator: secret :3

Alternatively

Creator: Hi Kaveh

Kaveh: OH SHIT A GHOST (unaware they’re the creator)

-

The creator would probably spend a whole 6 months or longer in teyvat without a body, because the people of teyvat would make sure only the best body is given to them.

If the people of Fontaine make a body for the creator they’d probably have the the fortress of meropide temporarily stop production on gardemeks to put all their energy in making the perfect mechanical body for the creator of teyvat.

If Ei instead uses the technique she used to create the shogun and scaramouche she’d source only the highest quality materials, then spend ages meticulously working on every little detail to make sure it’s perfect

No matter how much you say you don’t care about it being perfect, the people of teyvat would consider it blasphemy to give anything less than the best for their creator.

[dearest-kibble]

Atlas

A part one (the second is in the works and I'm going insane because i have a lotta ideas) Read on A03 here!

Tw: Stalking, (kind of?) suggestive content, general yandere-ness. It is slow to get to but very much there. Kinda goes from 1-100. Miguel is so sane he swears. I'm back to my dialogue loving ways. (If you think I've forgotten any tags please let me know!)

“Are — Are you okay?” There is a man bleeding in the alley behind your apartment. Profusely might you add. He doesn’t speak, just grunts at you and you notice — Spider-man. That’s Spider-man. He’s bleeding out in the alley. Without a single other thought you make your way towards him and rid yourself of your jacket. Spiderman cocks his head at you. “It’s not much. I know-” You tie it as tightly as you can around the wound. “But until I can get something better-” He shakes his head. “No?” He coughs. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.” He painfully rasps and starts to push himself off the damp pavement. Immediately your hands are outstretched and willing to help support. A large shaky hand takes them and you try your best to pull him gently from the ground.

He doesn’t offer any thanks as he staggers out of the alleyway, just a small nod but you feel compelled - “Thank you Spider-Man.” You think he turns at that.

———————————-

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

“What, had a good night?” You don't have to look to see Phil's stupid smug face.

“Interesting night maybe.” You were still tired, worried and a little high on meeting Spider-man.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” You love your co-worker, he's nice. Really truly he is. But what you wouldn't do to give him a good punch.

“I had an interesting night, take it as you will.” No way in hell you're ever telling him about Spider-Man.

“So you totally fu-” You've never been more relieved for a potential rush.

“Hello! We’ve got a menu on the wall above the counter whenever you’re ready to order just let one of us up here know!” You turn around to smile at your customer only to realize you have to look up. And up and up, until you finally meet his gaze. His eyes meet yours and he quickly turns his gaze up towards the menu.

“Just let us know whenever you’re ready to order.” Your co-worker tacks on. He stands with posture that cannot be comfortable, not speaking a word. He’s the only customer and both you and your coworker share a glance. He has this undeniably defeated look in his eye, but he still stands tall - as if he’s forced to.

“-ato.” He finally mumbles

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t quite hear that.” You give him a smile as best you can and wait while he just… stands there,

“I said macchiato.” It is then that he stares you down. You can see so much so clearly. His piercing brown eyes, you’d thought they were defeated before but maybe that was just the bags around them. Now that he’s looking at you he seems… much less sad. Though placing that emotion is not something you’re up to the challenge of. They seem to lighten a little as he asks, “Are you going to ring me up?” He speaks flatly, not a single hint of inflection and his teeth seem to glint in the light strangely. Briefly you wonder if maybe it’s some sort of body modification that he got, you don’t see a terrible amount of fangs. He clears his throat and suddenly you realize you’ve just been standing there.

“Oh gosh - yes yes. Let me just-” You move to the POS “Right over here!” You chirp. “One final question, do you mean a traditional macchiato? Or one of the Stellarbucks ones?” He huffs a small chuckle from his nose and his lips twitch upwards, not quite into a smile but a ghost of one.

“Those aren’t macchiatos. Traditional.” You should've figured, he seems like a straight espresso, black coffee kinda guy.

“Alright we’ll bring it out when it’s ready.” He goes to sit in the corner, away from any windows and from a bag pulls a computer.

“Did he tip?” A whisper as your co-worker grabs one of the macchiato cups from atop the espresso machine.

“Don’t think so.” You whisper back.

“Asshole.” You can’t help but giggle a little.

“Oh c'mon, he doesn’t seem completely awful, He just seems a little awkward is all.”

“You’re just saying that cause you think he’s hot.”

“Where do you get your ideas? First it’s my ‘fun night’ and then it’s this.”

“And where do you find the time to flirt so much?” Phil smirks.

“I absolutely was not flirting.” You make sure to say it with authority.

“I mean he is hot.” Phil says this rather loudly, and gives you the shittiest grin to ever eat. “You seemed to be staring at him.”

“Eye contact is common courtesy!!” You hiss.

“And his macchiato is done and I’m not dealing with him, go get him, lovebird.” You roll your eyes and take a doily and the cup. You make it quickly to his seat where he is comically large compared to the table and chair. He’s spilling over the edges of his seat and his arms are so large they take up what little space his computer doesn’t.

“Alright, I’ve got your traditional macchiato, let me just…” You look for a spot to place it, and find nothing with everything on his table. “I don’t want to throw a wrench in your work. Where would you like for me to place it?”

“Here is fine.” He shifts awkwardly, shoving his arm to his side so you have space. He watches you place the doily first and as you gently set down his cup. Before you can turn and tell him to “enjoy!” he exhales and mumbles softly, “You’re good at your job. No one knows what a real macchiato is these days.”

“Thank you.” You say politely. “We serve both, enjoy!”

“Can I ask your name?” You turn, just to see his eyes on you, a little softer, just as sunken and he’s got that same smile, almost knowing. He takes a sip of his coffee. “You don’t need to answer.” His mouth opens again as if he’s about to speak and you see it again, his elongated canines scraping against the edge of his cup when he downs his macchiato. He gulps it down quickly and takes your wrist, placing the cup in your palm and curls your fingers around it. Eyes so fixated on your hand in his that when he finally looks up, they widen and he pulls away quicker than you’d’ve thought possible. He sits down immediately and focuses pointedly onto his screen. He mumbles again - a quick, “Thank you again. Good espresso.” He can’t bring himself to look at you anymore, but you nod as if he’s looking anyway.

“Thanks, it's Peruvian!” He stares ahead just at his screen. Nods. “Just let us know if you need anything else.” He nods again and you walk back to the counter.

“So, how was it?”

“He’s-”

“You like him don’t you?”

“Would you stop with that? He’s strange,” You think back to his hand under yours, take a deep breath because even he was clearly surprised by his behavior. “But that’s all.”

“F’you say so.” Phil shrugs.

The rest of the day is painfully slow. Just an occasional latte or cappuccino. Nothing interesting. It’s as you’re closing that you see him again. Just as tall, just as weighed down. He still cannot bring himself to look at you when he murmurs “My name is Miguel. Have a good evening.” And he briskly walks out the door, bell ringing behind him. When you clean his table you find five dollars cash and a note in neat handwriting. “Best espresso I’ve had in a while. Will be back.” You pocket the money with a small smile, and take a second - you should split it with Phil, shouldn’t you. You sigh when you walk back and put it in the tip jar, and smile when you tuck it into the envelope labeled “tips”. You finish cleaning quickly, and start your trek back to your apartment. It’s a quick, brisk walk - chilly in the fall. You’d’ve thought after Spider-Man’s visit last night that maybe, your block would’ve been quieter. But the outskirts of Nueva York are never really quiet as you near your building, petty thieves run out of the grocers’ and it’s all you can do to pass by - who knows what could happen if you got involved. They scurry away with their money and goods and you come face to face with your door.

Held tightly to the metal with faint red webs and a note that reads “thanks again, S. M.”, is your jacket. You tug at the webbing, noting the slight warmth and strange pulse that it seems to have. Thrumming softly as you pull it away. Your jacket has clearly been cleaned, impressively might you add as for the amount of blood that seemed to be on it, there isn’t a single stain. You press your palm to your door and put your jacket on as it verifies your identity. You catch a glimpse of the blue and red suit from your kitchen window, he must’ve caught those thieves too!

The next day is bright and early, you put on your jacket for a brisk morning walk, spending your time before work amongst the carefully manicured trees with a sandwich for breakfast. Phil isn’t there when you clock in, and a quick check of your schedule tells you he won’t be there - you’re on your own today (and apparently the rest of the week). So you buckle down, set up the portafilters and check the espresso for the day - (light almond flavoring, all natural - the bean is kind).The morning is steady, different drinks, no terrible customers. Midday slows, no lunch rush today. Your evening is interesting. It gets busy around three o’clock, an entire line that on a Thursday, isn’t common. They’re asking for cortados, specialty drinks, modified with oat, soy and coconut - a never ending onslaught of everything you serve. The pastries you had set out that morning were all gone not even fifteen minutes after three and the line only grew and grew and grew. But you keep your composure. Deep breaths and glances to the tip jar have gotten you through rushes before, it’ll get you through one now. The line starts to dwindle around four thirty. Slowly, slowly thinning and exiting the shop. You are almost completely sold out of pastries and your coffee supply is running a little higher than your energy; not very. That’s when he finally enters again. Miguel(?), from yesterday. With the macchiato.

“Welcome back in,” You try your best to sound enthusiastic for a returning customer but you can’t help the exasperation seeping through. “What can we get you today?”

“Black-eye.” His eyes flit to you. “Please.” And back to the ground as they had been when he entered.

“That’s easy enough, we’ve got good espresso today.” You give him a nod.

“It was good yesterday.”

“But it’s better today, trust me.” You punch his order into the POS, “Oh, preference on single origin?” You smile at him again.

“What’s your lightest roast?” He tilts his head and the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Oh you need caffeine that badly? It’s our Ethiopia.” He shakes his head in amusement.

“No I,” He catches himself, “Yes I need the caffeine.” You start setting up the pour over, 21 grams and a gooseneck.

“What, you have late shifts or something?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Think I can imagine. I have to deal with Phil half the time. Love that kid but god-” He exhales out his nose again, “So anyway, what do you do? Miguel, right?” You're halfway through, one eye on the coffee another on him. At the mention of his name his face drops. His face goes blank, eyes closed and he starts to turn.

“Same place as yesterday.”

“Alright.” Well so much for conversation. You turn as you make your last pour, and switch the espresso machine on, pour the shots and then the coffee. You take the mug and start over to the same table he was hunched over yesterday.

“Your black-eye.” He takes the cup from you this time, pulls it from your hand and doesn’t place it down.

“Do you…” His eyes dart to the side as he trails off, seems to stop himself.

“Oh?”

“Was just going to ask about coffee cake.”

“Oh yes! There is a single one left in the back, would you like it?”

“No.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything else.” He hums in response, sipping at his coffee and turning to his screen. You walk back to continue cleaning up the shop - with the rush of the day it’ll take longer to have it all cleaned and fixed. Your boss was born in 2037, and liked to do things the old fashioned way. No automated cleaning, no voice activated espresso, everything you did was done by hand in this shop. You supposed that maybe that’s what makes your cafe unique or popular, the antiquity of it. You knock the remaining pucks, cringing at the sound as you do, mop the floor, restock just about everything in the shop and even then you still have more to do it seems.

“What time do you close?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you on your way to check the table and chair positions.

“We close in,” You look to your shoulder, and immediately his hand is merely hovering, no longer resting on your shoulder. You continue slowly. “About ten minutes.”

“You’re an incredibly hard worker.” He stands, collecting his screens and pushing in his chair.

“Thanks,”

“It’s -” He cuts himself off again, wincing to himself and pinching his nose. “Nevermind.”

“Have a nice evening!” He bobs his head and doesn’t look back. The next day is slow. Rainy, dreary, cloudy - all of it. And the people willing to come out in this weather… well they all live in the undercity. Y���know - where the weather never changes. It’s a good day for the old jazz music on “Bluetooth” speakers, cozying up with some tea or coffee and setting up to do some computer work yourself. It’s cozy, you alone in the shop at seven in the morning, pastries put on display, coffee by your side and non-work related work set up on the counter. Eventually after sorting your affairs, you turn to check the state of the shop - maybe that Miguel guy would come again today, you might’ve gained a painfully awkward customer these past two days. Maybe it’ll be a different regular, someone seeking shelter from the pouring rain that refuses to drizzle. Maybe you won’t have any customers and you’re forced to go home and catch up on all the things you’ve been meaning to - ever since Spider-Man returned your jacket your door seems to have had some slight issues. You suppose the lock being a kind of genetics based lock (or something? Your landlady would know,) had some strange reaction to Spider-Man’s webs. Which makes perfect sense if you’re honest, if they’re any kind of biological creation they’d have to be a little strange to a door meant to scan a palm. Make it malfunction maybe. So yeah, if it’s a slow day you’d love to make it back and make sure your door isn’t going haywire and that you haven’t been robbed. The rain continues to pound against the windows, showing no sign of stopping. You decide to make yourself a drink and watch the day. The jazz is soft and the rain is loud, the view out the windows is limited, only showing the faint glow of signs reflected in puddles and the occasional passerby.

About two hours in you settle into working on your own thing. The rule is three hours no customers, and you can close. Just one more to go. You’re doing your fourth patrol of the shop when you look out the window again. It’s too rainy to tell exactly who it is, but from a distance you see a silhouette. They seem to be facing the shop, but it is a silhouette, maybe their back is facing the shop. They aren’t holding an umbrella, though maybe it was one of those less affordable nanotechnology devices to keep rain off, and they stand as you watch them (really this is the most interesting thing in hours, the fact that the rain has cleared enough to see the outline). The sign across the street flickers slightly and they flinch at the burst of light amidst the gloom. Eventually you realize how creepy it is of you to stare at someone who’s probably got their back turned to the shop and you go back to pacing. You can’t help but look on your fifth round though, to see if they’re still there.

They stay there for an hour in fact, get a little closer too, so you can tell that the body is masculine. He absolutely is facing the shop, looming closer and closer to the window. He lingers for not even a minute before you see him shake his head, finally take a step to the left and continue away from the shop. You’re left standing and still staring out the window, already possessing the idea to call and report the strange occurrence. You’re stalking your way over even, towards the counter to make a call when the bell finally rings.

“Hello good mornin-” You’re interrupted by a tiny little laugh and take a closer look at the customer in front of you. “And good morning to you too!” You give his daughter a smile and wave gently. She opens and closes her fist in response.

“Hey hey! Would you mind,” Her father gives you a nod and digs around in a large pocket of a pink bathrobe and pulls out some outdated cell phone. “Getting just a few pictures of us? It’s her first time in a coffee shop and I wanna capture the moment.” He holds the brick out to you over the counter and gives you a lazy - but winning, smile. “Thank you, thank you - oh her mother is gonna love this,”

“What’s her name?” You snap a picture.

“Oh this little angel? Mayday!” She coos adorably at her name. “Yep that’s you kid!” He ruffles her hair and you snap another picture.

“Isn’t she just the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen?”

“She’s adorable! You, her father and Mayday all agree with a round of laughter.

“Names Peter, by the way!” He holds his daughter up like that ancient, animated classic with lions and you grab another photo.

“Nice to meet you.”

“My good friend has been stopping in the past few days, mumbling about a good cup of coffee.” The man sets down a drenched umbrella in the stand you keep near the door as he speaks.

“Good friend, do you mea-'' It's right then that the bell rings again. Mayday coos gently at the noise and a sopping wet regular of three days stands on your welcome mat.

“There you are! Miguel, buddy!” Peter claps a hand on his back and Mayday reaches her chubby hand forward.

“I don’t recall telling you about this place.”

“Didn’t have to, s’nice little joint.” He gives you a smile to ignore Miguel’s glare. “And I mean, buddy! You gotta admit you’ve been a little happier these past few days. Wanted to check and see how good this coffee is myself.”

“Do you even drink coffee?” Miguel raises an eyebrow at the man and looks at his very evident lack of coffee.

“Ah,” the man sighs good-naturedly, “Right uh… cappuccino?” You pass back his old phone as you nod.

“Yep, can do! For you?” You turn to Miguel to discover he’s already looking at you.

“Macchiato.” He looks at the child who found her way onto his shoulders and scowls lightly; clearly with no real malice.

“Sure!” Their drinks are simple and Peter wrangles his daughter away from Miguel and they make their way to a slightly larger table. When you bring their drinks, they are mid conversation and you notice that either the man is oblivious or just doesn’t care because Miguel obviously isn’t very interested in what he has to say.

“I’m a geneticist.” He says exasperatedly as you place down each cup. Peter nods at you as you place his coffee and pats a third chair with another winning smile that Mayday echoes. You take a look at the door and then the window. The rain has only gotten worse. You sit and hope for riveting conversation. Miguel gives you a hum of acknowledgement and you join the tables’ conversation and Peter jumps to include you.

“You’re a — see isn’t that great? You know someone for so long and you just,” He gives Miguel a hearty clap on the back and Mayday giggles at the scoff that the larger man gives. “You keep learning things about ‘em. Isn’t that amazing? You can know someone for so long and never know enough huh.” Peter takes a sip of his cappuccino. “Oh my, oh that - that really is fantastic. Miguel buddy, you really know your coffee.” Miguel rolls his eyes and looks towards you. “See he’s always like this! Always this deep broody guy with the weight of the world on his shoulders and he just keeps piling more and more on — that’s why they’re so big y’know — and he just keeps pushing away any relief.” Mayday babbles a little at this as if she’s very wisely agreeing and no one at the table seems to notice the chord that appears to have struck Miguel. “Mhm yep that’s right Daddy’s right about that one, isn’t he!” He presses a kiss to his daughter’s head and Miguel seems to cheer up a little at the laughter that rises. “See if he just took some time for himself-”

“That’s why I’m at a coffee shop.” He mutters to himself, and you know enough Spanish to catch ‘idiot’ “This was time for myself.” He looks to you like he can’t believe he has to put up with this man.

“Yes but you’re always working!” And you think about that for a second because if Miguel is always working, how didn’t Peter know that he was a geneticist. They were close friends after all.

“So Peter, what do you do?”

“Oh I’m a house husband.” He stretches his arms and postures himself proudly. “Yep.” He elongates the word, pops the p for emphasis. “That’s all I ever do. Nothin else.”

“That is all you do. Yes.” Miguel deadpans.

“If you’re a geneticist, mind if I ask?” You speak up and less ill tempered than you thought he might be, Miguel turns to you. “My apartment door has been having a few issues, it’s one of those genetic locks, put a hand on it and it’ll open for you.”

“A little outdated.” He comments.

“Don’t live in a very new apartment, but anyway - very recently it seems to be having some issues?” He seems to sit up as you say this, Peter is playing with Mayday and half paying attention.

“What kinds of issues?” There’s a hard edge to his voice that it almost seems he had tried to shave off. “If you are,” he coughs.

“Comfortable sharing.” You look at him for a bit, both Mayday and Peter have stopped to pay attention.

“Well, recently my door has been malfunctioning a little. I think my neighbor’s kid is getting in because my chairs or tables have moved.”

“M’not gonna have to worry about that with you will I?” Peter pokes his daughter’s cheek gently and smiles. “No I'm not! No I’m not!” Miguel seems to contemplate his response deeply before,

“Are you sure it’s not just old?” He raises a stern eyebrow at you.

“I mean it is, but this is the only issue I've ever had with it; only issue anyone in the building has reported. And we’ve got a classic elevator.” Miguel grumbles at this and doesn’t say anymore. You sit in silence for a little bit, the only sound being the rain and Mayday’s warbles.

“Well, thank you for allowing me to sit-” You almost excuse yourself before Miguel speaks again. There’s something in the way that his hands seem to scrabble at the table and how his eyes seem to widen as you stand from your chair.

“I want to,” Peter and you both turn to look at him as he stares at the cup in front of him. Peter’s eyes widen very unsubtly, “I want to ask you your favorite kind of coffee.” His fingers tap against his biceps.

“Working here made me try a lot of it, and made me realize I like all of it. So I don’t really have a favorite.”

“That’s a good outlook! What’s not to like?” Peter stops abruptly to check his phone. He looks back up frantically. “I gotta get goin though, it’s Miss May’s nap time and she gets real cranky when she misses it. See you later Miguel,” he raises his cup towards you, “Excellent coffee. Really, just exquisite.” He sets his cup down on the table, looks between you and Miguel and puts Mayday back into her little carrier before pulling his umbrella from the holder by the door and exiting into the pouring rain. You see him dash into the street away and dart to the right.

“I,” Miguel starts but the words seem to catch in his throat like they always do.

“You,” You give him a smile “C’mon, talk to me! You’re a regular now,” You take a second to formulate your thoughts. What Peter said explains a lot about his more awkward behaviors. “And probably need someone to talk to if Peter’s right. Don’t keep depriving yourself of joy.” Unlike the previous days where he had avoided your eyes, suddenly he stares into them. You have to wonder, were they always tinged with that red? You had thought they were brown when he first came in, now they're flecked with a ring of maroon. He takes a small sip of his previously untouched coffee and takes a second before responding.

“I was going to ask if you think you’ll be open all day today.” He keeps a straight face, you’re pretty sure there's a hint of warmth in his voice though. “The rain.” He taps the window pane with a large finger.

“Well Miguel,” You don’t notice the way his hand clutches the table, the tense of his shoulders or the lurch in his seat at his name. “I think I’ll be closing early today. Gonna get home, see if I can get that door issue fixed.” You grab Peter’s empty cup and hold it with both hands, offering Miguel a polite smile and nod.

“You’re a hard worker.” He smiles and stands, placing his tiny cup on the table. “It’s refreshing to see. Also very kind.” He pauses before taking a breath and continuing to mutter, “Stupidly kind.” He approaches you slowly. Hands on his hips looking down at you with red eyes. He reaches a hand out, close enough to your cheek that you can feel the warmth radiating from it. He leans down so that your foreheads almost touch, and gently speaks, “Are you sure you’re safe by yourself?” You take a second to process that. Blink as he still looks into your eyes. “You smell good, by the way. Noticed it when I first came in, better than I imagined.” And everything seems to speed up, the rain is louder, your heartbeat palpitates uncomfortably and you hear the blood rushing through your body. He’s been a regular for three days. He’s taken your hand, pat your shoulder and asked your name. He stood outside your shop for an hour this very morning.

“I’m sorry sir, we closed ten minutes ago.” You blink away the tears in your eyes, and try to compose yourself as you say the words.

“What happened to Miguel?” He whispers the words so gently, so strangely vulnerable. His hand lingers by your cheek, fingers twitching. He groans. He shakes his head violently as if it'll make him stop whatever he’s doing. He turns and stands to his full height, eyes leaving yours again. He doesn’t say a word to you as he leaves the shop. You watch him walk slowly into the rain as he leaves and you make sure he doesn’t turn. Immediately you lock the door to the shop, flip the sign to ‘closed’ and pull the blinds. You contact your boss telling them you're closing early and set your sights on getting in touch with law enforcement. The hurdles you have to jump just to get a safe ride home are astounding. Calling the local P.D proves to be useless as all you have are ‘Miguel’ with no last name and ‘abnormally tall’ and those two descriptors don’t get you anywhere. But your distress does seem to affect the other end of the line with some amount of pity, as they dispatch a vehicle to take you home. All it took was a stalker, sobbing your eyes out to a cop and bang, safe ride home with someone comforting you and a shock blanket. Simple really. Oh the joys of being stalked.

“This is where Spider-Man has been hanging out these last few days!” The cop says as you reach your complex. It’s clearly meant to comfort you. “That guy makes the whole city safer, but I don’t gotta tell you that,” They sound like they’re giving you a smile. “Well best be on your way, stay safe and contact us if anything happens, okay?” They point towards the lapel of your jacket, to the Spider-Man pin you got just last week. “Tell ya what, we’ll put in a word with him when we see him next, have him look out for ya.” The cop will probably forget about this in the next few hours and it’ll probably never get back to him, but it’s a kind gesture.

“Thank you.” You exit the vehicle, looking every which way in the rain, checking for shadows along the walls of your complex. You all but run to your apartment and look desperately around for anything taken or misplaced, when you find nothing you turn to your chairs. You’re careful when you stack them against the door. You forgo food and drink in favor of grabbing the emergency metal pipe and decide to sit on your bed to wait for the other shoe to drop. It doesn’t. For hours and hours and hours. The stormy weather never lets up even as it grows darker.

Absolutely nothing seems to happen, save the loud cacophony from outside as Neuva York wakes for the second time of the day, nightlife not being stopped even for the rainstorm. You hear the shouting, the screeches, the loud music that you’ve grown accustomed to sleeping through and like that old classically conditioned dog, it makes you yawn. You look at your malfunctioning door and the small — hopefully effective — barricade and clench your fist tighter around the pipe. Falling asleep now would mean missing if anything were to happen, you try to drill this into your mind, bash it in like it’s a window. No glass shatters to keep you awake however and uneasily you’re lulled to sleep by the sounds of the city.

You wake up to Spider-Man (suddenly you’re able to identify that broad frame, the shocking height and burdened shoulders of Spider-Man who you’d seen three days ago.) leering over your sleeping body. Even if you can’t see his eyes he’s clearly staring at you. For a second you don’t move, try not to breathe as your heart hammers against your ribs. He doesn’t move for what feels like hours as he stares, he must know by now that you’re awake. The neon glow from the window is dull in the night and the rain has finally stopped, no more clubs blast their music. It’s just you and Spider-Man - Miguel.

You take a deep breath and your heart races and suddenly you can feel the metal pipe in your hand. You tighten your grip and immediately swing your wrist as hard as you can.

He stops it with a hand and tears it from your hand. He gives a disappointed growl, and bends the pipe with ease between his two hands.

“I was,” He sighs deeply. “Impulsive today. I had meant to be slow about it. Meant to be patient.” You cannot bring yourself to move as he continues to speak. “Because I am,” His voice spikes suddenly and he sees you flinch. Spider-Man softens his voice, “Patient.” He groans, turns away from staring at you - finally you can breathe again - and bashes his hand against your wall. “It was going to be weeks,” He cannot seem to help himself now, voice raising slowly as he sweeps back to where you are unable to move on your bed. “Until I would talk to you,” You cannot see him from behind the mask. You imagine him with the same stern eyes, haggard and a sneer if his tone is anything to go on. “But you,” His body heaves and before you can throw yourself from the bed and make a break for the door, a monstrous hand finds the back of your head. Fingers card tenderly through your hair before another hand appears on your hip and wrenches your entire body up, face forcibly made to look at his mask as it gives way to blindingly red eyes, iris sclera and pupil all flooded with the sickening red that blood often starts as. “You wanted this.” He softens, as he looks at you, “You wanted my impatience, didn’t you?” His eyes dart to your Spider-Man pin and he gently moves the hand on your hip so that it’s his forearm beneath your thighs and presses you closer to his chest so that you feel his lips drag on the top of your head. “If I had known I would’ve just taken you with me three nights ago.” He releases your grasp on your hair, and you pull away to see the red of his eyes recede like the beach before a tsunami. “See what you do?” He pats your cheek softly, “I’ll make it up to you. You’ve been nothing but foolish and kind. I’ll make this easier, stay still for me.” He offers you that same small smile, and pushes your head upwards to his cheek. You can feel his erratic heartbeat against your chest as Miguel nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck once more before taking a deep whiff of you and while you’re too busy trying to hold back the bile in your throat, he crumples into you and sighs as if this was the happiest he'd been in years. You feel his lips part against your skin and it feels like bugs crawling on you when he rumbles against your neck. You try your best to block out the tender mutterings of “You’re sweeter than….” and “Made for me,” before you feel his fangs sink delicately into your skin.

You pass out from the shock and pain before you feel the warmth of his venom.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy Chapter 8: Domesticity 

TWs in the tags

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"Do you have a job?" Tracy asks as she helps Molly put away groceries. It's starting to strike Tracy as odd that Molly can afford all this and also spend the majority of her time with Tracy. Molly’s talked about past jobs, but never anything current.

“Not right now. Don’t worry, you’re not keeping me away from work or anything. This is where I want to be.”

“So how do you… afford all this?” 

“My parents were very wealthy, and I got all of it when they died.”

“Ah. That explains a lot.”

Molly laughs. “I’m not sure how to take that.” 

Hmm… Tracy tries to think of a way to direct the conversation that might give her helpful information. “Are you planning on getting another job any time soon?”

“Probably not. I don’t want to leave you alone all day.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Still, if you got hurt, or needed me for something else, you’d have no way to get help. And I like spending time with you. I would miss you the whole time I was gone.”

That makes sense, logically. No one is forcing Molly to be here, she must be spending time with Tracy because she wants to. Tracy wants to ask what makes her so special, but she chickens out. She gets the feeling that whatever the answer to that question is, she really won’t like it. “Do you… have any friends? At all?”

“Mm… I hope someday you’ll consider me a friend.” She puts the last of the groceries in the pantry. "Do you wanna play Wii Sports Resort? I bet you can get a new high score at wakeboarding."

"Sure." She's really good at the wakeboarding game.

Molly grins and sets up the game. It makes sense that she has no friends, but it’s disappointing all the same. No one is going to come visit her and ask about the heavily locked basement. Tracy isn’t getting outside help.

A thought hits Tracy like a bus. "Am– am I the first person you've kidnapped?"

"Of course!" Molly hands Tracy a Wii remote. "First and last."

A chill runs down Tracy's spine. It's okay, it's fine. Just gathering information. It doesn’t matter why Molly decided to kidnap Tracy, that knowledge won’t help her escape. "Right. Um…”

Thinking of questions is hard. Maybe she should just try to make natural conversation, and see if anything important comes up?

“Do you have a favorite video game?” Tracy asks, partially focused on digital wakeboarding.

“I’m not sure. The only thing I ever play alone is The Sims, so I guess that would be my favorite?”

“That makes a lot of sense. You like taking care of the- hell yeah!” Tracy is momentarily distracted by getting a long string of 100-point tricks.

“Yeah.” Tracy can hear the smile in her voice. “I do really like games where I can take care of people. I’ve had to ban myself from getting any games like that on my phone, I always end up setting alarms in the middle of the night to check on them. Sims don’t have their needs drain when the game is closed the way so many mobile games do.”

Tracy’s turn ends. She didn’t get a new high score, but she got close. “You’d… set alarms in the middle of the night?” 

“They’d be so sad and hungry every morning if I didn’t!”

“They’re… not real.”

“That’s the thing— how do you know? I can’t bear the thought of telling someone that they’re not real if they actually are. Can you imagine, someone coming up to you and telling you you’re not real? That would be awful! I don’t want to risk it. What separates us from programs, really? People a lot smarter than me have theorized we’re all in a simulation. If that’s the case, would it be okay for someone to starve and hurt us because we’re not real? Even deleting those apps felt kind of like killing people. I couldn’t function for weeks afterward… But I’m okay now!” 

“You’re… actually crazy.” That shouldn’t be surprising for a kidnapper, but it somehow is.

“That’s not very nice.” Her tone is lightly scolding. Not angry at all, but definitely the harshest tone she’s used with Tracy so far. “You probably didn’t want to hear about my issues, though. What’s your favorite video game?” As she talks, Molly repeatedly does so badly at the game that it pauses to remind her she needs to land on the water with her board flat.

“I never really played video games before I came here— before you kidnapped me, I mean. I think I need to try a few more before I decide.”

The conversation continues like that until Tracy gets a new high score. Just… pleasant, even if the things Molly says are disturbing sometimes. Tracy’ll have to mentally go through the conversation a few times before bed to make sure she didn’t miss any valuable information. Even if she didn’t, though, building a rapport with Molly is good. That’ll… that’ll definitely benefit her somehow, even if she’s not sure how yet.

“You’re amazing.” Molly looks at Tracy like she’s… Tracy doesn’t even know. Definitely not something human. A beautiful painting, maybe? A sunset? A skyscraper?

“For… being good at Wii Sports Resort wakeboarding?”

“For everything. Everything about you is amazing.”

“…thanks?”

Molly stares at her for a moment longer, then breaks eye contact. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. You barely know me, that probably sounded more like a stalker complimenting you than a friend. I’ll do my best to dial it back.”

“…I appreciate that.”

Molly fidgets with the Wii remote. “I think… I need to spend some time cleaning today. You won’t be able to relax if your living space is filthy! I’ve been putting it off a bit.”

The basement seems plenty clean to Tracy. "Okay."

"I've been keeping the cleaning stuff upstairs, so I'll go grab some stuff and be right back. Is that okay?"

"Yep, go ahead." Tracy feels like she should offer to help, but… she doesn't want to. This isn't her house, she doesn't want to be here and would leave if she could, she has no obligation to do any cleaning.

For the next several hours, Molly takes various cleaning supplies up and down the stairs (always making sure the bag with restraints isn't downstairs while Molly is upstairs) and cleans more or less the entire basement. 

Tracy plays some Minecraft, then starts a book that looks interesting. She's… enjoying herself. Is this the best use of her time? She could talk to Molly more, but did she really learn anything last time? She runs through the conversation in her head repeatedly, but can't find anything useful.

She puts the book back. She needs to think of more questions to ask, more information that might help her, she needs to do something because if she has time to enjoy herself she definitely has time to get something done but there's nothing to get done, she can't do anything she's useless–

"Are you feeling okay, dear?"

"I'm fine. Do you… need help with anything?"

"You're here to rest! I'll handle everything, don't worry. I'm basically done, anyway, I've just got to take the mop back up the stairs."

She's not pathetic enough to beg to help her kidnapper with chores, so she nods and heads to the kitchen. She'll just make lunch for both of them, Molly's okay with her doing that. It's really hard to just wait for helpful information instead of actively working towards escape, but… she can do hard things. It's not Tracy's fault that she's useless right now, anyway, it's Molly's, so there's not much she can do but suck it up and enjoy herself until Molly lets something slip.

Tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears

[peapodsinspace]

New intro!!!! Hello!

links 💫

-> art blog 🌙

-> commission sheet ✨

-> art request rules ⭐️

-> tiktok ⚡️

-> ao3 ☀️

-> art fight 🌟

-> daily usopp blog ☄️

More under the cut! 🪐

About me:

🌟 Hello! You can call me peapods, peas, pods, or anything else really! (she/her)

⭐️ I mainly draw in my free time, typically digitally but sometimes traditionally :3

⭐️ I like listening to music so I’m always open to song recommendations!

Fandoms:

(The star ⭐️ is for which ones I’m most interested in as of right now :]! )

⭐️Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood -> I’m reading the manga and watching 03 as well, but doing so very slowly so bh is the only one I’ve seen fully!

Jojos Bizarre Adventure -> I’ve watched all the anime & read all of Steel Ball Run! Same with fma, I’m reading Jojolion as well but slowly

Demon Slayer -> I’ve read all of the manga & a lot of the bonus stuff!

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K -> anime only :]

Mob Psycho 100 -> also, you guessed it, slowly reading the manga

⭐️One Piece -> currently watching the anime! I can’t promise this will be very accurate since I won’t remember to update much, but I’m currently watching the dressrosa arc!

Naruto -> i haven’t even watched all of shipudden but I basically know what happens anyway

The X-Files -> doing a re watch right now since i originally watched it so long ago

Star Trek -> it’s been a while since I’ve watched it but it’s a childhood fav!

Rangers Apprentice -> childhood book series!!! I’ve read Brotherband & the early years, and I think I’m up to date on the Royal Ranger?

I also have some other interests too that I don’t really post about, like sailor moon, komi can’t communicate & monster high

Bands I like:

Queen -> all time favorite!

Journey

Jimi Hendrix -> current fav

Metallica

David Bowie

Bon Jovi

Foreigner

Siouxie and the Banshees

Ozzy Osbourne

Miki Matsubara

Dolly Parton

Slipknot

Led Zeppelin

Fleetwood Mac

Duran Duran

Sir Mix-A-Lot

KISS

Mitski

ABBA

Tagging system:

You can search for only my art / posts via the fandom tags I have pinned into my blog’s search tab. Or, you can search through my art blog if you only wanna see my art!

#my art -> posts that contain art made by me

#my posts -> posts that are made by me but don’t contain art (usually)

#pea pods writes -> posts that contain my writing

#pea pods paints -> posts that contain my paintings specifically

#pods reblogs pods -> for when I reblog my own stuff

#pods rants -> any posts I rant in

#pea pods lore -> information about me or my blog(s)

#submissions in space -> submitted posts

#asks -> for asks (usually non art related)

#art requests / #drawing requests -> for any fulfilled requests I post

I tag triggers as either “tw __” or the name of the phobia/ trigger. I use lots of tags for triggers in the hopes of covering all my bases, but those two are the ones I’ll always use and the ones you’ll want to filter if needed!

Examples: #tw blood, #blood

You’re free to request I tag a specific trigger, but unfortunately I can’t always promise I’ll remember to do it

My mutuals:

@/scarymonsters-andsupercreeps -> #my sister cameo

@/dandelions-arent-weeds -> #dandy post ✨

@/beautifulunknowntrash -> #unknown 🧡

@/mitsubinyuri -> #percy post 🔥

@/ilov3b00kss0much -> #r post 🪻

I have lots of other mutuals too but these are just the ones I’ve got tags for! If we’re moots then you can ask for a tag, I really don’t mind to make one cus it’s kinda cool!!!

Make sure to check out my awesome sister @scarymonsters-andsupercreeps

Oh and

HOG JOKE ADDICTS DNI!!!!!!!!!!

/reference :3

[biscuitsngravie]

Daylight by Moonlight

Vampire!Nanami x Reader

cw/tw/tags: vampire!nanami, fem!reader, hematophogy (blood drinking), not editied cause im tired

wc: 2295

an: idk what to tag it regarding characters and stuff. should i just put in all the ppl who'll be included eventually or just tag them as they appear? also this is 100% gonna have smut later cause like, vampires are hot. do i tag it smut now or later? help! 😭

Chapter One

He opens his eyes suddenly, a sheen of sweat cooling his exposed skin with his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t need to check the time to know that he’s up before his alarm, the buzzing in the street confirming that much. His bangs lightly poke him in the eyes, fitting around the eyelashes that futilely try to fight against them. With one, heavy sigh he brushes them back, willing his heart to slow down. He eventually sits up and cradles his face in his hands, bringing his knees to his chest to breathe. 

Breathe…

Breathe…

Breathe……….

“He’s still breathing!”

“His heart rate’s coming back up! Hey, can you hear me?”

“It’s getting too high, he’s gonna go into shock!”

“Hey buddy, can you hear me? We’re gonna take care of ya, just hang in there!”

His alarm snaps him back into reality, sending a jolt down his spine. The surprise sets his heart aflame again, but this time it’s almost welcomed. Alarms nowadays are a lot more varied, from sing-songy (much like Gojo’s) to industrial ones that are a tad nostalgic. Kento’s personally decided to go for one that imitates birds chirping, a sound he occasionally misses from the mornings that now rings as his lullaby. 

He stretches his legs back out and leans over to check the time for sunset. Upon realizing it’s about an hour or so he softly groans to do a full body stretch before rising from the bed. He’s not too keen on doing laundry yet again this week, gathering the sheets to toss into his hamper before stepping into the shower. The water is hot, so hot it just barely burns his skin, but the sting is welcomed. It makes him feel alive. 

Small drops cascade over his body, racing each other down the drain. He softly chuckles to himself as he places imaginary bets on ones that glide down his thighs. He eventually dips his head under the stream, hissing slightly at the sting and turning the temperature down just a little to make it more bearable. His shampoo bottle pathetically squirts out just enough for his hair for one wash, and he curses himself for hanging out with Gojo the day (to him at least) prior rather than doing the grocery run he planned. 

The sound of the water hitting his skin and the tile fills his ears, drowning him in familiar memories once again. 

“I’m so sorry, young man! Are you hurt?”

“You don’t think he’s one of them, do ya?”

“He ain’t got no fangs—”

“Some of’em are sneaky like that! Open yer mouth, boy!”

*ding*

*ding*

*ding*

A fourth ding on his phone can almost undoubtedly confirm that it’s none other than the troublemaker himself reaching out. Nanami moves on with his shower and steps out with his towel around his waist. He forces his bangs to lay away from his face to squint at his phone. 

Gojo Satoru: <<Nanamiiii!>>

Gojo Satoru: <<Good morningggg (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~>>

Gojo Satoru: <<I can’t stop by tonight but Choso should be there soon!>>

Gojo Satoru: <<Suguru’s letting me spend the day at his place!!! 😋>>

Nanami huffs incredulously. Well that’s sure a surprise. Though a part of him weeps for Gojo’s poor lover. He sends a text of warning back. 

<<Don’t try to bite him.>>

A text comes back almost immediately. Nanami can almost hear the saccharinely sweet feigned innocence dripping from the words on screen. 

Gojo Satoru: <<Oh whatever do you mean~>>

Nanami doesn’t even have the energy to kiss his teeth the way he wants before moving on, deciding that the message isn’t worthy of a response. He stands in front of the mirror to brush his teeth, bringing out his fangs and being sure to brush around them, only retracting them once he has to shrug his tongue. Once done with a quick and simple face wash and moisturizer he blowdries his hair from soaking to damp, leaving it wet enough to mold later. After doing a pat down with his towel, moisturizing the rest of his body, and getting dressed, he returns to his vanity to finish his hair off, using a gentle pomade and steady fingers. 

Though he’s done it more times than he could possibly count, he can’t relax until it’s molded into the perfect shape. As he does so, he notices his eyes slowly taking on a red tint under the caramel. The doorbell ringing almost cues the growling of his stomach and the aching beginning to creep in his bones. He settles for “good enough” and begins to head downstairs, dressed in everything but his shoes. 

There stands Choso, a pale but stocky man. Over a lot of time and quite a few half conversations, he’s learned that only one of his parents was a vampire, that parent quickly fucking off and living life who knows where not long after Choso’s conception. Choso inherited a jumble of traits that might as well have been taken out of a mystery bag with one’s eyes closed. He has that stark, pale skin, yet no fangs. He can survive on little blood, human blood stretching much farther for him than most. Though he can walk in the sun, he still has a sun sensitivity that generally keeps him safely tucked away, especially during the summer. Even without that state, he prefers the community of fellow vampires over humans either way. The bags under his eyes are completely separate, as he’s an incurable night owl with an early shift. He also has a brother. He also had more. 

“Please come in,” Nanami says uselessly, this becoming a routine for over a decade now. Choso still politely waits for the invitation, however, a mutual commitment to the bit. Nanami’s body is already buzzing with anticipation, every one of his muscles flexing at the sight of the wagon Choso totes behind him. A familiar smell wafts up to his nose, making him grunt.

Choso lets out a half-laugh. “Gojo-san felt generous.”

Nanami notices the way he’s tensing and wills himself to calm down. “H-how many extra?” he chokes out, his fangs already baring without his will. 

“Five.”

“Christ—”

“That’s what I said. Worst fucking haul of my life. Took everything in me not to tear into it, and I don’t even drink much.” Choso makes his way through the entrance hall past the first living area, heading to the industrial kitchen on the right. Once inside, he goes straight for the walk-in cooler and begins opening the top of the wagon. He hands one to the Nanami, deciding not to comment on the veins now poking against his temple and the eyes that have fully turned now. He faces the cooler shelves and reorganizes the leftover bags from the week before, moving the labels to keep the dates in order. “Alright, let’s see…”

Nanami greedily takes the bag in his hands, hastily tearing the corner off the packaging made for easy feeding. His body warms immediately, tingling and buzzing as the blood flows through him. It smells sickeningly sweet as it rushes throughout his system, but what else could he expect from Gojo Satoru. With the way he feels, he won’t have to feed for another month or so, and it wouldn’t be the first time. Gojo’s blood is divine and anyone who’s anyone knows that. 

Gojo Satoru: The sole remaining descendant of the Original Vampire. And to think he was only half. He contains every trait that any one person (or not) could dream of: his senses enhanced tenfold beyond the strongest vampire anyone could name. His regeneration and strength ridiculously above what should be vampirily possible. His stamina, his speed, his everything. With immunity to the sun and gifted in looks as well, he’s just as much the most annoying being on the planet. 

But his blood is heavenly. If Gojo were a con artist he could sell it by the two ounce bottle and ensure that anyone who had a taste could maybe be like him someday! Hell, with the way it feels right now, even Nanami would entertain the thought, even if no more than a brief lapse in judgement. Once his eyes hazily focus again after rolling to the back of his skull, he tries to strike up conversation as Choso does his work. 

“Sorry for not doing that, I thought Gojo-san was coming.”

“S’fine, I don’t mind it really. I like this kinda work anyway.” he sighs softly, clasping his hands momentarily as he surveys the bags he has before him. “I wanted to try something, tell me if you like. If not I’ll just go back to the normal stuff.” Choso grabs one bag with an extra label on it right under the date. “This one, aaand, where is it? Oh, these ones over here? I tried curing them. This one is withhh…” he squints at the bag to read the description, “Oh! So this is a Mediterranean vegetable medley. This one over here I put with chorizo, I dunno what I was thinking, but it was kind of a double-process.”

Nanami hums in interest, his eyebrows raising in curiosity. 

“And this one, I was actually supposed to deliver a while ago, but forgot. I decided to put some, uh, some yeast and sugar and cinnamon and stuff in it. Kind of like…” he snaps his fingers a few times and scrunches his nose as he tries to search the air for the word that escapes him. 

“Apple cider?” Nanami offers. 

“That!” he points back, “exactly that! I know you don’t mind the normal stuff, but you’re a chef, you know?”

“Owning a restaurant doesn’t make you a chef, it—”

“It makes you something. Besides, you basically cook for yourself all the time. It’s nice to let vampires do things for you sometimes.”

Nanami sighs to dispel the smile that threatens to tug at his lips. Even if he wasn't told, he and Itadori are brothers without a doubt. “I’ll try them. If I don’t see you next time I’ll be sure to text you my thoughts.”

“My first food review,” Choso chuckles at the joke made almost to himself. His ears perk up when he hears Nanami clear his throat.

“Would like one of Gojo-san’s?”

His eyes widen at the offer. “Oh no! No it’s no worries, he said he owes me for the last minute call so trust me, I have a lot to look forward to.” Choso sighs airily with a smile. “That human’s got him wrapped around his finger, I see.”

“He’s letting him spend the day over for the first time,” Nanami comments, letting Choso pull the wagon out of the walk-in.

“Oh? Suguru’s lucky he’s male or Gojo-san would keep him barefoot and pregnant.”

“Technology is advancing fast nowadays, if he ever turns that’s when he’d really be in trouble,” Nanami half mumbles to himself, pulling a laugh from Choso as they walk to the door. 

“That reminds me, do you know if Yuuji works today?” he asks, turning around after leading the wagon out the door. 

“Any particular reason why?”

“He’s been dodging my calls and I need to talk to him.”

Nanami’s not one to distribute information on his employees, regardless of familial relation. Unless it’s an emergency, everything is under lock and key, or in these times, safes. Though the information proves quite interesting considering that Itadori’s been especially active on his phone as of late. So much so that Nanami actually has a talk scheduled with him once he comes in. 

“It’s not nothing bad or anything, it’s just…” Choso exhales tiredly, scruffing up the back of one of his ponytails. “He’s got this boy toy recently—”

“And he’s human,” Nanami interrupts without really meaning to, letting his thoughts flow right from his lips. Choso nods in confirmation. Nanami mirrors him and says, “He works eleven to seven thirty.”

“Thank you,” comes out almost in a whisper, as if Itatdori himself were standing right there. With a sharp nod and an exchange of departing messages, Nanami closes the door and continues the pack from Gojo. Once he’s done he makes a small breakfast for himself. Though he doesn’t need to, making food and cooking it is fun. He likes the smells, the textures, the flavors. Anyone would say that as much as it is a necessity for some, the act of eating is plain old fun. No wonder his grandad opened all of these restaurants, besides the other reason. 

It’s only eight, so the grocery stores should still be open by the time he’s done with the cooking and cleanup. Cleanup being “put everything into the dishwasher and turn on heated dry.” Once he’s done with that, he heads to a nearby store and buys his coveted shampoo, sighing with relief as he picks up the last bottle. He decides not to go back home to drop it off, rather enjoying the warmth of the night. He walks down the sidewalk, already bustling with night owls and those who try to steal some time to themselves after their jobs before inevitably dragging themselves back home to sleep and do it again. 

He admires the way the trees decorating the sidewalks have their first signs of buds, soft and delicate to the touch. Sometimes he feels they’re so fragile they may disintegrate right before him. Spring is coming. Spring means summer. And summer means shorter days. He sighs to himself, looking to the stars, awaiting the “Quiet Hour,” when the city turns off its lights to let everyone enjoy their light. To bask in the suns that are too far away to hurt them.

When the clock reaches half past nine, he begins his walk towards work. 

[medusapelagia]

Hidden Treasure - STBB Proj 7 WIP Wednesday - Eddie

And... I'm sharing another snippet from my @strangerthingsbigbang fic for this WIP Wednesday! When I decided to write an omegaverse pirate au I was 100% sure no one else would have been interested in such an unusual mix. Guess what? I was wrong! Because two amazing artists (the super talented and incredible @mothellie and @ghostdeb) chose to work on my fic! While we tremble in anticipation, waiting to share the story together with their art, here is the second banner I made to promote my fic, featuring the one and only: Eddie Munson!

tagging those who were interested: @katyawriteswhump @lingeringmirth @akichania @v3lv3tf0x

A little snippet under the cut! TW: violence, prison

“Come on! It was just a silly game!” the man says, turning his head toward the guards “I wasn’t cheating. Playing dice is a sacred thing, you know that right? Sacred! Like… like something sacred.” he insists, slurring.

Steve stands up abruptly, ready to yell the man’s name but Robin kicks him in the shin and he yelps, “Omegas.” she says shrugging “You know how they are. They see a new man and think he’s their mate. That’s not an alpha. Can’t you see?” she insists, “That’s just… who’s that?” Robin asks the guards who ignore her and throw the drunken young man in another cell.”

“I didn’t cheat!” the drunk man insists, whining when one of the guards kicks him in the stomach, “I swear on your mom!”

The guard immediately comes back, grabbing the man by the collar, “What did you say about my mother, little piece of shit?” he hisses on his face.

“God your breath is… bleah… do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I’m not surprised she was looking for comfort somewhere else. Nice woman, by the way.”

The punch that follows is not unexpected, but Steve yelps in empathy, while Robin holds him tight. The guard spits on the man on the ground who is holding his stomach, groaning loudly, and then he leaves.

“Eddie! Eddie!” Steve calls, freeing himself from Robin’s grip and running toward the side of the cell they have in common.

“Hi there, sweetheart,” he tells him, resting against the prison’s bar still holding his stomach, “You feeling better?”

“How? Why?”

“Shh… tell me about you, baby.” he whispers, “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“He’s not fucking fine,” Robin roars behind him, “the two of you left an omega to travel alone without his alpha, are you fucking crazy?  And a guard just threatened to kill him if he doesn’t give him some information about your dirty business!”

“What happened?” Eddie asks, noticing at that moment the little trickle of blood still pouring from Steve’s face.

“It’s just a scratch. And I didn’t say a word. I swear”

“I know you didn’t, sugar.” He cradles Steve’s face with his slim long fingers, “I’ll kill him. I’ll open his chest and I’ll rip his heart out!” he growls, staring at the cut on the omega’s face.

[astrophel-gaygore-obsessed]

Hey!

Astrophel, He/Him.

Thanks for visiting my account!

Here I will publish various kinds of art based on your requests, in particular fan fiction (although maybe I will publish drawings too).

For now, requests are open, so don’t be afraid to give me ideas for different types of art!

But I want to warn you that I will not accept anything with fem readers. I want to make this blog aimed only at gn and male readers, so with your idea (which is great, I'm sure!) with a fem reader, you should go to another creator.

MY YES!

Smut stuff, NSFW in particular(Don’t worry, I will mark it with a special tag if you are uncomfortable with this genre of reading.)

(Ero)Guro, a detailed and non-detailed description of cruelty. I’ll warn you right away that I’m new to describing this kind of stuff, so if you have more experience or just want to correct me, my DMs are always open!

Headcanons. From the sweetest fluff "How [OC name/character name] and [OC name/character name] spend their mornings/etc" to the most horrific descriptions of violence of one character (or even characters) towards others.

Incest, big age difference, etc. I absolutely don’t care who’s sibling and what age your characters are, but I understand that this is very triggering for many, so I will also publish similar posts with a separate hashtag and TW/CW (And also please don’t try to somehow reproach me for this or somehow condemn me, cancel me, etc., etc. My job is to create art, fiction.)

Trans guy/s, non-binary characters, etc. You guys are in a safe place.

Abuse, Self-harm, etc. Again, such fics will be published under a special hashtag so that you guys still feel comfortable being here.

As you understand, I publish and write whatever your perverted brain wants, and I promise you 100% anonymity and respect. But, of course, I have my limits.

MY NO!

There is no separate list of things that make me uncomfortable, but I can refuse your request if it seems uncomfortable/strange/unpleasant/etc.

I don’t have a DNI either, but for disrespectful attitude towards others (homo/transphobia and queerphobia in general, propaganda and approval of such behavior, neurophobia, psychophobia, belief in “narcissistic/borderline/antisocial/histrionic” abuse (fuck you. I have cluster B disorder, and I certainly won’t approve such crap on my account), and simply being aggressive towards others will lead you to a permanent ban.)

Btw, selfships and self-inserts are also okay! Love you guys.

BYF!

My level of English is quite low, and I also created this account in order to develop my level and just to ✨️have fun✨️, so if you see mistakes, please point them out politely. I can also often be late with fanfiction and requests, but I will try to publish them faster. Please be patient, thank you.

FANDOMS YOU CAN REQUEST ✎

Poppy Playtime(Current hyperfixation)

Danganronpa(Fanganronpas too! Sdra2, DRDT, P:EG)

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Scream

Madoka Magica

Yandere Simulator

Omori

Hotel Hazbin

MASTERLIST ★

None, for now.

[4dbstar]

heyyy so

this is kinda just my blog where i be me and stuff and i reveal my TRUE INTENTIONS HUAHAHAHAH nah jk I’m just really queer so

TW: I AM agere but this blog may not be 100% sfw!! You’ve been warned!! DNI if:

EXCLUSIONIST; anti-agere, anti-alterhuman, queerphobic (that means transphobic, aphobic, homophobic, lesbophobic, biphobic, if you hate on neopronouns and xenogenders, or any other hate towards 2LGBTQIAP+ people), sexist, racist, ableist, or if you hate on people because of their religion or their identity at all.

CREEP; Minor Attracted Person (MAP), aka PEDOPHILE, zoophile, if you’re one of those people with that agere kink or whatever is up with that, or just a creep. Also if you’d ever blame a victim of rape for what happened to them, that applies, whether they’re male, female, non binary, agender, androgynous/bigender, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Indigenous, no matter who they are.

Anyways next topic

ABOUT ME

I’m gender-fluid (afab) and use he/it/starself (neo)pronouns as I do use xenogenders. I’m aroflux, reciprosexual, hypersexual, and abrosexual as well.

I’m an alterhuman and a furry, TWO SEPARATE things. If you’d like me to explain what they are and the differences, or anything about my queer identities, I will. I’m also agere. Remember, please be respectful. ☺️

I am very uh fluid, that is for sure. I’m either in a horror movies, true crime, Elsbeth typa mood, or a Sanrio and Bluey typa mood.

also I’m a 40billion year old star as in like the burning ball of gas and shit so yeah

MY FAVORITE: (finishing later in order to avoid someone 🥲)

FOODS; Grilled cheese, strawberries, muffins, cake, brownies

DRINKS; milk, fizzy pop (those hello kitty and stuff ones ❤️), apple juice

GAMES; Genshin Impact, LoZ games, Animal Crossing, FNaF

MANGA; One Piece, Naruto, Death Note

BOOKS; Life as We Knew It - Susan Beth Pfeffer and Mondays Not Coming - Tiffany D. Jackson (I like too many books—these are the best bro)

MUSIC ARTISTS: Crane Wives, 100 gecs, Alice Gas, bo en, BTS, Vocaloid artists, and Childish Gambino (these change regularly 😭)

SHOWS; Sister Sister, Moon Knight, Elsbeth, Bluey

MOVIES; The Insidious five, Slenderman, Captain Marvel

ALL TIME FAVE STUFF; Dinosaurs, trains, LoZ, Creepypasta, Bluey, Sanrio, Peppa Pig, ASMR, Childish Gambino, cats, and collecting Fizzy Pop cans!! (Ex. Rillakuma, Hello Kitty, Tokidoki, etc)

REMEMBER

Don’t be hateful, as there are tags for people in the communities I’m in, and we’re not going to trigger them because of your ignorance

have a great day, and be kind, you never know what someone is going through.

[beetheyapper]

okay i had a few people ask about that so i’m just gonna make a post about it and tag everyone that wanted to know. this post is going to be somewhat long. also, please keep in mind that i don’t know Nora Sakavic personally by any means, and everyone is entitled to their own opinion. If you’re rude to me about my discomfort with these things, I won’t hesitate to block you.

DISCLAIMER: this is essentially all just about my opinions on/interpretations of the books and how i feel about them. i’m not trying to cancel Nora Sakavic, I’m simply sharing why i don’t really like her. these opinions are also held by my friend who read the books with me at the same time, @noodle-g , so i’m not alone in this.

I’d also like to preface this with the clarification that I am a part of the lgbtq+ community, as I discuss some issues revolving around that factor of the characters.

TW for vulgar language and mentions of s/a and more below the cut!!!!!! also spoilers for the series All For The Game

1. The Stereotypical Portrayal of Queer People Via Nicky

It’s perfectly fine to have an intentionally problematic character. I’m not sure if Nicky was meant to be problematic, but he certainly is. Unfortunately, the problems with his character perpetuate negative stereotypes.

Nicky is the first character who we find out is gay, and six years ago, as a queer 13 year old reading this for the first time, I was overjoyed to see some queer representation! Unfortunately, the more I read, the more Nicky seemed to be a creepy, hyper-sexual character, which is a really negative and typically homophobic stereotype towards the queer community. I’m not by any means saying that Sakavic is homophobic, obviously, but the portrayal of Nicky accidentally feeds into the stereotype that gay people are predatory.

For example, when Nicky repeatedly makes suggestive comments towards Neil, pesters him about his sexuality, etc. Additionally, his method of drvgging Neil at Eden’s Twilight being to forcefully make out with him, which, the entire situation was incredibly not okay, but it could have been done very differently if Neil getting drvgged was really a plot point she wanted to make. Not to mention, this was all done while Nicky had a partner in Europe (Germany, I think? but I haven’t read the books in six years). He additionally makes suggestive comments about Matt and says that Dan is “lucky” despite, once again, being in his own happy and committed relationship. His character is just creepy, and borderline obnoxious at times. It’s not a good portrayal of queer people by any means.

2. The fact that Suggestive/S3xual scenes only revolve around gay characters

I’m 100% not saying that Sakavic’s intention was to fetishize the queer community, but to me, that’s how this series reads sometimes.

I understand that the main characters of each book were, in some form or fashion, queer. I don’t understand, though, why seemingly every sexual joke or comment is made by or towards the gay characters. One scene in particular that makes me feel very uncomfortable is the shower scene with Andrew and Neil. For Neil, this is a very vulnerable moment. He’s injured and embarrassed. I know that Andrew isn’t exactly the most tender of people, but the choice of interaction in this scene just makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I know that Neil gives Andrew his verbal consent, but Neil’s situation makes it almost seem like he was at a physical and emotional disadvantage, so to speak. I’m NOT saying that Andrew assaulted Neil, because that is NOT what happened. I’m just saying that it was incredibly weird to me and I don’t think Sakavic thought this scene through very much. This kind of leads me into my next point

3. The… Interesting… Portrayal of S/A Victims

Assault is a real, serious issue. I believe Sakavic was brave to write about it, as it’s something that genuinely happens and it’s not often discussed in media. I honestly applaud her willingness to write about such a tragic thing. My issue lies with how she goes about it.

I’m going to start this by talking about Jean in The Sunshine Court. It’s shared that he, as a minor, was coerced and pressured into intimacy with many of his teammates. This is awful, but it’s something that really happens. Furthermore, he goes on to be shamed by the team for his behavior, getting called a “wh0re” by just about—if not genuinely—everyone. Again, this is something that seriously happens to people, and it’s awful. I just think that her choice to write this about Jean when he was a minor is… interesting. I’ve included some pictures below of the situation being brought up.

Moving on to another assault victim in the books, Andrew. I fear I’m somewhat of an Andrew apologist, to be honest.

I’ve talked a lot so I’m just gonna get straight to my biggest issue with this one: I don’t like that Sakavic went into explicit detail on what his abusers did to him. She shared this on her tumblr account, and I believe she’s since taken it down. I feel like it was unnecessary and I’m somewhat disturbed that she’s thought about the explicit details of what happened rather than just leaving it at the fact that it happened, especially since these details aren’t really significant or brought up in the book.

again, these are all just my opinions/interpretations, and i’m not asking anyone to agree. it’s just my reasoning for not being her biggest fan. i appreciate those who took the time to read through what ive shared!

tags of those who were asking about it on the original post: @josten4exy @literarylarkspur @multi-babii @voidears