#just me and this hill and a non-toxic relationship with writing

[senseoftheday]

Hi, thank you to OP for giving me my very favourite hill to die on. <3

Thinking is writing.

Thinking is writing because the central element of writing fiction is making things up, and that happens whether your fingers are moving or not.

My writing process - which is vastly non-sequential - basically involves daydreaming about an idea until I have enough to write. Sometimes this happens while I'm sitting in front of a screen; sometimes it happens when I'm doing... anything else. Sometimes I start writing and things come out of my fingers that I didn't expect, but there is always daydreaming involved .and I workshop a lot of plotlines and dynamics and dumbass jokes fully in my mind before they make it to the page.

It's hard to transcend the you should be writing guilt and HOO BOY do I get that, because I also write for work. (That is where my guilt goes.) But the daydreaming -> typing -> daydreaming cycle helps me have a healthier relationship with writing, because staring at a blank page and not knowing what to say is the worst goddamn feeling no wonder Springsteen wrote a whole song about it.

I personally find fic-writing very therapeutic, and it's partially because I write for work and that stuff is vastly more complex than getting some fictional characters to make out, but that's not everyone's experience. (Also the jury's out on whether I'd recommend it; jk i love my day job.) But the point is that I don't think guilt should have a place in fanfic, regardless of your relationship to writing outside of it. We're doing this for free, for fun, in our spare time.

And.

Thinking is writing. Is it going to get something ready to publish on AO3? fuck no! Yes, you absolutely have to type at some point, and probably edit as well. BUT. You're workshopping your ideas on a timeline that makes sense to you and look. at. you. go.

And if the little brain demons start making you feel bad about not devoting sufficient typing time to something you do for free in your spare time? Send them to me, I'll kick their asses. You're doing great.

25 hours a day, 8 days a week, #gpoy.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Marry Me

➾In Which: Meeting your boyfriend for one last date to break the news — well, let's just say you should have sent a text instead and ran for the hills.

RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Jeong Yunho x fem reader

"Your efforts have been cute but I'm tired of it. Time to face reality."

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, dead dove 🪦

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: DARK FICTION. DARK DARK. DEAD DOVE FFR. 403 possessive yandere, 414 punishment, home invasion, kissing and non-con kissing, toxic relationship, extreme controlling behavior, reader described as shorter than yunho, alcohol but not enough to even be tipsy, if i can't have you no one can ahhh yunho, forced legal marriage, insults towards reader: unsubstantiated slut shaming + cheating accusations, violence towards reader: manhandling + slapping + yelling + threatening with a knife + implied baby trapping and nc (i am so very sorry but yunho is the worst yandere in ateez, i fully believe it). pet names: love, doll, sweetheart. semi-abrupt ending cause i couldn't make myself go that far

"You think I'm finished? Oh, that's cute... Your punishment hasn't even started yet."

➯a/n: anon who requested this woke something dormant up in my brain about yandere yunho 😵‍💫 i think he's the yandere i MIGHT start writing noncon with IF i ever decide to because i legit can't see it going any other way until reader has INSANE stockholm worse than hwa's baby... mans is fucking CRAZY and SCARY and i luv him

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy

18+. MINORS HIT THE ROAD.

─..★.─────

"Hey, doll," Yunho smiles as he walks up to the table.

Out on the restaurant patio, it's nice and breezy and it cools your nerves as you return his smile.

"Hey, Yunie," you crane your neck to look up at him as he bends down; cupping the side of your neck while giving you a gentle kiss.

"For me?" He points to the beer on the table as he pulls back.

"Mhm, it just got here, still cold," you nod, leaning back in your seat and taking a deep breath.

"You're so sweet, thank you," he takes the seat across from you, looking you up and down. "Is something wrong?"

"Hm? No," you shake your head quickly and wave him off, "I, uhm, I actually got some good news..."

"Really? What is it?" He asks before taking a sip; and you wait until he sets the glass down to speak. You think he might have choked if you didn't.

"You remember the position my boss recommended me for?"

His face drops slowly. Pressing his lips together, he nods slowly.

"They want me to take it-"

"No."

"Yunho, it's not up to you." You try to stand your ground, but your voice waivers.

"You'd have to move to the other side of the world!" His outburst gets the attention of a few fellow customers, and he slumps back in his chair; pulling his hat further down his face. "Have you even thought about this- the logistics? We'd be in two opposite time zones, when would we even be able to talk?"

You're quiet. Too quiet. Looking down at the table with something stuck on the tip of your tongue but you're afraid to say it.

"Sweetheart." He whispers as he leans forward, resting his arms on the table as he looks at you intently. "Don't fucking say what I think you're about to."

"I think we should break up."

You jump as he slams his hand on the table before quickly putting his face in his hands with a groan. "Fuck..."

"Yunho, I'm sorry..." You look down at your lap, "but it's- really, it's for the best. We can both spend more time furthering our careers and maybe in the future-"

"Are you kidding me?" He mumbles, hand over his mouth and looking at you with a barely contained storm of emotions in his eyes.

You avoid his gaze like it's the plague, bouncing your leg and holding your hands together tightly. "No. I'm serious. This is the last time we're going to see each other. I went to your apartment while you were at practice and got my things, and I left yours o-"

"Nope." He laughs, unhumorous. Like he's in shock. "No, sorry. Not happening."

"You can't just say 'no', this is the decision I'm making." You look at him for a moment with a glare before quickly look back down when you see his eyes locked on you like some sort of predator.

"Like fuck I can't, you said you were going to marry me one day. You said you wanted to have kids together." His voice is even, but it's laced with anger. He leans over the table and pinches your chin, making you look at him. "What happened to that, love?"

"I'm sorry, Y-"

He grabs your hands as you stand up, looking up at you intensely. "You can't just leave."

"Miss?" Both of your eyes snap to the elderly couple who's approached your table after hearing the ruckus. "Do you need some help?" The woman reaches towards you when Yunho stands quickly and pulls you to the other side of the table.

"She's fine. We're just having an argument, every couple does. Right, doll?"

You gulp as he rests his hands on your shoulders. Normally, in any other argument you had, you'd say yes. But this isn't something small like whose apartment to go back to or whether or not you should take birth control when he uses condoms anyway.

Thinking about that second one gives you pause.

It's like every little strange or controlling thing Yunho has ever said slams on top of you all at once; making your knees weak.

"...Yes." You squeak out, feeling his grip on your shoulders tighten.

"Let go of her, son," the older man steps forward, and Yunho only backs up.

"Sweetheart, seriously think about what you're doing. I love you like nobody else ever could, I want to share my life with you, please-"

You writhe out of his grasp, all but running to the woman; grabbing your purse from the table on the way. "Come on, dear, I'll take you to your car," she takes your hand quickly, rubbing your arm in a comforting manner as she guides you back into the restaurant to head for the front door.

Yunho can only watch, practically steaming with anger, as the man sizes him up. He's shorter, smaller. He could easily over power the old-timer. But people are starting to stare.

"Fuck," he groans, kicking a chair before taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair roughly. Already thinking of ways to make you stay when you've clearly made up your mind — for real this time.

You've never said those words. Break up. Not even when he made you just as angry as he is now when he snuck into your apartment and —

He takes a deep breath when the idea comes to him.

He knows how to make sure you realize that you don't get to leave him.

─..★.─────

Your tired and puffy eyes crack open as the bed shifts.

Then, they widen quickly as you catch the outline of Yunho's figure climbing on top of you. When you try to scream, he slams a hand over your mouth. "Shut up." He says shortly, silencing you as you feel something cold and sharp against your neck.

"This is all your fault. You're the one who broke our promises. I should kill you."

You feel the blade tilt against your delicate flesh, your eyes wide and begging; filling with tears quickly.

He's straddled over your hips, caging you against the mattress. He stripped the blanket away while you were asleep, leaving you in your large sleep shirt and panties. Suddenly feeling way too exposed even though he's not looking at you with anything besides anger.

He leans forward, nose to nose, "I'm going to move my hand. If you scream, I'm going to. Nod if you understand."

You nod. Quick and careful.

Taking a deep breath when he removes his hand, you tilt your head to the side to face away from him. "Y-"

"Me first." When you bite your trembling lip, he continues, "is there someone else?"

"What? No, no," you shake your head quickly, arms wrapping around your chest in an attempt to comfort yourself as his gaze burns through you.

"Are you lying?" He sneers as he grips the base of your scalp, making you yelp before you remember his threat and slam your lips together.

"Have you been slutting around behind my back? Is that why you were so damn insistent about your birth control? Hm? Answer me!" He drives the blade into the bed next to your head, making you jump to the side and grab at his other arm clumsily.

"No! No, Yunho! Wh- There's never been anyone else, I swear, I swear," you sniffle, looking up at him as your tears start sliding down your temples. "I swear, Yunie."

"You swear? Oh, you swear, do you? That's what you said about marrying me, too."

"I m-meant it," you sob as he yanks the blade from your bed; thinking you're its next target.

"Did you?" He yanks you up by the grip he has on the base of your skull, ignoring your cries as he drags you to your desk — where the only light in the room radiates from. "Sign it." He says simply as he shoves you into your chair.

You look away from him slowly, rubbing your sore scalp as you look at the paper.

CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE.

"Yunho..."

He raises his eyebrows, looking you up and down as he leans against the wall. "Sign it, doll."

"I br- but- I broke up wi-"

He pushes off the wall quickly and slaps you.

He slaps you so hard your ears ring. Your head snaps to the side. Your jaw drops. His hand is the size of your entire face.

"You say those words one more damn time..." He pants, throwing the knife onto the desk before slapping your other cheek; throwing your head in the opposite direction with a cry of pain. "I seriously fucking dare you. See what happens. I'm already mad, love. Your efforts have been cute, but I'm tired of it. Time to face reality. You belong to me. Sign the paper."

With a shaking hand, you pick up the pen quickly —

And you sign your name right next to his.

You drop the pen like it's burned you, staring at the paper for a moment before you look at him. He looks down at the paper and smiles, barely noticeable. "Good." He says before leaning and pressing his lips to yours roughly.

You stay there, stunned, until he pulls back — and slaps you. "Ow!" You scream. It hurts so much more the second time when your cheek is already sore and undoubtedly bruising.

"Say you're my wife."

"Wha-"

Slap! "Say it."

"I'm your wife..." You stare up at him, shivering, "Yunho, please, calm d-"

Slap! "Say you love me."

"I love you!" You yell as you push yourself back on the chair, getting caught almost effective immediately. "Please, stop-"

He wraps his hands up in your shirt and pulls you up, dragging you the few steps back to the bed and throwing you on it.

You fall onto your back and sniffle quietly, "t-thank you."

He laughs as he crawls back over you. "You think I'm finished? Oh, that's cute... Your punishment hasn't even started yet. You really think I'm going to go easy on you when you just broke my heart like that?"

Your heart falls into the depths of your uneasy stomach as he trails his hands up your waist. "You're my wife?" He arches an eyebrow, urging you.

"Yes," you nod, breath caught in your throat.

"And..." He leans over, mumbling against your lips, "you love me?"

"Yes."

"That's beautiful, sweetheart," he smiles a bit more before he bites at your lips. "I think I know what will make happy... What will make you stay."

Before you can tell him you've changed your mind, you'll stay as long as he never slaps you again because your entire face is sore now —

"A baby."

He slips his hands under your shirt, running them along your stomach. "Being a Mommy finally going to make you settle down? The Mommy to my babies?"

"Wai-"

"Yeah, it will~" He grins widely as he turns you to lay on your belly, shoving your face into the sheets as he speaks right into your ear, "and every time you look at them, you'll remember how much this fucking hurt."

─MARRY ME★.─────

[gloomskulls]

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

pairings: dark! peter parker x reader

blurb/part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somehow tonight felt different.

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

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

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

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

"Yes," you replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They didn't survive.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart sank. "Too much?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What was it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow," you breathed.

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

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

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

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

It started out slow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How are you settling in?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came the presents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the kind of gift given by a dead beat dad, not at all because you wanted it, but so they could wave it in your face.

The real breaking point occurred one night at the diner.

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

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

"…And she's settling in?"

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

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

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

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

"No. Not yet."

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

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

The mind remained racing.

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Peter," you broke the silence.

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

"I need to ask you something."

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

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

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

"What did they say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And that's supposed to mean what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted to run. You wanted to yell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you weren't going to let that happen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are we off to?" You asked

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never looked more like a stranger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[venusjr-12doctor]

THE RIDDLERS LOVER - CHAPTER 1

THE NYMPH IN THE LABYRINTH

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Batman (Movie 2022), The Riddler: Year One Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Edward Nygma/Original Female Character(s), Edward Nashton/Original Female Character, The Riddler/Original Female Character(s), The riddler/Paul Dano Characters: Edward Nygma, The Riddler, Edward Nashton, Original Female Character(s), Officer Martinez (The Batman Movie 2022), Jim Gordon (DCU), Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Graphic descriptions of violence, Dark romance (Im not shitting about this one), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Catholic Guilt, Past Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Stalking, Toxic Relationship, Childhood Friends, Trigger warning: Priests and nuns, The female lead is a serial killer, Virgin Edward, Touch starved Edward, Breeding Kink, Urophilia (Just a little...), Masochism, Sadism, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Loss of Virginity, depictions of torture, Heavy BDSM, male penetration, Yes he gets pegged :), The female lead is a femme fatal, Edward is a bisexual and i would die on that hill, Its so fun writting about trauma, Obsessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, autistic Edward, Eventually there would be romance but first smut and trauma, OC its A VILLAIN, Fluff and Angst, tons of angst, Both love to hurt each other its their kink, Rope Bondage, They despise the other, But they literally cannot live without the other, Schizophrenia, I hope i write about it... in a decent way?, Stockholm Syndrome, they are both switch, Humiliation, Praise Kink, Maybe im missing some other tags, But this fic has intense BDSM and a lot of kinks...

  Summary:

Against everybody would think, Edward Naston had only one friend in his entire life, and the same one that owns his soul. Emiliana Guzman grew up with him in the Gotham orphanage since the tragic accident that made her lose everything. Foster and foreign, Edward gives it a shot on his curiosity and offers to teach her english.

After ten years without contact, Edward finds her again, changed and beautifully lethal. Emiliana is a serial killer, and she is behind the same target Edward wants. ‘What would you do if your best friend became better than you at everything? Would you let her have what is your life purpose or destroy her?’

A/n:

Hi! I dont know how this really works, and everytime i see others peoples works with all those gifs and flashing lights scare the shit out of me xd. Im an old victorian lady by heart, so im doing my best trying to publish this shit xd. I would love to see your comments and your thoughts <3 (im sorry my drawings sucks, i just started drawing in digital this july). 

[youngprofesser]

A big part of my fascination with writing Mace/Jaster is getting to explore the Jedi from the outside from the perspective of someone (jaster) who is seeking understanding of their culture and whatnot for practical relational purposes,

As opposed to trying to critique or change it in any way as I find a lot of fics do. So that's the first half of this. The second part is just that I think Mace and Yoda's coworker/close friend/mentor relationship is chronically underappreciated.

Mace is meditating when Jaster wakes from his impromptu nap. (He must be getting old, he's taking naps now.) Jaster doesn't want to disturb him, so he dons his armor and sets out for the market that's down the hill from their accommodation to find some ingredients for dinner.

His translator starts acting up after the first stall he stops at, so the rest of the trip takes much longer than anticipated. But eventually he returns back to the house with a bag of what he’s mostly sure are non-toxic foods. Mace is still meditating, so he sets his helmet down to the side and starts making dinner on his own. Half an hour into the process there's a rustle of fabric behind him. Jaster glances behind him, almost jumps at Mace standing just a few steps from him. He looks… far away. Unfocused. It's odd enough for him to set the stove to auto cook and fully turn around to face him.

“You alright?” He asks, watching Mace’s gaze float around his general direction. He doesn't answer, just sort of stands there. This is becoming concerning. “I need words, Mace.” He says, in case he's forgotten, as he does every now and then that Jaster isn't a Jedi and can't feel his feelings or whatever they do.

Mace looks at him another long moment, then blinks back into focus, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Jas.” Is all he says, reaching for him slowly. Jaster steps away from the cooker so that he can be caught by the hips, and Mace immediately presses close, nudging his face into the bare skin above the neck of his flightsuit and deliberately breathing in.

Jaster bewilderly brings his hands up to rest on Mace’s shoulders, entirely confused by this behavior. He's not being affectionate. The word “seeking” comes to mind. Not ”desperate”, Mace isn't exactly grabbing him, but still he can feel the firmness of his grip even though his hip pads. It's uncompromising, holding him in place not letting him move in a way that Mace never is, feeling almost possessive.

And that's certainly something. Jaster doesn't exactly mind. But Mace (at least, Mace in his right mind,) does.

“Talk to me.” Jaster says, directly into Mace’s ear considering how he's positioned. He rubs his shoulder to get his attention in a way that he hopes is at least a bit soothing in the face of whatever this is. “Are you-” He struggles to remember the Jedi word for it. “Are you mindful right now?”

Against his neck, Mace stops breathing for a moment. Then he huffs.

“Yes.” He says, half muffled in the fabric of his flightsuit. “Too long in infinity. You're right here with me.”

Jaster chooses not to even attempt to interpret what half of that means, deciding to focus on the part he can understand.

“I'm right here with you.” He repeats, squeezing both his shoulders. “Are you with me?”

Mace breathes steadily once, twice.

“Yes.” He picks himself up off of Jaster’s shoulder, draws his hands back to his sides. Jaster watches him closely as he backs away. His eyes are back to focused and clear, and he flexes his jaw, rolls his shoulders like he's re-aligning himself back with his body before turning his attention to Jaster.

“I'm sorry if I frightened you.” He says, brisk and straightforward as usual. “My meditation was… intense. It was a struggle enough to pull back into my body to move, finding grounding was the priority over letting you know what was going on.”

That sounds terrifying. Jaster has been plenty informed about the Force philosophically over the years, but he's never thought to inquire about how it actually feels to be connected to it the way Mace is. He's never thought to.

“So you're alright?” He asks, mentally running through the emergency med-checks he knows how to do and finding none of them really apply to ‘stuck in meditation.’ Concussion protocol might be the closest.

“I'm fine now.” Mace swipes his hands back and forth over his tunic, then reaches for his belt. “I must comm Master Yoda. I'll be outside.”

“How long will you be?” Jaster calls after him. “Should I hold off on finishing the food?”

“He knows why I'm calling, it will be prompt.”

That's not a real answer, but Mace is already out the door.

—

“Prompt” ends up being about fifteen minutes. Jaster finishes preparing the meal and has already sat down to eat it when the door opens. Mace steps inside, glowing hologram still in hand.

“Master Yoda wanted to speak with you.” He says, sounding almost childishly defeated. He sets the comm down next to Jaster’s plate and has turned away before Jaster can turn his “what is this?” expression on him. Bastard.

“Jetti Master Yoda.” Jaster says, trying to school his face into something that's more acceptable for the mentor of his partner.

“Jaster Mereel.” The old Jedi sounds just as pleased as Mace had been peeved. “Wanted to thank you personally, I did, for being a help to Master Windu. A man of kindness and understanding, you are.”

“Ah.” Jaster hadn't really been expecting this whole encounter, but an expression of gratitude, much less a compliment, hadn't been one of them. “Thank you. I'm happy that I can be a source of help for Mace, on the rare occasions he needs it.”

“Hmm.” Yoda’s ears lift up, the movement visible even though the hologram. “Rare, you say? Help Mace much you have. More open, he has become. More accepting of others. Noticed, we all have. Tell me, he has, that because of you this change is.”

“Is that so?” That's both sweet and flattering. Why is it the first that Jaster has heard of it, he doesn't know. He finds out half a second later when Mace appears behind him, his food landing gently on the table across from Jaster even as he rather quickly grabs his comm.

“You’ve said your piece, Master. Now, may the force be with you-.”

“Do not be rude, young one!” Comes the sharp interjection over the comm. “Say goodbye to Mereel, I have not.”

“Fine.” Mace turns the comm in the palm of his hand so Jaster is face to face with the hologram. “Here's Jaster, say goodbye.”

Jaster is fascinated by this exchange. He knew that Mace and Master Yoda worked closely together, but he hadn't expected their relationship to resemble something so familial.

“Goodbye, Jetti Master Yoda.” He says, smiling at the comm. “May the force be with you.”

The Jedi smiles back at him. “And with you, young one. My gratitude, you have.”

The transmission ends. Mace rounds the table and sits down heavily. He picks up his fork and pokes it in the air towards Jaster.

“Don't-”

“Open and accepting, huh?” It's always a delight to see Mace embarrassed over something. “How come you never told me how good of an influence on you I am.”

“Yoda only thinks that because he decided that I wasn't enough of either before meeting you.” Mace grumbles into his bowl.

Jaster chuckles, but the comment has made him think. “You have changed, since we met.”

Mace looks up at him now, an eyebrow raised. “So have you.”

“Both of us for the better, you think?”

“Probably.”

[eisforeidolon]

I feel fans should be able to interpret shows and characters any way they want but it really bothers me that shippers die on the hill of Dean is such a closeted bi sexual and Sam is the biggest heterosexual out there. I love these characters because they are extremely toxic and codependent on each other. The story would not be the same with out that. Why would anyone look to Supernatural to be their all time gay representation love story when it most obviously is not. it just blows my mind how out there Destiel shippers are and how much they truly hate this show and hate Dean without even realizing it. I need someone to figure out how we can get rid of them from this fandom...LOL

Yeah, IDGI either. Fandom is supposed to be about just having fun however you want with the building blocks from the canon + your imagination. It's not even the main point that they're hilariously bad at interpretation, project too hard onto the characters to even see them, can't understand context to save their lives, pointedly ignore a million things that directly contradict their agenda, and too much of their so-called proof is actually gross backwards stereotypes about sexuality and masculinity (neither of which they seem to understand very well at all). If they were just having fun with it, who the fuck cares? Sure, it's annoying, but a lot of fandom is annoying because it is so specifically tailored to things not everyone is gonna like. There are other canons with fans who are fine admitting they just like playing in the canon world but not the canon itself that much.

No, the problem is hellers are not content to just enjoy their non-canon interpretations in fandom. They feel entitled to flood any and every tag associated with the show, trying to demand their interpretations be considered indisputably canon fact because ... reasons ... and anyone who doesn't agree with them is A Bad Person because ... they say so. Their ship is the greatest love story (n)ever told, the best representation evar in media! It's the only important thing about SPN - and if they couldn't change the canon, they can change the fandom narrative! The fact there's actually no there there under their overblown thousands upon thousands of words of inept meta is why the very suggestion it's not canon, that someone doesn't see it as the greatest thing ever, that maybe Dean is actually just a heterosexual instead of putting on an elaborate performance of one or even that Sam might not be the straightest character ever written? Is taken as an attack upon their self-declared status as the real main audience. Which makes sense, because they never were. SPN was anything but subtle as to what its actual focal relationship was.

To some extent I get how they echo-chambered each other into believing their ship was/would be a thing in canon. If you just look at the size of the piles on piles of cherry-picked nonsense they accumulated over the years without actually engaging your brain to see how variously flimsy, out of context, or how many other more sensible interpretations there were for any of them? If you wanted to believe and surrounded yourself with others who did, too, and kept talking each other up, spending way more time doing that than watching the show? It's no wonder some of them ended up with really skewed expectations.

What I don't get is how they're still going this long after the show ended. SPN is over and there's no more 'Well, next season for sure!' to promise themselves. There are increasingly more stories out there now in a variety of media which are centering deliberately, openly LGBT+ characters and relationships they could invest in championing! Hell, just saying screw canon and burying themselves in writing their idea of "better" fanfic is a perfectly reasonable way to deal with disappointment, no matter how self-inflicted. Instead, they're still here making up elaborate conspiracies about how SPN was something other than what it blatantly obviously always was - because admitting they were wrong and the only thing they ever liked about it was their own OOC fanfic very, very loosely based off of it? Well, that's more than a bit embarrassing in light of how long they spent campaigning and how vehement they were about it totally being not just A Thing but The Most Important Thing Ever. So I don't know what would actually get them to move on, they clearly love being miserable and wrong and pretending to be martyrs over it far too much for me to comprehend.

[leejenowrld]

Sophie!

The love and appreciation you have for One Tree Hill seamlessly flows in the veins of your Love & Games Universe, mingling and working so well with your own creativity and carefully thought-out ideas. I can't get over it even when I'm not watching or reading.

What elements do you find yourself being drawn to from the inspiration that needed to be a non-negotiable inclusion in your series (aside from key things such as reconciliation between the brothers, the heart-stopping romance, the epic championship game)?

Was there ever a particular point in your writing process or your interactions with readers that made you realize you've established something that has gone beyond the cozy town of Tree Hill, and has transported us to an entirely different, incredibly immersive world?

Do you feel like establishing your own characters and your own timelines helped you appreciate OTH in a new light, or allow you to work out a plotline that you didn't like as much when watching the series?

Are there any other series that you feel inspired to explore, any characters you'd like to reimagine or reconceptualize with your own unique spin?

Happy writing, and please take care! Sending you all the love and support 💖💖💖

okay first of all, this is such an amazing question. you really get it, and that means so much to me.

one tree hill is at the core of love me back and back to you, but what i love is how it’s not just a one-to-one parallel—it’s more of a foundation, a feeling that runs through the universe rather than just a direct recreation. the biggest non-negotiable for me was the emotional depth of the relationships. not just the romance, but the friendships, the rivalries, the complicated family dynamics, the way these characters shape each other for better or worse. the kind of relationships that are so deeply entwined that even when they hurt each other, they still matter. i wanted that sense of inevitability, that push and pull, that this is bigger than us, this was always going to happen energy.

there are certain oth moments that were completely non-negotiable for me to include, not necessarily in the exact same way, but in spirit. the boy toy auction was one—i had to have my version of it, because that whole concept is so charged, so ripe for tension and unresolved feelings, and it just fits the dynamics in lmb/bty beautifully. jeno and areum’s breakup conversation in the first chapter of love me back echoes a lot of nathan and peyton’s messiness in the first episode—how they both know it’s not working and the toxicity but i made it more emotional. then there are the naley iconic lines that just had to be woven into back to you. i was surprised at how well it all fit. and of course, donghyuck—he’s my version of skills. his commentary, his self-awareness, the way he narrates things almost for the audience, keeping that sharp, hilarious energy that makes everything feel even more alive.

another major thing was the passing of time—showing these characters grow, change, and make mistakes but never in a way that feels forced or unnatural. one of the things that always stood out to me about oth was how it didn’t shy away from letting its characters be messy while still making you root for them. i wanted that. i wanted the long-term consequences, the weight of history between characters, the kind of storytelling that doesn’t forget the past but lets it haunt the present in interesting ways.

as for realizing i’d created something separate from tree hill… i think it happened when people started asking me questions about the rules of the love & games universe, theorizing about characters the way you would with an original work, picking apart details and trying to predict where things were going. it wasn’t just about what was inspired by what—it became its own world with its own unique tensions, history, and storytelling logic. and i think that’s what makes it special.

in terms of appreciating oth in a new light, absolutely. reworking certain elements made me think about what really made the show work for me—what i loved about the characters and what i felt i could expand on or even fix in my own way. i love that my version of this world is mine—that i can take the elements that meant the most to me and make them even more intense, even more dramatic, even more emotionally destructive in the best way possible.

as for other inspirations… i’ve definitely been drawn to stories that have those huge emotions, the high-stakes relationships, the kind of drama that feels inescapable because the characters are so tied to each other. the brighter the love, the darker the fallout—that balance is something i always come back to. so who knows? there’s always room for another reimagining.

[o-wild-west-wind]

I said I was done taking on baffling takes but I saw a really popular blog’s post against my will and it spun me into “please give me whatever drugs you’re on” mode so I’m giving myself a pass because unfortunately I can’t control myself around a good hill it’s like catnip for me: apparently—as I’ve just now learned—no characters other than Izzy had an explicitly queer arc of self-discovery and expression in this show! which is wild to me, because…come to think of it….maybe they’re…..right? I mean. I can’t believe they would make a show about a gay relationship in which the literal main character wasn’t responsible for the entire premise by leaving his heteronormative life behind to become a pirate and slowly come to find love, family, meaning, and self-actualization in a queer community! at least give his romantic interest an arc where he feels suffocated by a culture of violence and toxic masculinity so he goes through the ringer of highs and lows in which he finally finds balance and starts healing via queer love and found family…I mean, what were they THINKING to give the only queer arc in this show to Izzy and then kill him, smh. that’s the literal definition of burying your gays….idk what to tell you? (/s for legal purposes)

my dudes: you can be sad that your fave died without making it weird. stop watching the show if you don’t like it anymore. write fanfic in a different direction. you’re allowed!!! but can we PLEASE stop diluting what actual homophobia means because it’s not a silly gotcha for your blorbo dying and if you’re jumping through this many hoops to make that make sense, you MIGHT just be perpetuating what you’re claiming so loudly to denounce. because pretending the non-traditionally masculine and the non-white canonically gay LEAD characters don’t exist in favor of your fanon takes of the guy who for a whole season bullies those same characters for showing effeminate traits and then claiming THEM as a lack of gay rep isn’t a good look (and also just makes no sense. WHAT). rue ponder that long and hard. & if you think the show failed you for killing the “only” character with a late-realized queer self discovery arc…rewatch the pilot a few times, and if it’s still not clicking, honest to god you just don’t like this show as the show it is and has always been so please stop ruining it for the rest of us thanks ✌️

[shesnotaposer]

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

request status: open

blog rules: do not repost my work and claim it as yours. if you want to repost any of my writings, please ask for my permission and give me credit.

writings

⤷ marvel masterlist || hollywood masterlist || prompt list

⤷ smutty sundays request page

𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

please read this for more information about my writing/my boundaries as a writer. read this too if you're going to request!

— who i write for

• natasha romanoff (i'm not taking any fic requests with natasha as reader's mother, or with natasha being pregnant) | wanda maximoff | peggy carter, pepper potts, maria hill (i mostly will be writing blurbs, or soft/angsty fics for them. nothing long. i just don't feel motivated enough to write for them) | yelena belova, kate bishop, peter parker (i will not be taking any smut requests for them. or anything that would portray them as dark/toxic)

• scarlett johansson (i will not be writing smut for scarlett. i will not be including or mentioning any of her kids in any of my fics, and i will not be portraying her husbands in any way negative) | elizabeth olsen (no smut for elizabeth either. and no mentions of her husband) — these are boundaries i've set, not just because of me, but because i want to respect both scarlett and lizzie (+ they're family) as they are real people who have gone through enough being sexualized and made uncomfortable by the internet. i don't want to add onto that

— what i do not write

• incest (or anything that involves relationships between blood related family members) | adult x minor relationships

• mdlg relationships, non-consensual sex, bdsm relationships (or any relationship where one tortures the other for the sake of getting off especially if it's non-consensual)

• kidnapping, relationships formed by trauma (orchestrated by a participant in the relationship for the sole purpose of getting the other person), abusive relationships

• girl characters with penis, vampire/ghosts characters,

[shaheenarnitipsyart]

Ruined, Destroyed and Be Free

The second time joining FFF by  @flashfictionfridayofficial​!! I’m really late but I decided to write it anyways. Sorry for the late submissions! 

Word count: 1011

TW / non

Characters: Prasto the warlord (he/him), Atined the Shadow (they/them)

The nightfall. The moment was close. Prasto was looking down the field engulfed with fire from the old watchtower on the top of the hill. His eyes reflected the colours of fire; red, orange, yellow, purple, blue... It was reaching towards him. It was the fire of destruction. His troops had abandoned him many days ago. The hot, hostile wind was blowing Prasto's ginger hair. He gazed into the relentless wave of fire, remembering the days he spent on the battlefields. He fought countless wars - as a son of the most feared warlord, he had to grow up fast so that he could prove himself as a capable heir. He knew that the desire for power, which drove his father and ancestors to the endless bloodshed was also burning in his heart. He had no regret. The one who gained power by force would be avenged by force. He knew that the desire - the fire, would burn down himself and his kingdom eventually. He turned his head around and looked at the only person who stayed with him. That person was like a shadow - indeed, they were a shadow. Their hair was as dark as the midnight sky. Their long cloak was the colour of a raven. It was said that their clan was born out of the darkness itself.

Atined was one of the very few survivors of the ancient clan of the shadow. The clan of shadow had been serving Prasto's ancestors. They had been known for extraordinary physical abilities. They sealed the oath with the ancient spells but it was destroyed and lost a long time ago due to the clan's rebellion against their masters. Most of the members of the clan of the shadow perished with magical spells. It was for good, some people said, as the relationship between the clan members and the warlords had become toxic. The latter's crave for power was limitless, and some people of the clan wanted freedom.

'Atined, look at this incredible ocean of fire... it reminded me of the mead-hall of my old castle. So bright, so lively, full of emotions. Don't you think, my shadow? It is our last feast, what a magnificent view.' Prasto's voice had an upbeat note as if he was enjoying a festival. The was a massive explosion just beneath their feet, and the heated wind blew away Atined's black hood. Their tattooed face was exposed to the hot air. Their entire body was covered with quite intricate ivy-like tattoos. It was the ancient spell, which bound them to the warlord family. Atined slightly nodded but said nothing. Their black eyes were like a dark hole, reflecting nothing - even the raging fire could not penetrate the darkness. 'Calm as dead, just as always.' Prasto laughed loudly and turned his gaze back towards the turbulent sea of fire. The smoke rose as if it tried to burn the dark sky. 'Well...this is my last feast, not yours after all.' Prasto murmured. The sound of the burning field was somewhat comforting to his ears. He turned back and properly looked at Atined, who was standing still on the same spot. 'You will survive this hellfire, won't you, Atined? Since you are a shadow. You can tolerate it without even feeling how hot it is.' They nodded, again, without a word. 'Why did you choose to be bounded to my forefathers? You could've chosen the freedom just like the rest of your clan.' Prasto was grinning like a mischievous boy, yet his voice had a serious tone. Atined looked at Prasto, who was standing in the blazing world, surrounded by golden flare. 'My lord, I didn't have a choice, nay, I didn't know I had a choice.' Atined finally said without any emotions. 'I was born out of the true darkness. The ancient oath was already written all over me when I was born, although the oath had been broken and the spell had been lost a long time ago. I have never understood what freedom is.' Prasto shrugged. 'Freedom for you means no orders, no assassinations, no labours unless you wish to do so. You can go wherever your heart takes you. You don't have to follow me into the heart of the fire...you can't do that anyways.' Another explosion, then the watchtower shook violently. Bright orange fire sparkled and burned Prasto's skin. But he didn't even flinch. He breathed in the night air mixed with choking smoke. 'I have no regrets, no fears. My sword drunk enough blood. I'll become one with this fire which spares no human beings. I'll burn everything..everything my fathers had built. Everything I achieved, everything I lost... but you...' He stepped forward and looked into Atined eyes, trying to find the reflection of himself. But he couldn't. 'I always found that your eyes are scary. They are just... void.' He turned around and looked up at the burning sky. 'I grant you freedom, Atined.' Prasto said without looking back. 'How, my lord? And why?' Slightly surprised, Atined asked. 'Just wish for it. And that's it. Simple as hell. You've never thought about it, right?' Prasto said rather bluntly.  Atined never said it, but they had been always impressed by Prasto's calmness. He had never lost wit even in the most desperate situation. For a shadow person who somehow lost emotion, that was normal. But for fragile humans, it's was different. 'If I wish...' 'Leave here before this fire swallows me and then wish for it. You might not be able to tolerate the fire once you are free. You'll be free from the curse, as well as the protection the ancient magic gave you.' It was more like a hoarse whisper but Atined heard it. Prasto looked at Atined straight. His eyes were burning brighter than the fire which was about to embrace him. 'I belong to the old world, ruined and destroyed by my own fire. Live, and find your way Atined. You are no longer a shadow. Look at the world with your own eyes.'

[watchinglikeafangirl]

Tagged by @shortpplfedup because I thought it would be fun

1. Your all time favourite BL and why?

I told sunset about you

Everything about it. It does everything right. The script, the directing and the acting, it's all on point and makes this whole show special to such degree that you just can't get over its story. Everytime I go back, I know why I love it so much. Everytime I think about it, I want to cry. Because I told sunset about you is so beautiful it hurts and the nostalgia coming along with it is overbearing.

What I loved most is the cinematography because there are so many details to discover. The scenery often says what's not spoken alound, so the audience always understands the emotional conflict without being told. Every show and movie that works like this is good when it comes to carrying the atmosphere. But it's not only the composure of the scenery, it's the story, the characters and the acting. Teh and Oh-aew are pretty complexe characters and even though they are introduced as being nearly the same person when it comes to goals and choices, you more and more get how much they are actually not alike and rather complete each other than being the same. So, their lovestory makes sense, nearly feels like destiny and Billkin and PP portray them in a very lovely way.

Yeah, I LOVE this show but only ITSAY deserves my whole heart. IPYTM didn't pull me off my feet at all and it didn't even get close to anything ITSAY-related, in my opinion.

2. The one BL that scared you for life

Tonhon Chonlatee because how badly can you mess up?! It was scary how quickly things crashed down because it started of at being ok and went down the hill completely. Tonhon was the worst character. He was homophobic and everytime he made Chonlatee uncomfortable or me in front of the screen wanting to vomit, was explained with him actually liking Chonlatee in secret? Sorry, but I didn't buy it. He was a disgusting and horrible person, made everyone scared to show they're gay and didn't ever see his faults. Yeah, this show scared me because it was toxic and went down the hill so fast and so deep that I couldn't even realize what happened.

3. Is there any BL that made you feel very single?

Gameboys because they deeply care in a different way than friends do and when watching I craved for something like that.

It actually felt like true love and even though they only knew each other via screen mostly, their bond was so strong and it made me feel a bit lonely and yes, very single.

4. If you could change one thing from a BL, which one would it be?

The non-existent relationship in 2gether. This sounds a bit harsh and their relationship wasn't non-existent but it wasn't show that much either. Sarawat flirted a bunch of times and they said they love each other and it was all pretty wholesome but at some point, I really wondered if they even moved to the next level. Tine stayed shy around Sarawat the whole time, they never kissed except at the very end and I wished for a bit more than flirting only. There wasn't even much physical contact. They looked just like close friends to be honest. If they didn't want to insert many kisses, that's fine, but they hugged for like one time and never held hands. For me, their relationship was a bit unbelievable.

5. That one BL you detest

Theory of love looks like something I wouldn't like but I haven't seen it, so we stick with TharnType - especially season 2.

I still don't know why I watched this til the end without skipping. My internet was too bad to skip but boy it was hell to endure. Season 1 was a guilty pleasure but season 2 messed up in so many ways, I can't count. Everything went down the hill and the only thing keeping it alive was MewGulf's real chemistry because not even TharnType had good chemistry but at least the actors were comfortable with each other, so it looked okay between them. But oh boy, this show was terrible. Terrible writing, terrible directing and partly terrible actors. The whole concept was bizarre and dumb. I felt like my IQ dropped from watching because of all this inconsistency.

6. Your top 5

I told sunset about you

Cherry Magic

Gaya sa pelikula

Gameboys

We best love: no 1 for you

7. That trashy BL you lowkey like

History 4: close to you even though it had many problems. I managed to look past them and quite enjoyed it then but the second the final was over I started laughing at myself in surprise how I could've looked past every wrong thing they did. But I did it and enjoyed the good moments, let the bad ones wash over me.

8. Your favourite korean BL

Light on me because it had all the fluff and complexe characters. The love triangle was written in a realistic way and everything about this show was right. The side characters had proper screentime and I cared for them all. Some choices were a bit frustrating but they were teenagers and teenagers just act stupid sometimes. The accuracy of the life of teenagers hit way too close to my life, to my school.

9. Season 2? Which one?

Definetly Gaya sa pelikula. There are so many things left unsaid and so much Karl needs to discover.

10. A bunch of BLs will air soon, which are you the most excited about?

Probably KinnPorsche. The teaser looked so epic and it's a lovestory with a bodyguard which always catches my eyes. Don't know when it will air but I hope soon and I'm afraid I am too excited... but well, it can only be better than golden blood because that one was something else.

I tag everyone who feels like it

[ribcagecarnival]

ADMIT ONE • VIOLET SKIES

I first heard Violet’s music while coping with heartbreak in January 2019. Her song “Cry For Me” is peak crying on the dance floor music, which is, frankly, the only genre that matters. A year later, she caught a set of mine at a house show, and we immediately linked up to write. Turns out we have great musical chemistry and we get along very well just as people, too. Her music often calls MUNA and Robyn to mind for me, but her love for folk titans like Joni Mitchell is also apparent. Check out this playlist of songs that move the wonderful Violet Skies (plus her reasons behind each selection). Her ticket to the Carnival is good for a lifetime.

A Case of You - Joni Mitchell The song I wished I’d written. The song I try to write. The lyrics, the melody - HOLY WTF. Unimaginable genius that she is, and the most simultaneously clear and vague expression of love’s totality. 14 year old me heard this through my Dad, who said Joni Mitchell was a true artist and made sure I listened to every single one of her albums. I will NEVER be over this song. Even the title is just insanely beautiful in its duality of meaning.

Zero to Hero - Hercules Hercules was my first true introduction as a child to gospel music (I grew up in Wales don’t judge me) and honestly the vocals on this film, insane. The runs, harmonies, energy - as a child it was nothing like I’d heard before and I learnt this song back to front and still to this day I think it’s insanely good songwriting, musicality is just *chef’s kiss* and the women on this song MAKE that entire film.

Can’t Help Loving That Man of Mine - Showboat Original Recording I sang this 3 times for my ‘show song’ portion of my singing grades. Everyone else usually chose something like Phantom of the Opera or something more classical, because it was a classical singing grade. So I’d sing like a few arias, something in German and then three years in a row I sang this because I thought it was (aged 12) the most wonderful song ever. Lyrically, it’s rather toxic for a 12 year old girl, honestly, but I was a hopeless romantic and having never kissed a boy at 12, the VIBES on this song were just so dramatic and I loved it. Also Showboat had me and my sister in tears the first time we watched it aged 6, I don’t think my Mam realised how traumatic it was when she put it on for us to watch.

Goodnight My Angel - Billy Joel Billy Joel, songcrafter extraordinaire, writes lullaby for his daughter, I die. I aspire to this level of craftsmanship and yes, this also makes me cry. Please go and listen to this song.

Make You Feel My Love - Adele’s version Bob Dylan wasn’t someone my parents played so I didn’t know he wrote this. Adele is just TONE and WARMTH and this song again, is so dramatic and over the top and also subtle in a way that moves my very being. I sung this so many times as a teenager and it began my love for Adele. Ballads never get old, the good ones age like fine wine (I don’t actually like wine but whatever) and they continue to be relevant and timeless in their message.

Samson - Regina Spektor Only recently did I realise that this song has affected my songwriting and is 100% behind my obsession with the chromatic 1-2-3-4 chord progression that is the PERFECT pre-chorus in my opinion. This song is just GENIUS. A song about a modern day relationship with Samson, iconic in its own way (Wonderbread!), paralleled with the original Biblical tale of Samson. Melody and lyric and piano come together in a way that really separates Regina from her peers and this song will live on for decades. The song is so specific, almost unrelatable-to in content, but it makes so much sense on an emotional level and that, that, is songwriting.

Kate Bush - Running Up That Hill She wrote it. She produced it. She’s a feminist searching for equality of experience. She’s exploring gender. She’s talking to God. She’s creating iconic sounds before her time. She is Kate Bush and I will not hear a word said against her. Big Boi does a whole interview on this song and he GETS IT. Go watch that because he explains it so well.

At Last - Etta James I sung this at every talent show I ever did and every shitty pub gig in my teens. This song! Her voice! Nobody sings like Etta. She is effortless. This song shaped my voice and I credit this song and Etta James with helping me learn runs, vocal control across my chest and head voice, and how to really sing something and mean it. When people talk about how music of black origin underpins all modern music, it’s songs like this and artists like Etta they are talking about. She is a foundation, a cornerstone in the development of the modern vocal.

Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap Imogen Heap is really tall in real life and even more wonderful. I heard this first through my sister who played it to me in the car and I lost my mind. THE VOCODER. The melody. I don’t ever know what she means really, completely, (like Bon Iver) but like, god i feel it. *That* moment in the song is so insane and I hear it all the time in my own music. Wild! It’s so wild how 30 seconds of a song can change the entire way you think about music and shape your own musicality.

I Love You More Than You’ll Ever Know - Donny Hathaway Amy Winehouse sings in Rehab “cos there’s nothing you can’t teach me…that I can’t learn, from Mr Hathaway”. She’s talking about Donny Hathaway and she’s right. Donny Hathaway’s voice is bottled soul, a depth of feeling most normal musicians will never in their lives. He ‘taught’ Amy and it shows. This song I covered and never released, but I also practiced production for the first time when I made it. The drama of this lyric too - admitting he isn’t perfect, knowing he doesn’t express his love properly but yet this song is the ultimate expression of love.

Wannabe - Spice Girls Changed my life. First album I ever got (from the tooth fairy). The Spice Girls were the soundtrack to my very early years and there are many videos of me doing dance routines to this song. If I wanted to be a pop star, this is where it started. Also don’t tell me that ZigAZigAHHH isn’t genius!?! This song is something a modern Kpop band would release. That iconic laugh at the start?! I went to their reunion tour with my sister, she was a few month’s pregnant and we both BAWLED because the nostalgia and full circle moment was just too much.

Love Is A Losing Game -  Amy Winehouse Lyrical perfection. Real songwriting. Conceptually perfect. Amy Winehouse changed my life because I saw a woman with a guitar on stage singing lyrics I understood, lyrics I thought were clever and funny and vocally she just outshone everyone around her. When Amy passed away I was at a friend’s garden party, my Mam rang me and I cried in the toilets and no one could understand why I was so sad, she’s the only famous person I’ve ever really cared about like that. I felt I knew her and I owed her so much. The world owed her more and I miss her. I love to imagine what she would be like in today’s music world and what she would be writing. But the two albums were enough to keep me listening for a lifetime. This song won an Ivor Novello award and I think it is real art.

Jealous - Labrinth I’m jealous I didn’t write this song. I think this song is on most people’s I WISH lists and does it even need explaining!?!

33”GOD” - Bon Iver What do the lyrics mean? How do you pronounce Bon Iver? What does the title mean? How do you even arrive at this song when you start writing?! The production is so game changing and the Bon Iver SOUND is so unique and has affected the entire music industry, seeping in to pop and mainstream. Even Taylor knows. But this song is the one I played on repeat. I still don’t know the lyrics but I know I feel like a firecracker underwater when I listen to it and that can’t be a bad thing.

Rude Boy - Rihanna This is one of the sexiest songs ever. It changed how I thought about women and what it means to be comfortable in yourself and your own sexuality. I’m just gonna leave it at that.

Retrograde - James Blake “SUDDENLY I’M HIT” and my entire brain blows off. I played this on repeat when I moved to London and when I finally met him a year or two later I said probably nothing of consequence and likely made an arse of myself but what I should of said was “retrograde changed my life”. It shaped how I think about production, made me think about synths and the interaction between organic and synthetic sounds and the use of a songwriter’s song in a non traditional setting. James sets the bar so high for all of us and we just jump around trying to come anywhere close.

[freckliedan]

can u please explain what an phanti//anti is (like moree specifically)? ive only really ever seen ppl talk about dan & phil from the perspective of they’re (prob) together or they don’t feel comfortable with speculation/don’t care either way

oh my god anon i’m so glad that things have changed so much that this is the culture now. oh my god i’m so glad you don’t know what a phanti is

i think in the most basic sense of the word, a phanti is someone who believes that dan and phil are heterosexual, and that they’re just friends, and that shippers are super disrespectful/being bad people for forcing the idea that the two of them might be together on them & in their faces. phantis tend to think we’re seeing things that aren’t there/making things up, and they’re really, really shitty in the ways they aggressively will argue with people about it. they have blinders on, essentially, when it comes to the ways dan and phil have been subtly coming out for the past few years.

and an anti is someone who’s opposed to a ship? so like ok cool, that’s a fair word to have made up, but most of the time that you see that being used on tumblr, i’d be wary. a lot of people who talk about antis in general on tumblr are complaining about being criticized for fetishizing mlm or shipping unhealthy ships, and i’m going to go into more detail about that under the cut but i’m gonna put a few trigger warnings first bc it’s some potentially triggering reasons that people get criticized and then pull out the word anti.

the overall point about the general word anti is: it means someone who’s against a ship, but usually if people are making posts about how antis suck and you shouldn’t police other’s enjoyment of fandom, be wary/check out OP’s blog before reblogging because it might be someone defending a really shitty stance.

(for under the cut: csa tw/, pedophilia tw/, incest tw/, rape tw/; i’m having a serious discussion of toxic parts of fandom under the cut so please take my trigger warnings seriously and gauge your comfort level/whether it’s healthy for you to click to the read more. i don’t want to feel responsible for causing hurt, and the discussion under the cut doesn’t have any information that’s not explained in broad strokes in the main body of my post.)

oftentimes people who use the word anti are adults who shipping an adult character with a minor & not listening when people tell them that doing so supports pedophilic attitudes & contributes to societal grooming of minors to be abused by predatory adults; this is the most common original poster of things about how antis need to stop policing others’ enjoyment of fandom, and i’ve seen a number of people who describe themselves as fandom moms who also behave in this way. typically the antis in this specific scenario are minors who are saying that the adult’s actions are making them uncomfortable, and the adult will mobilize their larger follower base against the minor who spoke up about their discomfort. 

and i’m not talking like, an 18/19 year old who’s shipping two characters of a similar age to themself together when one is still like 16/17; that’s different; i’m talking like. someone who’s 20+, usually mid twenties or older, who describes themself as a fandom mom and who will not listen to criticism or people who tell them that they’ve been made uncomfortable. i’m not saying that all fandom moms are like this, i’m just saying that i’ve seen it enough times that i get wary when i see someone constantly and proudly self defining as a fandom mom.

other times the unhealthy ship will be incest, or will be focused on dub con/non con. and there’s a place for that in fandom; i know that there’s a lot of people who process traumas through writing fic about characters that they relate deeply to, and rape survivors and survivors of incest should have a space in which to do that, too. i’m not talking about that kind of fan content though; there’s people who get pissed about being criticized for eroticizing rape, incest, and dub con, and for romanticizing abusive, unhealthy relationships, and when they get pissed for the valid criticisms people are bringing up, they roll out the word anti and start getting self righteous. 

fandom is a really wonderful place for the most part, but a lof of minors get exposed to extremely toxic ideas by adults and those ideas get normalized through the constant repitition. that normalization can leave a kid vulnerable to manipulation by predatory adults, or lead to the adoption of unhealthy behaviors or a kid being put into unsafe situations. this especially happens due to the way that sex is discussed in fan spaces without regard to age a lot of the time. 

i really want all minors to be safe, and i think talking about this is important, because none of the adults i was following when i was a minor were discussing this even though it should be the adult’s responsibility to protect minors and make sure they’re not interacting sexually with young people, even when it’s about a fandom, not about people’s personal sex lives. this is a hill that i’m willing to die on, and although i turned out okay and didn’t end up in any bad situations, i know that i was exposed to some super toxic ideas through fandom when i was growing up and i did internalize a fair amount of shit. 

so. yeah. beware people who use the word anti and if you’re an adult reading this, don’t behave sexually with minors on the internet. nobody tells us that it’s our responsibility to protect minors on the internet, but it is, and this is me telling you that if you’ve not already realized it yourself.

[him-e]

Even as someone who dislikes Dany, it felt weird and umcomfortable to read a lot of biased metas who would tell awful things about her (of which some are partially true but if they are pointed out with ill intentions and out of hate instead of with argumentation it falls flat for me) in order to defend a ship but for what's worth from the outside it is pretty easy to distinguish the older and new jonsa shippers and I dont think people conflate the two groups This said keep enjoying the fandom :)

idk, from the point of view of someone who was not aware that a Jonsa fandom even existed before it exploded during season 6, I think it’s pretty normal to conflate the two groups. But I should clarify that I’m not concerned with being equated with “”””bad”””” shippers. The people I respect in this fandom are too clever to believe that all fans of (x) are a hivemind. I don’t care for everyone else.

My frustration comes from the fact that all this Dany hate is stifling the Jonsa discourse when it would have still so much to offer otherwise, with less divisive arguments. Instead it seems like Dany is the hill people are going to die on, when she shouldn’t have anything to do with the ship and there are plenty of ways to discuss a possible endgame scenario that don’t revolve around constantly shitting on her. I actually really enjoy reading jonsa meta, even of the “will be canon!” kind, but the constant villainization of Dany is ruining it for me, because I don’t consider it a valid or productive argument. Making villain!Dany the linchpin of your ship discourse invalidates the whole thought process, because a) she’s clearly not; b) insisting that she is has a counterproductive effect on neutral fans, as it alienates from jonsa more people than it attracts; c) it actually doesn’t prove anything. Even if Dany were a villain, that doesn’t mean Jon can’t fall in love with her or that his feelings must be insincere. Good people fall for villains all the time, and Jon is not necessarily a paragon of virtue himself. 

Anon #2, I had to edit your ask because I’m not going to address publicly that sort of accusations towards specific users, especially since I have zero first hand knowledge of what happened either way. But I wanted to discuss this:

I’m am so sick and tired of people thinking we don’t like Daenerys just because we ship Jonsa. There are A MILLION valid reasons not to like her that have nothing at all to do with shipping 😒

Of course there are plenty of good reasons to be critical of her. Her storyline and arc and narrative tropes are intentionally divisive and meant to inspire a discussion in the audience. And I certainly don’t think that being a shipper invalidates your perspective on things—hey, I’m a shipper too! 

But would you commit to write tons of meta on how Dany is a villain, if that weren’t inextricably connected to (your idea of) endgame jonsa? I only started to see floods of Dany-critical meta in this corner of the fandom after it became clear she would make Jon unavailable. Before that, non-Dany fans were pretty content ignoring her, or just throwing the occasional remark about how they didn’t like her. It’s pretty obvious that one thing is fueling the other.

In my experience, people— even on this hellsite—only go analytical on the stuff they hate if there’s an upside to it, be it to elevate your favourite ship/character/idea by contrast, defend your interpretation of the story, gain discourse points or bond over shared hatred for something. But it’s rarely “oh I really dislike (x) so I guess I’m going to spend hours and hours analyzing in depth how (x) is bad without this bearing any relevance whatsoever to the things I like, or consider right and wholesome”. It’s generally “put (x) down to prop (y) up”, even if the latter is not immediately transparent. I think it would be disingenuous to pretend that this link doesn’t exist.

Story time: in earlier fandom days of mine, there was a character I and some other fans really disliked, who was was incidentally the main obstacle to our otp happening. Long story short, we became really invested in a subset of theories about how he was actually a villain all along, and how the narrative would eventually expose him as such (sounds familiar?). There were tons of brilliant, researched, incredibly analytical meta about it. The idea was that eventually there would be a 180° perspective shift, corresponding to the heroine’s finally opening her eyes on his nature. This interpretation was hardly unfounded—the character was a liar, an emotional abuser, a canonical rapist and former slave owner, and there were a lot of shady aspects to the way he had initiated his relationship with the heroine. However, it was also painfully clear that he was “the” male lead and that the writers loved to romanticize him just as much as they liked playing with his darker aspects. Fast forward to the final season and we never had the big villain reveal we wanted—and boy did I feel like an idiot for even believing that could happen. 

The story I played in my mind was interesting—I still think it is—but ultimately it wasn’t the story the writers were telling. There were plenty of signs that it wasn’t. As it turned out, ~controversial but beloved hero is revealed to be a villain~ isn’t a very popular trope. Mainstream fiction is usually geared towards the exact opposite (see: redemption arcs). 

But also, in hindsight, now I understand that I fell down the rabbit hole with that theory because it allowed me to fantasize about a scenario in which the heroine would finally get over the *bad* character and fall in love with my fave instead. Did I have legitimate reason to be critical of that character? I can guarantee I had A LOT. But was shipping + viscerally disliking that character my main motivator in this? YES. 

My point is, you can absolutely hate a character JUST BECAUSE it gets in the way of your ship. Sometimes things are just that simple. It’s completely normal, it’s par for the course, I think we’ve all had that gut reaction at one point in our fandom life. But don’t dress it up as something deeper or more serious than that (don’t get so sucked into your rationalizations that you start to believe them), and don’t be surprised if it alienates other fans. Because it does! Back to my story, now that I’m older and wiser I can see how all our tinhatting and obsessing over our nemesis made the fandom toxic and alienated a lot of neutral fans, let alone fans of that character & relative ship, who were basically silenced since the get go. Which sucks.

Tinhatting is wonderful, it’s one of the reasons I do fandom the way I do, but tinhatting that consistently hinges on hatred and negativity against a specific character tends to get tiring and toxic, not to mention lose validity on a meta level. This is how I see it, but feel free to make of this what you like.