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I am lowkey unfit for human interaction

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Messaging people for the first time is so hard. What am I supposed to say? Like, "You seem really odd and your blog intrigues me. Do you want to have philosophical conversations or perhaps talk about fictional characters?" What! Whatever. I will just follow you back and stare at your blog with my big beautiful brown eyes.

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Source: This

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I was bleeding out in the snow and it was all cool and stuff until like a bunch of teenager showed up and then It got really cringe so I put all the blood back and went to go bleed out somewhere else but all the good bleed out places were taken so I decided just to die like a natural peaceful death like look overlooking the Cliffside but lo and behold somebody's already fucking dying there against a tree and it looks way sicker than what I had planned I guess I'll just fucking live

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me as a writer

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Hello 👋,

I hope this message finds you well. My name is Aziz, and I’m reaching out with a heartfelt plea to help my family find safety and reunite with our mother. 😞

The ongoing war in Gaza has torn my family apart. My mother and newborn sister are stranded in Egypt, while I, along with the rest of my sex family members, am trapped in the midst of the genocide in Gaza. We have not only been separated but have also lost our home and are enduring unimaginable hardships. 💔

Your support can make a difference. Whether by reading our story, donating, or sharing our campaign with others, you can help us reunite, find safety, and start anew. 🙏🕊

Thank you, from the depths of my heart, for your kindness, compassion, and solidarity during this difficult time. ���🍉

https://gofund.me/58268669 🔗

!!

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Shidou Ryusei — Birds Born in a Cage Think Flying is an Illness

PAIRING: Shidou Ryusei/Reader WORD COUNT: 2k TYPE: Some angst (?? idk), childhood friends/neighbors, No Blue lock AU (Like it never happened...) WARNING(S): Implied child abuse on both ends, the ending is ambiguous/up to interpretation, Anxiety

A lot of people think Shidou’s hair isn’t naturally blonde.

It’s just something people have always discussed, even when you were little. Such a benign topic to interest them, the color of Shidou’s hair — yet it has always been a point of contention even when you never saw the big deal around it. Maybe because he's always stood out, be it with something unimportant like appearance or the more elusive matter of his attitude.

Shidou’s eyelashes are blonde to the root, you could've said.

Shidou was always blonde even when we were kids, you could've said.

But you never say things like this, of course, when you overhear their gossip. There are times when someone in school asks you about Shidou, since it's no secret that you are associated, and you'll answer with a meek and boring Yes, Shidou really is blonde, but won't go beyond that or intrude.

It's shitty and you're embarrassed of yourself, but the truth is, you never defend him when they make more serious, inflammatory, sometimes straight up degrading claims about him rather than merely speculating on his hair color. You don't want to impose. You don't have the confidence to speak when not spoken to. And he doesn't care about them nor about their opinions, so you can somewhat delude yourself that you're all good in your shell, that it's fine. In a sense it is this willingness to be himself while not heeding what others make of it that defines Shidou’s freedom.

Shidou’s hair isn’t bleached, but the pink streaks are. The first time he dyed it, you were both nearing junior high graduation, and he rushed upstairs to your apartment to invite you to ‘do something cool with him’.

The matter wasn't all that exciting to you, but you were afraid you'd get caught not being home if your parents were to return from work earlier than expected. There was a kind of secrecy and excitement in the adrenaline your fear caused you, and a connection in allowing Shidou to partake.

Maybe you’re the type of person who worships the problem and maybe letting Shidou in on it is like performing a ritual of closeness to you. This personality deficit persists even in the present.

You always tried to refuse him at first in these exploits because you were so, so afraid of things like air and vague concepts in your mind, but you'd cave in anyway, after some coaxing. Your fingers were shaky and you botched it, but you helped him despite the rush.

Then you ran and jumped down and almost sprained your ankle, since you wanted to retreat quickly, fearful of your parents. You cleaned all the dye off your fingers with boiling water and an excessive amount of soap once you went inside, and you spent several days afterwards thinking you were going to get caught in assisting the transgression, which never came.

Though your family torments you, the most cruel part is that they've trained your mind to continue the job whenever they are not around. When you were little at one point you thought they had installed hidden cameras in your room since they always mystically knew when you'd be up to no good, but nowadays you assume they were making things up for the sake of yelling at you and their guesses happened to be right on occasion by some absurd coincidence.

You’ve also come to understand just because they raise hell about something doesn’t necessarily mean it was wrong or immoral.

One time when you were still around seven or so, you let Shidou push you on the swing. He always used too much force, and honestly while you found it scary, you agreed every time to his proposal. What you didn’t grasp at the time was that this prevalent fear will be integral to your life.

There was such an accident where you slipped off the swing and landed straight on your face from high up.

Shidou crouched down next to you while you started crying. He assumed it was from the pain and apologized for a bit in an attempt to placate you. It took no time for your skin to get aggravated and swollen, and the recessed scratches had dirt sticking to them, and you were so upset it was uncontrollable.

After a while of histrionics, Shidou managed to calm you down somehow, at least to a degree where you could speak, and all you had to say was, “I got hurt! My parents are gonna yell at me!”

“They’re gonna yell at you for getting hurt?!” Shidou parroted back at you. The statement was absurd, even though he got it — he really did — and then he burst out laughing.

Your classmates behind you have moved on to whispering about Shidou’s makeup rather than his hair. You begin scrawling a hateful scribble on one of the pages in the middle of your notebook and think to tear it out later ‘cause your parents might find it while looking through your stuff and scold you for being an untidy degenerate.

Do people your age still deal with this kind of thing, on average? You think the answer should be no, that you’re too old, but your perception of normal is so fucked up, you can’t think it in confidence. So who knows. Maybe everyone else is hiding family shame as well, but hiding it better, like Shidou with his energy and such. You could always be victimizing yourself without basis, too.

This is your last class for today, so at least you don’t have to tolerate being at school for much longer. Your relief about this, however, doesn’t last long, since the teacher decides to return your tests earlier than expected.

When you see your mark written in red at the bottom, you want to throw up. The world caves in on you. You haven’t failed this badly in a while — are you a moron or something? You must be, to get so many questions wrong. Fuck. You’re so fucked.

You try to hold it in, but as usual your stupid body’s reactions prove overwhelming and the tears bubble up anyway. Your hand flies up to cover your mouth and stifle the noise as you shake in place. No one pays you any attention at least, so the humiliation of a breakdown isn’t too bad this time.

After the teacher dismisses you all, your sleeve brushes against your face for a hasty wipe and stand upright with weak knees. The test is still in your grip, crinkling under your fingertips. Though you do not want anyone to see you sobbing and acting pitiful, your pace is languid, trying to prolong the time before you arrive home for as long as possible.

Shidou catches up to you with ease before you can even reach the gate, swinging an arm around your shoulder. You stiffen and blink, praying the action will somehow erase your tears before he can register them even if you know it won’t.

“Aww, are you crying again?” asks Shidou, leaning in to rest his chin on your shoulder. Still, it’s not a proper embrace, and it makes walking awkward. You stumble to stop, but Shidou keeps dragging you along, in the wrong direction at that, and you go along with it.

“No.” You sniffle.

“What is this?” He releases you and plucks the paper out of your hold.

“I’m in big shit,” you tell him, despite the initial denial. “Also, I think I might have a tapeworm in place of a brain.”

It had rained while you were still inside. Now the roads are wet and your shoes feel squeaky and wet with each step. Puddles gather in the imperfections and cracks of the pavement. The sky is a bland shade of grey.

Shidou unfurls the paper and examines it with a critical eye, as a joke. “Come on, you got a three. We got those back today too and I totally failed it.”

“I’m gonna get yelled at like crazy and it needs a signature too.”

Shidou clicks his tongue. “I told you to fake it from the get go.”

“I was scared.”

“You’re always scared!”

“Are you ok with failing? Something gonna happen to you?”

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely getting hit today,” he says with a yawn. Then tears your test to shreds and shoves the pieces in his pocket and grins to himself. “I’ll glue this to a drawing letter.”

His admission makes you frown, but Shidou remains in good spirits, and even picks his ear with his pinky. He doesn’t care what people will think of him, so he does things like that all the time, and despite the fights and nonsensical exclamations about viscera, he practices body mindfulness and has his own philosophies on freedom and such, and he doesn’t let anyone define his life or self for him, or influence his definitions on those concepts. In fundamentals he is different to you; Shidou stands immune to the lacanian Other that is always tormenting your psyche.

You continue your walk together, straying further and further away from your neighborhood. You’re too anxious to go home, because bad things will happen, and too anxious to stay out because the bad things will escalate to worse when you inevitably go home. So you lay stagnant and let Shidou wrap his fingers around yours and hold your hand as you walk around even though you are nervous, even though as usual with him there is no path and only a journey.

The silence pervades, interrupted only by half-conversations. You’re worried with graduation and your grades and university almost constantly, so this is what you talk about, about how your parents won’t be happy with your academic placement and how you’re planning to kill yourself before finals. Shidou, upon hearing all this, laughs and says you are a funny person.

Is he some kind of flâneur or a nonconformist in society’s eyes, you don’t know, but in your opinion Shidou is so free in a sense he cannot be bound by an identity, even if the classification is a dissentient one such as ‘misfit’.

Little by little the sun comes down, the streets and benches get dryer, while you continue your aimless stroll. You don’t even recognize what part of the city you’re in anymore, which puts you on edge, but Shidou probably does.

The wind caresses your face.

“I don’t want to go home,” you plead, even though you know that is not where you’re going. You haven’t turned around yet to be going home.

Despite your request, you also realize the longer you put off the consequences, the worse they are becoming.

“Let’s run away together,” says Shidou lightly, cheerful even, as if he is suggesting what you should have for dinner instead of something drastic and far-fetched. “I’ll take you to Miyako-jima and we’ll play football on the beach every day. And crawl around the fields. We can even go snorkeling sometimes.”

“I don’t want to snorkel.”

“Come on, you haven’t even tried it. It could be your favorite thing ever and you’d never know! You could be one with the fish! You don’t know ‘cause you don’t tryyyy.”

“Whatever, Shidou.”

“You’re my little roadside flower, so I need to relocate you.”

“I thought I was a fish to you.”

“Everyone’s many things. I don’t care too much about that kind of thing.”

“About semiotics,” you say.

“If I was a fish, I’d swim against the stream,” says Shidou, “and I want you to swim with me.”

Another bout of silence settles. The only noise you can hear is the ambience of your environment, the wind, still, all the insects that are still awake, your quickening heartbeat ringing in your ears at what he has uttered so shamelessly and thoughtlessly.

There’s a halt in your step again as you try to gather a moment to process it, but to no avail. Shidou pulls you along, and you let him, perhaps because you want to go somewhere — anywhere (with him in particular, maybe) — but do not desire the responsibility. So, you always let him wrap his hand around your wrist and tug you around. Because it is easier. Because then you are not making the decision, and you don’t want to go home, so you will not resist or dig your heels into the ground.

You continue walking in the dark. Your fingers interlace together as you head toward the bus stop together.

___

Cheating on Kaiser and listening to drill music I had a lot of trouble with this and it was not cooperating with me but when does writing cooperate iwth me #Hate #Sad

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writing fanfiction is just. i’m being so creative and original. i’m plagiarizing everyone by accident. i’m a genius. i’m cringe. i’m too angsty. i’m too cheesy. this is not in character. it doesn’t matter that it’s not in character because these are my characters now. i love my hobby. this is the worst possible use of my time. i’m seeking validation. i’m projecting my own personal problems onto this story and i’m barely hiding it. i know so many words and i’m using all of them wrong. im on tumblr posting about it instead of writing it.

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Idk if I'm in love with you, and I'm not rlly willing to rethink it. But I am in love with your fics and am not willing to rethink that either (￣∇￣)

Aw shucks, nottt even a little bit 🙏

KIDDING KIDDING obviously thsnkyou very much!! Sotto voce was fun in a sense, and I’ve got mroe evil plans (other fic ideas) so keep an eye out for that if u want

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if you follow me but aren’t a little in love with me rethink that

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Sotto Voce.

Gaslighting everyone into believing you’re a really shit footballer because seeing people be impressed by your sheer lack of skill is more fun than being a genius.

FEAT. Bastard München ensemble

NOTES. uhhaua cross posted on ao3 but ajyway, thought this idea was funny and because of this lingering feeling of sadness i haha managed to Complete this?? Gosh im beside myself with worry!!

WORD COUNT. 2.2k

Isagi thinks he might be seeing things. Maybe all the relentless training in Blue Lock has finally caught up to him, leading him into a football-induced delirium, because he can’t quite comprehend what he’s looking at right now.

You’re moving across the field with a fluidity he’s only seen in pro-level players, doing tricks and turns he’s pretty sure aren’t even in his playbook. You glide past the defence, controlling the ball with a finesse that’s nearly supernatural — hell, he thinks even someone of Rin’s calibre would be breaking a sweat to try and keep up.

And you look bored while doing it. Eyes half-lidded, posture almost lazy, as if this is just another walk in the park and not you showing off world-class football technique.

Isagi’s mind races to make sense of this. You’d always been, well, normal to him.

Sometimes you’d play in a match, most other times you’d sit out on the sidelines. And he’s usually pretty sharp about these things, so it must’ve been because you just… didn’t stand out.

Yet here you are, pulling off flawless plays with little more than a mild yawn, as if winning against the top players here would barely register on your radar. Maybe it’s just luck, some freakish one-off, right?

… Nope. You just drilled another perfect goal into the top corner of the net.

He snaps out of his thoughts only when you suddenly stop mid-play, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, there’s a flicker of panic in your gaze and he opens his mouth, not even sure what he’s about to say.

“Y/N-”

You’re stomping towards him before he can even process the whole thing, your pace quicker and more full of menace than he’s used to seeing on you. You stop just short of him, tilt your head slightly, and in the calmest voice, say, “You saw nothing.”

He tries to stammer out something, but you leave soon afterwards.

────

Tripping over the ball is harder than it looks, but after enough practice, you’ve perfected the art of falling in a normal fashion. To most people, it’s convincing. Prior to a few days ago, you’d say all people but there’s a certain someone who entertains himself by boring holes into the back of your skull with an intense, unblinking stare.

You can feel it. Isagi waiting for you to slip up.

Actually slip up, instead of the falls you’ve gotten so good at imitating. It’s detestable, honestly. You’re trying to keep things as they’ve always been, and he just wants to come in and mess with the status quo!

Luckily for you, Igaguri’s too much of an idiot to harbour the same suspicions. Right now he’s too busy practically doubling over with laughter on the floor. The guy is probably thrilled to finally see someone playing the fool even more than he does. And as much as he’s a pain, he’s also the kind of person who makes perfect cover — play the role of an idiot, laugh it off with him, and everyone’s none the wiser.

So, in spite of your (what most would call) vindictive description of him, you do believe that some sort of strange pleasure is to be gained from surrounding yourself with people like him. Though perhaps that also makes you a terrible person.

The feeling is nothing like the rationale that Noa preaches about so often. It’s an undeniable truth in your heart.

Which is why you avoid the people who actually know what they’re doing on the field like the plague.

Yukimiya, on the other hand, is way too polite to laugh outright. He at least has the common sense to stifle it, reaching out a hand to help you off the ground with a quiet charm that makes people swoon. No wonder he’s a model.

Now, the imaginary audience in your mind might be wondering why you’re talking with a guy like him? Your answer: he’s not as notable ever since he patched things up with Isagi. He’s now the kind of person you can talk to without raising any brows. Again, it sounds harsh but you see it in a positive light. He’s becoming just the kind of person you adore most!

“Try and keep a close eye for stuff on the ground, alright?”

You flash him a grin, nodding. “You know me, just a total klutz all the time,” you reply as your usual happy-go-lucky self, making sure to project just loud enough for Isagi to hear.

And out of the corner of your eye, you catch that familiar look of suspicion deepening.

────

The silence that follows is brutal. Hiori and Kurona exchange a look that’s way too long for Isagi’s comfort. After finishing whatever telepathic debate they have with each other, they both stare back at him like he’s just pitched the most psychotic theory imaginable (which isn’t entirely untrue).

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he mutters, deflating a bit.

Hiori’s quick to reply, but Isagi is aware of the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “It’s not that we don’t believe you. But, ya have to admit, it’s strange to hear Y/N… of all people, doing something like that.”

That’s code for what the fuck are you talking about, Isagi concludes with a grimace, his eyes shifting to Kurona hopefully.

“Crazy. Crazy.”

Kurona’s tone is deadpan, his gaze distant as if he’s trying not to laugh. Great.

Isagi sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he is the one who’s going crazy here. It shouldn’t even bother him this much. It’s not like you’re particularly close! If anything, he can barely remember a conversation between the two of you that went beyond asking if you’d seen so and so.

And, judging by the responses he’s getting from both of his teammates, neither of them can figure out why he’s fixated on this either.

────

Noa is going on and on about practice drills, how to follow his instructions precisely, something about rationality and technique, blah, blah, blah. You stifle a yawn. If this is what being in one of the top clubs means, you should’ve begged Ego to be in Barcha instead. At least Lavinho would’ve been fun.

You hear his coaching style isn’t by any means phenomenal if you’re trying to improve your skills, but good thing you’re not planning on doing anything of the sort!

And just when you think you might actually pass out from boredom, you see Isagi walking over. Again. He’s approaching with that same cautious look, but it’s not enough to make him think twice about bothering you apparently. That’s also something that bugs you, he’s never a quitter.

You flash him an oblivious smile. “Oh, Isagi! Whatcha up to? Need anything from little ol’ me?”

You lay it on thick, voice dripping with cheerful innocence. His jaw tightens, and for a second, you swear you can see a flicker of annoyance on his face. That’s new. Your words have the opposite effect than what you had originally intended.

“Listen, I know what I saw, alright? You’re not fooling anyone.”

He launches into a whole spiel about how he’s seen you pull off moves that only high-level players can pull off, how he doesn’t care if it’s part of some large game you’re playing, how you should be using your skill to distinguish yourself.

…You really don’t give a shit, and in regards to his comments, you personally disagree! What’s the fun in doing all of that?

You tilt your head, pretending to think it over with wide, guileless eyes. Sure, you’re a little flattered he’s this invested in uncovering your “secret,” but the other 99% of you is totally unhappy.

When he finally wraps up his little speech, you just give him a half-hearted shrug with a smugness that he doesn’t miss.

“And who’s going to believe you?”

────

Kaiser likes to think of Isagi as predictable, average — someone who might fancy himself a hero but is ultimately just another small-time player waiting to be crushed. It’s almost laughable how seriously he takes himself. In fact, the only thing remotely worth mentioning about him recently is this bizarre fixation he seems to have developed on you.

He’s overheard your exchanges, and in short, they’re pathetic.

Isagi rambles on about how you’re hiding something, clinging to that delusion like it’s going to benefit him somehow. The psychology-lover inside him finds it almost fascinating in how utterly absurd it sounds.

So, when Kaiser spots you chatting with the ever despairing Grim (laughing so hard you have to hold back tears), he figures it wouldn’t be wrong to call you at least a little insane. Part of him wonders what humour could be found in the man’s deplorable monologues.

He figures he might as well join in on the entertainment. You’re far from his usual company, but you’ll do. For now. Moseying on over, his signature smirk is already in place.

He’s rewarded by the way your eyes immediately narrow in irritation, a look he’s all too familiar with and thoroughly enjoys on anyone really. Grim, blissfully unaware of what he’s leaving you to, heads off, and now it’s just you and Kaiser.

Leaning in closer, he asks, “What little secret of yours has got under Yoichi’s skin so badly?”

Kaiser waits, watching for the faintest flicker of reaction but you stay silent. How boring.

But! Not one to give up easily, he continues with a more direct jab, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. The one where he acts like he knows everything there is to know about everyone. “That you’re really skilled, and this whole clueless act of yours is just a cheap facade?”

He raises a brow, as if daring you to admit it. To his delight, you lift your head, finally meeting his gaze albeit with an uncomfortably polite smile.

“I was just surprised you’re interested in something like that. But, Isagi’s a total liar. Isn’t he just so annoying? I can’t stand people who just don’t know when to give up, and I’m sure you agree.”

It’s not often someone catches him off-guard, and though he recovers quickly, the flicker of surprise is still there. Kaiser also sees opportunity however. He could work with this.

“Well, if you’re not a fan of Yoichi then feel free to join my side then,” he drawls, offering the position like it’s a dream come true. In his world, he’s already the star; what better way to elevate himself than to recruit someone.

“Ah, no. You’re both terrible.”

He can’t tell what’s worse; you lumping him together with Isagi, or the fact that you immediately walk off without giving him a chance to get the last word in.

────

“It’s like asking me if I prefer cat shit or dog shit. It’s still shit, and there’s no point in picking one over the other.”

You toss the comparison out to Kiyora, of all people — a bit of a waste since he just stares blankly at you, not saying a word. Pretty cute, actually, in a clueless sort of way.

The reality is that, at the moment, if you want a shot at the regulars, you’re supposed to cosy up to either Isagi or Kaiser. And as for everyone else? They’re can either fuck off or pray for a miracle.

Of course, you couldn’t care less about making the regulars. But every now and then, you forget there are people around you who do care, people with actual ambitions. Which is why you pause when you catch sight of Hiori and Kurona.

“Oh, Hiori and Kurona,” you point out the obvious.

They both glance your way, casual and relaxed, which gives you the impression that Isagi hasn’t roped them into his latest paranoid theories. Yet.

“Are ya heading back to training already?” Hiori asks, his soft voice and accent making it sound more like an invitation than a question. There’s a kindness to it that’s almost unsettling here in Blue Lock, but you return his smile with one of your own nevertheless.

Kiyora gives a small nod. “Yeah,” he says, brief and to the point.

You’re half-considering some excuse to slip away and do your own thing, but there’s something about the way Hiori is looking at you that draws your attention. Unlike Isagi, he’s way better at hiding it, but you can still feel his curiosity prickle under your skin.

You give him a lazy smile, leaning into the idea. “I’m already so tired from this morning’s training,” you lie, exaggerating just enough. “Honestly, going to bed early sounds great right about now.”

Morning training was barely enough to get you sweating, just a couple of warm-up drills for the afternoon matches. You doubt they have any clue what you’re talking about, which is exactly how you want it.

There’s a quiet pause, and then Hiori breaks it with a gentle but firm nudge. “Well, if yer looking to get on the regulars consistently, training more could be worth a shot.”

You force a smile that probably looks more akin to a grimace. This is exactly why you don’t like smart people. They poke and prod until your story frays at the edges. He definitely asked that on purpose! With a heavy sigh, you end up walking with them toward the pitch, despite every nerve in you screaming to veer off.

You can’t help but wonder if this is a test.

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Every time youru favorite cahracter does something cringe in canon he's doing it to test your love and loyalty

And if your fav is a girl she's perfect and you should stop being so judgmental.

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i be like “i don’t care” and then my chest starts hurting

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i bring a sort of “going on hiatus for the foreseeable future” vibe to my fics readers don’t really like

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Michael Kaiser — Liebevoll

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 1k TYPE: Humor, Established relationship, some fluff WARNING(S): Kaiser is a cringe loser, my bad german makes a comeback (I was always on that damn phone in german class)

Since you’ve been trying to learn German (you gave some stupid excuse about how you ‘want to know what shit he talks about you when he thinks you don’t understand him’), a golden opportunity to mess with you has appeared in front of Kaiser.

Obviously being that your brainwaves aren’t completely inactive, you knew not to ask him and instead try a language app first because he’s not to be trusted.

Not possible on Kaiser’s watch, though. Nuh uh. What do you need an app for when you have a boyfriend who’s perfectly capable of lying to you for his amusement?

Your phone was dealt with (snatched and tucked in Kaiser’s back pocket, where you’d rather wretch than reach) three exercises in… So you’re still about as clueless as in the beginning. Now, Kaiser is subjecting you to his ‘tutoring’.

“When someone holds the door for you, you bow and say ‘Ich hoffe, du wirst von einem Auto angefahren.’ It means thank you, by the way.”

“Uh, that’s too long to mean thank you.” You look at him like he’s forcing you to say tongue twisters, suspicion clear in your expression.

Kaiser finds your wariness and lack of understanding really cute, mainly because he’s a condescending asshole. He reaches out to try and move your mouth as if that’ll somehow assist you in pronouncing it, but you pry his fingers away from your face before he can reach. It makes him snicker.

After a few tries, you get through that one. Then Kaiser forces you through the ordeal of sounding out that string of bullshit multiple times ‘just to make sure you really memorized it’.

Next, Kaiser says, “When you want the tab at a restaurant, you should say, ‘Kannst du auf meinen Teller scheißen?’”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Why do you think you know more than me? It’s my first language.” He smiles at you in a wannabe suave manner.

Reluctantly, you repeat it back to him, more than once.

His gaslighting is almost becoming convincing with his insistence on you retaining this information as if you’re actually gaining knowledge here.

But you decide to take everything with a grain of salt, anyway, no matter how compelling Kaiser’s acting may be. You’ll try to search these up later. At least if you can manage to spell them based on what you heard.

The nonsense continues on like this:

“When a guy compliments you, you should reply with ‘Sag das noch einmal, damit ich dich ausweiden kann.’ It means thank you veeeeeeery much, by the way.”

“Does everything mean thank you according to you?!”

“Aww, that’s a really cute grumpy face you’re making.”

“Don’t dodge the question.”

Kaiser stares at you expectantly, scooting closer towards you and leaning in, his face inching closer towards yours. Disturbed (not swayed or affected at all, might you add!), you decide to comply.

He wonders what other stupid shit he should make you say. Even for a joyless and miserable person like Kaiser, it’s kinda difficult to stifle his laughter. Of course, someone as delusional as him would find entertainment in his own antics, but he’s doing a good job on not letting it show.

“After paying at the supermarket, you tell the cashier ‘Es gibt eine Leiche im Pausenraum’ and walk off immediately. It’s a social norm.”

What a shameless liar. You’re curious about what he’s making you say though, since he’s still not reacting when you repeat it back to him during this whole farce. The mischievous rat’s game is on point.

You continue to go along with it, though, since your intrigue is also making you want to learn them all so you can actually look them up after all this. In fact, you drop asking him about it regardless, pretending as if you let down your guard and believe him now.

This leads Kaiser to being more comfortable, testing the waters in a different direction, assuming you won’t think anything of it.

“You should greet me in German every time you see me as practice,” he says. “With something like ‘Du bist sehr schön.’”

Kaiser thinks he’ll think it funny because you rarely compliment him, but he finds himself liking it a little once you repeat it to him. Then he makes you say it again and again, aiming less to deceive you into thinking he’s dedicated to your linguistic education and more so for his satisfaction.

But Kaiser ignores this strange happiness. He tricked you into saying it, so it’s whatever. Doesn’t mean anything. In fact, he’d be a stupid microbe to dwell on it.

Once he strays down that part, though, it keeps escalating.

“Mit dir ist alles besser." - That’s probably the opposite of how you feel, so Kaiser finds some kind of humor in it conceptually. Then hearing is too much to his liking again.

“In deinen Armen fühle ich mich geborgen." - You’d never think something like that, god forbid you utter it out loud… What’s wrong with him? It’s supposed to be comedic. He’s pranking you! Punking you. You’re a gullible idiot!!! He like, got you so good or whatever.

"Du machst mich glücklich.”

When you parrot that one back to him with more ease, since it’s more on the simple side, Kaiser stares into your eyes with a kind of seriousness you find disconcerting. You expect him to demand you say it again so he can be sure you remember it, though the frequency of this request died down more and more with each phrase you spoke.

The silence stretches. You continue to gaze at each other with an almost bizarre confusion between you two.

Is he making you say things he yearns to hear deep down? Or is he finding an excuse to tell you things he’s reluctant to admit? Both options are pathetic and beneath him. And he also really can’t tell which one it is, either.

“Can you say it again?” asks Kaiser, more tender in tone.

“Du machst mich glücklich?”

You’re not a very affectionate couple. It’s to your surprise that Kaiser wraps his arms around you with tentativeness, like he’s skirting around something, then presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. Despite your puzzlement, you return the embrace, pulling him closer.

Now you’ve got to find out what it was to warrant all that from him for sure. Guess you’ll be utilizing speech to text later…

Ich hoffe, du wirst von einem Auto angefahren = I hope you get ran over by a car Kannst du auf meinen Teller scheißen? = Can you take a shit on my plate? Sag das noch einmal, damit ich dich ausweiden kann = Say that again so I can disembowel you Es gibt eine Leiche im Pausenraum = There’s a dead body in the break room Du bist sehr schön = You’re very beautiful Mit dir ist alles besser = Everything’s better with you In deinen Armen fühle ich mich geborgen = I feel safe in your arms Du machst mich glücklich = You make me happy I was writing a WIP with a premise I've never done before, but it got difficult to write whihc annoyed me, so I wrote this which is something that ive quite literally done before instead #StayStagnant