#Although that may be more for my viewing pleasure than anything

[kuuyandere]

please, talk about the phantom of the opera! as a kid, i was so obsessed with the 2004 movie that i wrote fanfiction and drew fanart of it. — dream anon

That is amazing, I would love to see your work if you are willing to share it. I first watched it when I was about 6-7 years old, so no doubt that rewired my psyche to what it is today. I project(ed) onto Erik an unfortunate amount: not necessarily/completely the version of him from the 2004 film, but Gerard Butler’s Phantom certainly won in the costume department compared to the stage productions.

I could gush about the lair aesthetics and outfits (although it may not be the most historically accurate) of the movie for the rest of time. I am tempted to rewatch the film for the sole purpose of taking screenshots for reference. The Phantom’s dark ensembles at any given time? I am envious. Christine’s ball gown in “Think of Me”? Gorgeous. The transition at the beginning with the Overture and switch from black and white to colour? Unparalleled. If I could ever afford a house, I would love to decorate it in the lair’s maximalist style minus the abundance of candles/fire hazards.

Have you ever watched the 1990 miniseries of POTO by any chance? It’s unaffiliated with Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical and deviates from the original plot somewhat, but it is tender and heart-wrenching and highly recommended.

[ddarker-dreams]

Calcified Cage.

Yan Bucciarati x F Reader x Yan Fugo.

A glimpse into a "bad end" from Scarlet Ribbons.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied power imbalance. Word count: 1.5k.

Pannacotta Fugo knew on an intrinsic level that nothing good was to come from this private meeting with Bucciarati. 

For someone who prefers to make judgments on empirical merit, this odd bout of premonition felt uncharacteristic, further adding to his unease. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. Bucciarati often consulted him in private over various Passione concerns. 

In private, yes, but never in the total seclusion of his humble home along Napoli’s outskirts. 

Fugo can count the number of times he’s been here on one hand. Normally, if Bruno needed to discuss an issue with Fugo, he’d ask him to stay behind after the gang finished eating their meal at Libeccio. The mixing of business and home life is considered taboo in this profession. Although Bucciarati is a bachelor who lives by himself, Fugo figured that he adhered to this unspoken virtue on principle alone. 

When Fugo finishes reading the letter in his grasp, it’s no longer a mystery why his leader has taken these precautions. The paper trembles like a leaf in the wind, Fugo’s grasp on it weakening. 

“You understand what this means, don’t you?”

Bucciarati’s voice sounds far away, despite his position a few feet across the table. Ringing resounds in Fugo’s ears, quiet at first, yet building in an all-consuming crescendo. The melody it weaves is melancholic at its core. A tragedy cast by the indifferent divine, thrusting him into the spotlight, where he stumbles through his lines as a lead character. 

He has to tell himself to breathe. 

Inhale. 

For if what’s written crawls into reality— 

Exhale. 

—He’ll no longer have a reason to.

Fugo downs a glass of water his host generously had the forethought to provide. His fingers grip the rim tight enough that his knuckles nearly turn as white as his complexion. 

“Are you asking for my legal counsel?” he manages to get out. There’s a rasp in his voice that he can’t hide, regardless of his best efforts. He can feel his collected mask melting from his face like wax on a candle. There won’t be any welding it back into place once it’s gone. It’ll require time to mold one in its predecessor's likeness — time he most certainly doesn’t have.

“No,” Bucciarati gives an answer he somehow already expected. “I want to hear your personal opinion.” 

“My… personal opinion? Is that really necessary?”

“It is.” 

It shouldn’t be. This is about as black and white as a dilemma can get. Trying to mix the colors on a palette to form gray would be impossible; a fool’s wish. The shades are so diametrically opposed that he’d sooner find success in combining oil and water. 

His esophagus burns like he’d just drunk hard liquor instead of water. 

“This is… good,” he fights back a wince at the wooden delivery, “For— for her, I mean.” 

Something tells him that even if he had put on the performance of a lifetime, Bucciarati still wouldn’t have believed him. 

“For her,” Bucciarati echoes dryly.

Fugo inwardly curses his clumsy word choice. There’s no point in concealing his cards, he may as well have just laid them all out for Bucciarati’s viewing pleasure. He loosens his tie. The quiet intensity radiating from Bucciarati is suffocating. He’s reminded then that while he greatly cares for and respects the man sitting across from him, Bruno Bucciarati is, at his core, a mobster. 

And there’s nothing more dangerous than a mobster who feels his family is under threat. 

You are, in essence, the heart of Bucciarati’s ragtag team. 

This letter is proposing to transplant you into another body. An objectively healthier body. 

To do without you would be to live as a dead man walking. 

Fugo feels the phantom pain as if his chest cavity was being split in half by spectral hands. No anesthetic, no scalpel. Just raw, brutish force. Your nonsensical questions he pretends to find irritating are his veins. The blueberry pancakes dutifully arranged in a smiley face on his birthday, the arterioles; how you reach for his hand in crowded areas so as not to get lost, the capillaries. 

You are snowball fights and hot cocoa in the winter, beach trips and shared gelato in the summer. 

(“I can’t ever decide which flavor I want,” you’d lament, wilting all the while. It never took long for you to blossom again. “I know! Fugo, get this flavor, and I’ll get this one. That way I can try both!” 

He’d sigh and pretend to consider it as if he hadn’t made up his mind the second you smiled at him. “Fine. I’d rather not hear you complaining if you ordered something you don’t like, so… just this once.” 

“Just this once,” you repeated. 

He’s never turned down your request in the times you’ve asked since). 

Bucciarati leans back in his seat. He crosses his legs, folds his hands onto his lap, and smiles. Fugo is so put off by this shift in demeanor, the dissonance both perplexing and unsettling him. He sets the damning paper down for the temporary reprieve straightening it out provides. It points west, toward the window behind Bucciarati, where the sun’s final rays for the day crawl through. 

“You love her,” Bucciarati says it as casually as one describing the weather. 

Fugo’s entire body goes numb. 

“... I do.” 

“Do you love her enough to make her hate you?” 

He’s been on the defensive throughout this entire interaction. He’ll allow himself one retort, one provocation. 

“Do you?” 

The softening of Bucciarati’s expression says it all. 

“We shouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t.” 

Right. Fugo isn’t sure if this is a conversation so much as it is an interview, his most pivotal test since joining Passione’s ranks. For once, he didn’t need to study. Passing with flying colors isn’t the issue. It’s deciphering the purposefully cryptic manner that Bucciarati has been conducting himself that poses an obstacle. 

However, when he stares into Bucciarati’s resolute eyes, he thinks he might be starting to crack the code. 

The promise he made to himself to reprise his role of an obsequious soldato is broken as easily as it was made. 

“Forgive me for being blunt, Bucciarati,” he means it too, “But what exactly are you getting at here?” 

“I won’t be able to conceal this for long.” 

Nausea swirls inside him and bile claws its way up his throat. He swallows it down, despite how dry his mouth feels. 

“The way I see it, we have two choices,” Bucciarati takes a deep breath. Pausing like this must mean he doesn’t savor the flavor of what he’ll say next. “Her happiness or ours.” 

It’s debt that brought you into Passione and debt that’ll keep you here. Fugo considered how you were taken advantage of in such a desperate position truly unfortunate. Cruel, even. The offer of a loan that’d take considerable financial strain off your family. You didn’t know to look for jargon that’d increase the interest rate to something unholy, Passione was clever like that. 

The worst mistake of your life is what led you to be the best thing in his — and so many others would attest the same.  

However…

You are bright, but even the most radiant light is destined to flicker. 

Living under the same roof as you for two years has taught Fugo much. He sees it, how you hesitate to take the phone when he tells you your parents are on the line. He hears the telling hitch in your voice when you spin another falsehood about why you can’t come home for the holidays again this year. He feels the wetness on your pillowcase when he goes into your room to retrieve a book you borrowed from him. 

Your debt is what shackles you here and this letter is offering to break the chains. 

You've successfully won over many key individuals during your tenure. The would-be benefactor who penned this letter — Signore Conti — had deep influences and even deeper pockets. His wife had taken a particular liking to you during a bodyguard assignment. She must've caught wind of your predicament somehow and beseeched her husband to intervene.

Fugo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "There's really no other way?"

"I'm open to suggestions, Fugo."

Questioning Bucciarati's resolve is just a weak attempt to stall for time. For Fugo to still be sitting here, even entertaining the possibility of snuffing out your future for the sake of maintaining his, he must've already made up his mind. The mere implication of Bucciarati's designs would've inspired righteous anger in most — not this internal weighing of pros and cons Fugo is neatly arranging on a scale.

"... We'll need to handle this delicately," Fugo says. His stomach feels like it's turning inside out. "We can't outright reject an offer like this from such an influential figure, it'd be considered an insult. Accept it on her behalf. Then... to ensure she can't go anywhere, I'll reach out to our contact in the bank and have her account frozen."

Bucciarati steeples his fingers. "It's a start."

That night, innumerable plans are formed, with you unknowingly starring as the centerpiece.

No matter how cruel, how unfair, it is silently agreed upon that you are their lifeblood, an organ essential to their survival.

And a heart cannot remain in place without the bones that make up its cage.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Howdy! I'm a bit new to tumblr having been following your Killer blog for a while and ended up with a lot of ideas and imagery that I wanted to share with you if you don't mind after all,,, I apologize in advance, this is not my native language, and some sentences may sound strange, I hope you understand

Okay, I won't delay any longer.

I love the concept of Killer, I love what the original author did with him, and I love how many interesting headcanons people have come up with for him And I won’t hide it, but it was your blog and reasoning that prompted me to do something new

So I thought about the concept and decided to… Rethink the Killer character a little, I guess Not that it became anything else, but definitely "Something new", or in this case, "Something strange" (as I decided to call the AU of this version of Killer, which could probably be considered an AU on an AU)

The main thing that was changed in this AU was the Stages, namely what they represent themselves to be.

The emphasis in Something strange is on Player andd Character interaction, and how game elements and mechanics can be used by Characters

Something strange begins the same way as Something new, perhaps with more influence from the Player (or Demon, as the Player will sometimes be called here), but everything is basically the same until the Killer kills Chara/Frisk/Avatar of the Player, after that he himself will become the carrier of the Demon and his Soul will change, which is what this AU is based on

player!Killer has 5 Stages, although ST0 and ST5 do not count for reasons of being two opposite extremes of Character and Player

The higher the Stage, the more player!Killer is a Player than a Character, and the less he cares about others as equals - Players can care about Characters, of course, but this will not be real love, but LOVE, what makes hurting those you love because you love them or because you don't care about them

And Killer has a lot of LOVE

ST0 - The Character, Killer before killing Chara, is not able to return to this stage without removing the Demon and changing the code

ST1 - identifies most strongly with other Characters, considers others to be living individuals, has all the emotional burden on his shoulders and is capable of emotions and feelings of pain. If memories of other Stages are not blocked, then he remembers what they did, but from his own point of view - and is not happy about it. At this stage has a solid LV 20

ST2 - эмоции и привязанности подавлены, сравнимы с бездушными существами вроде Флауи. Для него другие, как сказал бы Флауи, являются репликами диалога, которые становятся трудновыполнимыми после того, как они исчерпали себя. Эмоции фальшивы, а сам Киллер апатичен, за исключением случаев, когда происходит что-то интересное. LV 99

ST3 - a borderline stage between ST2 and ST4, where the Killer cannot be described by any word other than a Monster in the most direct human sense of the word. There is no restraint or control like Stage 2 or 4, just boundless Fun and pleasure in causing pain and suffering to others. LV 999999…

ST4 - Killer, but if only he had the full Player mentality. Or Demon. All connections and “friends” are just paths to passages, new dialogues, and games that can be arranged. At this Stage, Killer fully understands why Players and Creators do what they do. LV :)

ST5 - Demon Vessel. Player. All pretense of the Character is stopped. Not considered a real Stage

What is the difference between a Character and a Player?

Персонажи — это, ну, персонажи, от Цвета до самого Убийцы, в то время как Мы — Игроки, а Стадии — это своего рода этапы в приближении Персонажа к Игроку со всеми вытекающими последствиями. Интересно наблюдать, как менталитет сломленного человека постепенно меняется, приближаясь к бесчеловечному.

Just as described above, the Demon follows the Killer after Chara's death again, replacing the hallucinations with his presence

И вместо обычных галлюцинаций всех, кого он когда-то любил, игрок! Убийца слышит Нас и видит, что Мы делаем с миром вокруг него, когда Мы изменяем мир в соответствии с нашим представлением о реальности. Представьте себе переделку истории, пока Персонаж все еще внутри, и видя, как мир меняется вокруг него, вместе с остальными Персонажами и их воспоминаниями о том, каким должен быть мир

Therefore, player!Killer is also unsure of the reality of what he sees, not because of the hallucinations of those he loved, but because he can never be sure that his memories correspond to the current iteration of reality (as How would you feel when you know that at any moment your memories and behavior can become invalid for the world around you, but at the same time people believe that everything has always been like this because their memories have been changed in accordance with the new state of the world?) . Because of this, some people may believe that Killer has memory problems. Or hallucinations. This is all about what player!Killer remembers when the Creators changed the world

And since I mentioned this earlier, it's worth mentioning that player!Killer has a lot of gameplay mechanics at its disposal. Starting from the menu and inventory and ending with something more interesting

Например, у Киллера, начиная со 2-й стадии, слишком много Решимости, что мешает ему видеть и делает его практически полностью слепым (еще хуже при более высокой ST), поэтому он видит «с другой точки зрения», то есть камерой от третьего лица, которая заменяет ему зрение и позволяет ему смотреть на себя и других со стороны.

Perhaps a mini-map where you can set points of interest or track the movement of Characters or other Players, things like that

I also thought about Save Points, and came to the conclusion that it is impossible to use them in the Multiverse in the usual way Let's imagine that individual AUs are single-player worlds, where you can safely Reset the time and try again and again But the Multiverse is a multiplayer game where you cannot touch someone else’s world at will and rewind time, which means, as is customary in multiplayer games, when you die, the Player Character is reborn And we all know that no one will let Killer go so easily, so he will respawn again and again, or perhaps rewind the Fight (if you consider this a game mechanic that creates a small pocket world for fight) until he wins Losing is not an option for the Player, and the Killer will pay for it when his body and Soul are torn apart in a million different ways

Or maybe not, either way I think everyone will have their own version of Killer, with their own headcanons and their own Demon

I have my own collection of headcanons and ideas for both Something new!Killer and player!Killer

So I hope to hear your perspective on this interpretation! I may have explained this AU a little vaguely, but that just allows others to fill in the blanks themselves and add their own ideas, so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

(I also made a small card with what I think the Soul Stages of player!Killer look like)

Ooh this an interesting idea! Thank you for sharing with me, it seems very fun and an interesting way to explore this character and the concepts. The Stages are so creative and I especially enjoy that ST5 looks like an eye.

I would love to hear more about player!killer, whenever you (or others maybe) have any ideas to add on to it. The idea that, when out in the Multiverse, the Determination created a little pocket world when Killer is just ‘reset’/‘respawn’ after every death until he wins seems fantastic. I can’t imagine the absolute hell this would wreck on someone’s soul, body, and overall mental health and stability, though.

killers poor body is just absolutely going through hell. No wonder my guy doesn’t even consider it his. (And I would also love to hear about your headcanons and interpretations for Something New!Killer as well if you want to share. I love talking about Killer and his alternate timeline and everyone’s interpretations and ideas.)

[prismaticfaery]

Platonic!TF141 x Fem!Reader

***Just to be clear, an anon requested this same scenario with another writer and we are both aware! Please understand that if you request the same thing with different people, this can cause issues (people may claim plagiarism, etc).***

Summary: You’re Makarov’s daughter, your team doesn’t know, but Ghost is onto it.

TW: Mentions of mental and verbal abuse, pushing, and yelling, but nothing graphic.

Rating: Mature, just to be safe!

A/N: I absolutely appreciate that you love my writing! It makes me so happy! Also, if anyone has anymore requests, check out the pinned post on my blog!

Months. Months, it had taken you to track down the whereabouts of Vladimir Makarov. He had gone from one hiding place to another quickly, leaving no trail of his next location known, until you had narrowed down on it with one piece of intel you would have never thought of before: the place you were born. He was at the old apartment he and your mother had made a home. Vladimir Makarov was the father you knew of but never had the “pleasure” of knowing. Your mother had escaped Russia in hopes of keeping you safe, but he knew where you were. Always.

Your mother and father met and had you within a year of being together, and though your mother tried her best to keep her family together, your father’s views we’re no longer matching her own anymore. He had violent tendencies and many outbursts, going on long rants about restoring Russia to its previous “glory”, your mother never stuck around for them to turn into something more than yelling, pushing, verbal, and mental attacks. She needed to protect you— just a tiny infant at the time. He hardly held you or helped your mother care for you, your mother saying that it was better being an actual single mother than being a single mother in a relationship. Now here you were two and some change decades later, CIA, and in Task Force 141 trying to bring your father down. Your mother vehemently advised against doing anything that would put you in your father’s warpath but it made you want to do it even more.

“We’ve got Makarov in custody, prepare a room. I have questions,” your earpiece crackles with Price’s voice.

“Roger,” you reply, pressing the button to your comms device attached to your shirt.

Holding a large breath of air in your chest, you could feel the anxiousness bubble over. Letting it out in a large sigh, your now shaking hands folded your laptop back up. To say that fear was not the number one emotion overwhelming your mind and body would be a lie. You were fucking terrified knowing that you were now coming face-to-face with the man who helped in giving you life. Your mother tried her hardest to keep him away, and although you were aware of him, and he of you, you did your best to always make yourself a small blip on his radar.

The safehouse was on the outskirts of Moscow, so you knew that Price’s arrival would be quick. You were quick to hide any personal belongings you had brought with you on your deployment as to not bring any attention to yourself in case something went awry. You begin to make your way to the room that was not occupied in the house, dragging the table and chair from the kitchen and setting them up in the middle of the room. The room had windows, so you quickly opened them up and slammed the shutters. Once the windows were shut, you locked them and gave them a once over, making sure the locking mechanisms were secure.

“We’re entering the safehouse,” you hear through your comms.

You quickly gather yourself, shaking out your hands and clenching your fists. The door slams open and your father is the first person your eyes are set on. The blue and green eyes of Makarov are slitted, the dark eyebrows knitted together in anger and frustration as his wrists are bound behind his back with thick zip ties. Ghost and Price were on either side of him, their hands wrapped around his biceps and triceps, guiding him through the house to where your position was at the door of the makeshift interrogation room.

Gaz and Soap followed suit, making sure that you went into the room before they closed and secured the door, the two of them standing on the sides of the doorframe. Slamming Makarov down into the singular chair on one side of the table, Price and Ghost then made their way to the other seats across from him.

“Now tell me, hm, what were those crates holding? You can answer truthfully or lie, either way, we’re going to find out,” Price’s gravelly voice was quiet– venomous.

“You see, I had a nice place that those crates were going to, and now they won't make it to their destination,” Makarov jested, his head tilting to the side, a sadistic smirk playing at one corner of his mouth.

“Cut the bullshit,” Price’s voice cracks as his voice raises, his hand slamming onto the table’s surface.

“Why do you have American ballistics?” Soap interjects, moving closer, “who gave them to you?”

You watched as Price’s patience wore thin as he adjusted himself in his seat, his elbows planted on the table, fingers intertwining, “you thought that ballistics being delivered to every large city in Europe would be a good idea– like we wouldn’t be right on your fucking heels finding them? Now we found another set of crates with multiple destinations, where are they going and what’s in them?”

The room fell silent as you made your way to the table, sitting down in the empty chair right in the middle of Price and Ghost, “you seem to think that this is a laughing matter, I wouldn’t be smiling if I were you,” you’re pissed now, anger heating up your cheeks, causing them to turn a shade of pink.

“The wonders of encryption– good luck accessing any of the files on where these crates are being shipped,” Makarov’s eyes meet yours, and you immediately look away, fearing that he’s had far too long of a look at you.

“I can figure it out in minutes,” you cross your arms.

Makarov made an audible noise in the back of his throat. He knew exactly who you were and all he needed to see were your eyes. You had inherited the same heterochromia iridum trait that he had, and there was no doubt that he had just seen the same green and blue eye as he did. He had connections and knew you had grown up well, even became CIA to stop all of the bad people who worked in the shadows, and that included him.

Throwing one ankle over your leg, you rest it on your knee, sitting back in your chair, and it just so happened that Makarov had done the same exact thing at that same exact moment. Rolling your ankle so that your foot makes circular motions, you did it as your way of calming down, Makarov also doing the same.

Ghost looks at the both of you, noticing the same movements, the same positions, and body language. It seemed like copying at first, but deep down you knew it wasn’t, and you hoped Ghost didn’t notice. Your mother always told you how much you and your father were alike.

“What are you playing about?” Ghost spoke up, nodding to Makarov’s movements.

“Just getting comfortable,” Makarov’s ankle rolled in fluid motions as he shrugged his shoulders.

Your eyes narrow, and Makarov notices, his eyes fixated on your matching positions, “your eyes are lovely,” he gestures with a nod.

“замолчи (shut up)” you snap.

Price places a hand down on your shoulder, giving a squeeze as his way of telling you that he can handle matters himself. You silently nod, looking over at Ghost, his hazel eyes meeting yours. You could see his eyes narrow as he kept his gaze glued to yours, his expression hidden behind his balaclava and skull mask. He then looked at Makarov, who shared the same abnormal eyes as you.

“Not often you see different colored eyes, and here you are with matching eyes,” Ghost’s awareness was always top notch, and you knew a dark past loomed behind why he was like that– it wasn’t the usual awareness that came with being Special Operations. “Why did you comment on her eyes?”

“Ghost, what are you talking about?” Gaz was now behind your spot in the chair.

“Yeah, I’m not following, L.t.,” Soap crossed his arms.

“You were born in Russia,” Ghost’s voice was now raised, “look at their fucking eyes, look a their features, the way they’re sitting, it’s fucking uncanny. Are you related?”

“Stop,” you say quietly, almost whispering.

“Would make sense a traitor is amongst us in the Task Force, you knew his exact whereabouts and he allowed us to take him into custody without a fight,” Ghost was now angry– seething that he allowed his guard to be let down for a moment when a newcomer from the CIA came into the Task Force to help find Makarov.

Your father had a sinister smile on his face as he watched every safe wall surrounding you crumble, your entire team becoming so distrusting of you suddenly. Every eye was on you, burning holes. Makarov knew how you were from the moment he saw you but with your eyes being exactly like his, and Ghost being the way that he was, he kept silent and patiently waited for your cover to be blown.

“None of that is true-,” you began, whipping your head to look at your teammates.

“Take her out of here,” Price stands quickly, his hands placed on the table as his head hangs.

Price was going to let Laswell have it for not doing a more thorough background check on you. How could he have let this happen? Everything could be compromised now.

“No wait-!” You scream as Gaz and Soap grab your arms harshly, pulling you up from your chair.

“It was wonderful seeing you again after so long, дочь (Daughter),” Makarov grins, watching as your teammates drag you out of the room.

Soap and Gaz keep watchful eyes on you in silence, both of them planted on a couch while you sat across from them on a loveseat. It had gotten really awkward, really quickly. No one knew what to say. It wasn’t long until Price and Ghost made their ways out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“We have the right mind to lock you in there with him until we have exfil and leave the CIA to deal with you,” Price was right in front of your position on the loveseat, his gloved finger inches from your face. “Who is he to you?”

“He’s my father. I’ve never met him, but I know who he is and what he’s done. My mother made sure of that,” you’re playing with your fingers now, digging any tiny specks of dirt from underneath your nails to keep you from having to look anyone in the eye.

“It seems strange that you knew his exact whereabouts,” Ghost was still unconvinced, his eyes peering over at Price.

“It just made sense and I just so happened to have been correct. You don’t have to trust me, but just know that I did this for the Task Force.”

“When you’re the daughter of an Ultranationalist, I think this information is a need-to-know regardless of your standing with him,” Gaz made a point, his voice calm and his demeanor collected.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you all before. The CIA made sure to keep this secret for the sake of safety. My father is a dangerous person after all. He could come for me and go after anyone who’s affiliated with me.”

Soap kept quiet, listening to every single morsel of the conversation. In fact, this was the most silent he had ever been in your presence, he was normally the one throwing around words.

“The CIA will be questioning you, it’s purely protocol. Be prepared,” Ghost takes his leave— he was completely unreadable.

“I understand.”

“Get ready for exfil, we’re leaving in ten,” Price places his finger on his comms device, listening to the pilots landing instructions.

Price had no other words, he was completely lost. For months, he had trusted you. Allowed you to stay on base with the Task Force. Your eyes had seen countless files of confidential information and even though Laswell trusted you, it meant absolutely nothing if you played your part in any of Makarov’s plans without so much as a bat of an eyelash in your direction. For all they knew, you could be an espionage spy for the Russians.

“I’ll prove to you all that I’m one of you. I want to see my father burn.”

[honey68lemon]

Let's talk about denial

You love it, don't you?

It feels great to scroll through tumblr, head empty of logical thought.

It feels great to deny yourself.

I've done it myself. It's nice and it's easy.

It feels so good to deny what you know is really true.

It feels so good, it's so much easier to deny that we might be feeding into anything bad, anything bigger than ourselves.

Before we go on, I want to say I don't blame you, and I sympathise, and we all have desires that we cannot control at all. But I just want to invite a little critical thinking, and share some of my recent thoughts.

I feel like the more we engage with the content on here, the more it becomes normalised to us. That doesn't mean that we don't see the horrors of real life sexual violence or misogyny, but it means that we don't really question ourselves when we come on here for sexual pleasure, and feed into this world.

There are so many places on the internet right now that are encouraging misogynistic views, and young men are being influenced by it. What if this, although supposedly all fantasy, is one of those places? What if the conversations we are having with men are actually reinforcing their bigoted views? Would a man who didn't know any better look at my blog and really assume I don't mean any of it?

I think kink is great. It can be a healthy place to explore things between consenting individuals. It may even be a way of processing trauma. I also think kink can be borne from existing power imbalances in the world.

I enjoy getting off to the content I post. I also think the content I post may truly be harmful.

I am turned on by misogyny. I am also a feminist. And I do not want anyone looking at my blog and having their genuinely misogynistic views reinforced, but I'm concerned that may be the case.

It is only recently that I am properly tackling all of this within myself, and I guess I didn't know where else to share it than the place from which it has all come from.

Feel free to share your thoughts. It would reassure me to know other people do critically evaluate their role in all of this. There is so much more to say but I've tried to keep this from becoming too longwinded of an essay.

Peace and love 😘

[thetravelingmaster]

Short Story: Spiral addicts

Male's Point of View, Hypnosis, Brainwashing

These 2 beauties are so lost and addicted to the spiral that it's almost too easy.

Almost…

By this point, I'm not even sure if they realize there is another girl in the room. Stranger or not, the spiral commands their attention and they'll both be compelled to stare and sink deeper into the spiral behind me as the embedded words of obedience worm their way into their minds.

The initial erotic surrender to the spiral's effects was only the first of many steps that led both to their current state of enthrallment. The pleasure they explored with me as their guide sealed away any resistance they may have felt as my control grew with each session.

The less they resist, the more they embrace and the more they embrace, the deeper my programming sinks, making each experience more satisfying and pleasurable than the last.

Making them embrace the spiral even more...

Our erotic explorations eventually allowed me to capitalize on their easily captivated minds and instill the same fascinating addiction towards my member. Although my shaft doesn't have the same mesmerizing allure of the spiral, they both find it completely irresistible. In their sessions, I don't even have to ask, I simply take it out and they'll both yield to anything I want them to do for me.

Nothing else matters.

The only thing that can trump it is the spiral.

To prove it, l've taken it out right in front of them. It's all hard and waiting inches from them, but as long as the spiral is spinning in front of their eyes, they'll ignore it completely in favor of the endless bliss they feel while in tranced by the screen in front of them.

However, once it stops and their minds are free from its influence, I'm curious to see if the stranger next to them will trump the captivation they'll experience once they see my length.

Will the presence of another collared woman be enough to break their fascination?

Only one way to find out...

[just-a-new-gi-writer]

I came from the 100/200 Followers Event...

So, I was watching some Genshin AMV/GMV/MAD (however you may called it) and I got an idea...

What do you think about the reader showing the Acolytes GMVs or maybe some of the trailers? I especially would like to know the Archons reactions towards this video. Although it can be any videos and acolytes of your liking...

Thank you for reading this! I hope you have a good day!✨

A/N: I'm getting around to these things, I swear!

Word count: 2068

CW: depictions of trauma

Masterpost

taglist: @iyohme (Am I tagging the right person? Do you still want to be tagged? Please let me know.)

Zhongli had never been all that curious of an individual. He was more than happy to let certain curious things be than question their behavior or state. Entanglements like that usually got in the way of him leading his nation in the past and were sometimes no more than ploys by Venti to get his attention away from the Creator. Given that, he felt more comfortable pondering the curiosity you seemed to vest so much time into both when the acolytes were around and away, since it was no ploy by that Anemo Archon.

The first time he saw it, he was astounded at what it was- a handle-less rectangular hand mirror, the glass tinted so dark as to make its usage unfeasible. He wondered if Their Grace were checking Themself, ensuring everything was in place, but that wouldn’t explain the later times where they seemed to longingly gaze into its surface. It was quite a while later that he was able to see Them using it from a different angle- he had been chosen to provide the afternoon tea and managed to catch a glimpse of Them peering at Themselves- or so he had thought.

The surface of that curious item was shining brilliantly, like it were a star in the palm of Their hand, like it were a powerful scrying glass viewing into another world. He was almost able to catch a glimpse into what Their Grace was watching, but the illusion flickered away before he could recognize anything. Their Grace turned to face him, and he made a bit of light talk to get Their mind off the possibility that he were looking over Their shoulder.

In the days since, he’d idly considered the hand mirror in the quieter moments of the day, wondering what The Arbiter saw in it and why it drew Their attention so much. He could reach no concrete conclusion but figured that he wasn’t the only one to ponder this curiosity. Their Grace was soon to travel to Inazuma and he had the fortune to be Their attendant- though it wasn’t to his total pleasure, as he would have to deal with the drunkard bard not only vying for Their attention but causing general mayhem in Inazuma. A nuisance, to be sure.

And a nuisance he was, at least for a short while. The Raiden Shogun had graciously decided to have a few guards keep an eye on him when he was otherwise unsupervised. The disturbances in the city had mysteriously and suddenly declined, for some inexplicable reason.

Zhongli had pulled the Shogun aside one day, when both Their Grace and Venti were preoccupied with each other, and asked her if she knew anything about The Organizer’s strange hand mirror.

She considered the question. “…No,” she replied after thorough consideration, “I haven’t the slightest idea what it could be. I considered it to be one of those Kameras smuggled in from Fontaine for a while. I had wondered why the model was so small and thin until one of my handmaidens pointed out that the devices are still quite large and bulky. Unless Our Eternity is an inventor or tinkerer Themselves, I doubt they would have the interest in that sort of activity.”

“I considered it a strange looking glass, but its shape and size are… not standard. Not to mention that its surface is tinted…”

“A curiosity indeed.”

“I suppose there is one way to get an answer.” Zhongli led the way back to where the Creator and Venti were, finding the latter searching through his luggage and the former, luckily, pulling out the strange device. They were about to activate it when They noticed the two Archons’ arrival.

They gave a wonderfully warm smile. “Zhongli! Ei! Perfect timing. I wanted to show you three something, now that you’re all three in the same place.”

Zhongli was caught off guard. “–Oh?”

“Yes! Come on,” they patted the seats beside Themself, “I think you’ll love this!” They suddenly seemed to have second thoughts. “Well…”

“There’s no need to doubt Yourself, Orator of Order.” Zhongli took his seat to Their left. “I’m sure we’ll be delighted by whatever Your gift is.”

“Well, i-it’s not really a gift…”

“As Morax says,” Ei elegantly lowered herself down onto the cushion to Their right, “we will be pleased, whatever it will be, whatever form it shall take.”

“Then…”

“Besides!” Venti cut in from the other side of the room, before running straight at Their Grace and vaulting over the table, landing squarely on Their lap. “We won’t turn down an opportunity to spend time with you! Right?” He glanced at the two Archons around him before his face paled two shades whiter. “…R-Right?”

The Archons seated beside you glared down in distaste at the diminutive wind spirit in Their lap, making their displeasure towards his little stunt well known. Zhongli got his steel grip on the bard’s sleeve before They could intervene- “Anyway!” Snapping the strange hand mirror to attention and flicking it on, They stole the Archons’ attention, “Shall we? I think you’ll like the GMV!”

“‘GMV’?” Zhongli raised an eyebrow, “What do those letters–”

“Here we are!” A few taps and swipes upon its surface, and the shining mirror glowed. Faster than he could recognize anything the images on its surface seemed to blur past as They worked the strange device. The screen only showed a black field with a few blue speckles, overlaid with a white triangle. “Let’s begin!” One last tap, and the image began to change.

It took a few seconds for Zhongli to realize the hand mirror was emitting a song. By the time the thought registered, Venti had seen the screen advance- and reacted to what he saw by covering it entirely.

“Whoawhoawhoa, how’d you find–”

“Venti,” Their Grace pulled his hands away, “stop blocking the screen!”

Between the bard’s fingers, Zhongli made out an image of the bard, scantily dressed in a white cloth, before switching to one of Zhongli in one of his younger forms, then to one of Ei. For a moment, he wondered how depictions of each Archon had ended upon the strange device of Theirs, especially ones so antiquated and stylized, but dismissed the question- of course the Creator could access those snippets of history.

As the song began in earnest, Zhongli recognized the lyrics to be in Old Liyuean- a dialect a few centuries past. His skills in it were rusty from disuse, but he could still make out the words. He found it curious how the song seemed to be speaking to the three Archons- commiserating with Venti, then Zhongli, then Ei in turn.

As the song continued, extolling Venti’s virtues and goals, Zhongli grabbed the kettle and poured himself some tea. He was still listening to the song, to be sure, but he knew the bard did not need any further help creating more stories for himself. Furthermore, Venti would be the one Archon who already knows about any pieces of history regarding himself.

He brought his cup up during a brief break in the song, where a woman delivered a line, and afterward barely kept himself from dropping the cup in shock.

<Morax,> the deep, familiar voice of Azdaha rumbled, <if it is fated, we will meet again.>

Zhongli choked on his tea, the cup almost falling from his hands and clattering to the table. How? How was he hearing this? How did Their Grace know about his promise and place it here? How did it get replicated so perfectly? How was it playing here and now?

And… why?

His disbelief lingered through the next piece of the song. Something about Venti and his dragon, something about Ei losing her companions. He could barely register the images and lines about him through the shock, of how one’s old comrades can only be found in memories. 

The next lines brought him back to reality. “Love you, who sculpts spears to subdue the raging ocean/ Love you, who wanders the land with adepti at your side.” Thanks, adorations… given by the Creator to him? “Love your thousand years of vigilance/ Over your corner of the world.” Complicated emotions bloomed in Zhongli’s chest. The Creator praising him? Why, over those things he had done so long ago, and especially during those times where he doubted The Forge’s creation and The Shaper’s ways?

“Mourn those who change form to voice their sorrows,” the song continued, “Mourn those who are forgotten by mortals”. Zhongli knew these commands all too well personally- to see the world leave behind those he knew, to see them fall into the waste bin of history and hear their names turn from fond remembrance to distant memories to myths and lore, the people wholly disconnected and scarcely believing the original person’s existence. How much longer would Liyue, and Teyvat beyond, remember him? How much longer would the Creator?

“Mourn the memory of dust and the fragrance of flowers,” the song drove the questions further into the parts of his heart that he thought had long hardened.

“Where are those old friends now?”

‘Only in memories,’ he knew; only in the fading ink of dusty tomes; only in scattered poems, unrecited for the shame.

“Will you go? Are you worthy?” Zhongli subconsciously eased the grip on his cup. Was he worthy? Should he have gone with those who had gone ahead? All the sudden, this one song, this one question, had shaken centuries, if not millennia of acceptance of his situation- so, so many of his peers he had been left behind.

Was he wrong? Was Their Grace judging him?

“But we will fight,” the song moved on, bringing Zhongli with it, “We will/ For the prosperous dreams/ For the old friends and enemies of the last thousand years.” He felt a small spark settle within himself, something of hope. Was Their Grace speaking well of him? Were They now trying to rally his spirit and will? Were they–

“Returning to old haunts to lament the taste of wine.”

He blinked a few times as the line seemingly struck him across the face. Did it–? Why did it–? Why stop and take the time to–?

He brought a hand to his face, now seemingly able to see the situation anew. This song was not an admonition of him and his actions (how could he ever have come to that conclusion?!), it was a celebration of each of the Archon’s lives and legacies, of their achievements and tribulations. Their Grace wanted to share that They were there, with and watching over them all this time.

The song turned to Ei, talking about her history and actions. Zhongli could not help but smile. This whole time, the answer had been staring him in the face, how could he have been so blind to miss it? Maybe he had been letting himself get too lost inside of his own thoughts.

The last notes of the song faded out, Venti spun around to adulate the Creator. “That was amazing! I… didn’t understand it at all, but the photographs were beautiful! How did You capture those scenes? Did you take them Yourself?”

“N-no, I didn’t, I just–”

“I thought it was pleasant, Your Eternity,” Ei cut in, “I was not much interested in it to begin with, but I found myself warming up to it as it went on.”

Venti scoffed. “You were just interested in the stuff that dealt with you.”

“I would say that the parts pertaining to my nation and me would be more captivating than the idle goings-on of Mondstadt.”

“At least I don’t start civil–”

“Zhongli!” You clamped a hand over Venti’s mouth, “what did you think? Please tell me you have something to– Er, Zhongli?”

“It was beautiful,” he smiled and raised his cup, “truly, a tour de force of the gathered Archons and their lives. I don’t think I could cover the span of my thoughts on the matter in a full hour.”

Venti pushed your hand from his mouth. “Not that you need a reason to talk on and on…”

“Oh, should I, dear bard? You yourself love a good story, do you not?”

“Don’t get me started…”

Thousands of miles away, a lonely girl sat in her room, hugging a pillow to her chest.

“…Why,” Nahida mumbled to herself, “do I feel left out of something?”

[redwayfarers]

(you) restless son - continued

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Artoirel Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps Word count: 1533 Rating: Teen Note: Part two to this. Snippet was posted to Decembhyur. Here's the whole thing which, if I may say, is quite charming too.

Somehow, possibly through Fury’s grace alone, one of them had enough wherewithal to suggest moving from the salon’s opulent settees to have sex. The source of the proposal disappeared in the larger scope of the night’s events. Desperate kisses in the hallways that were suddenly too long for Artoirel’s liking, Nika’s surprised oh when Artoirel finally slammed the door shut behind them and kissed him with all the passion he had in his body mattered much more than who’d spoken the words first. 

Although, Artoirel thinks in the morning, it would’ve been so terribly entertaining if it was Nika. Reckless as the man is, maybe he does care about the Fortemps manor’s furniture. Even if he recalls how often Nika calls just about anything in the house overpriced. The furniture speaks of refined taste in Artoirel’s view, but Nika did not grow up in luxury. He speaks so little of his early life, but he’s said enough to suggest as much. 

Artoirel would’ve been annoyed with anyone else for such words, but there is no point arguing with Nika on it. It is what it is. 

Ironically enough, he is quick enough to cover himself in Artoirel’s fur coat on a mildly cold Ishgardian morning. It drags on the ground behind him as he sips his coffee by the window, a stark contrast against his white boots and the small pink cup in his hand. And yet, his hair blends with the darkness of the fur around the neck of the coat. Nika’s face sometimes breaks into a small, shy smile, only to disappear as soon as he notices Artoirel looking from his desk and later come again. It’s like he cannot contain it, try as hard as he might. 

Nika looks different like this, younger. He looks younger than he usually does, scowling and disinterested. Now, he resembles a young man - which he is, even if Artoirel isn’t old , for fuck’s sake. It’s as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders for a little while, and in Artoirel’s big coat, with messy hair and a brightness in his eyes, Nika makes him want to come over and pull him to his chest, breathe in the scent of his hair and guard that private moment nobody really gets to see. 

And he almost does, when the realization dawns on him. There is chaos around Nika at all times, but it’s of a dangerous sort, one word away from breaking someone’s heart or attacking. This chaos, though, feels like winter's first tentative snowflake. And it fell into Artoirel’s hands. His chest warms up. Not that long ago, he wanted Nika dead. Now, he’s rejoicing in Nika’s small pleasures and whatever domesticity a chronic evader like him can have. 

“Why are you looking at me?” Nika suddenly asks. He’s looking deeply into the contents of his cup. 

“We have seen each other naked, Nika. Am I not allowed to look at you while clothed?” Artoirel leans against the table. His cheeks burn a little, from embarrassment and happiness both, and taps his nails against the surface in a rhythm. 

“‘M not talking about that,” Nika mumbles. “Also, that’s a very good beat.” He starts tapping against the porcelain in tandem. “That’s the song you wanted to show me last night?” 

“Yes. Of course, wood and porcelain are bad replacements for an actual instrument, but yes.” Artoirel clears his throat. 

“You’d be surprised what you can do with wood and porcelain. Not everyone’s fancy enough to have a grand piano.” Nika smiles. “Besides, it’s fun. I used to play with my mom’s pots like that when I was a kid. Before she’d take them away and shake a finger at me. ‘I need those to make lunch, Nika!’ ‘But we can eat music!’ Can we eat music, Artoirel? Can we eat music?” 

“Does.. spirit eat music? And literature, theatre, painting, and other arts?” 

“You tell me. You’re the one who grew up with those stupidly pretty Halonic chants. Me, I’m just a little bard of Gridanian tradition. The fact I have a magical voice is a side benefit.” 

“We have to go to the theatre sometime, Nika. Since you’re in Ishgard, you might as well enjoy the culture. I think an exception will be made for your hats, too.” Artoirel laughs, but Nika’s giggle echoes around the room. 

“Oh no, not the hats! I would have burned this whole place down ages ago if it discriminated against my hats!” 

Nika’s voice sounds young, Artoirel suddenly thinks. Young and happy. He looks him over, from the oversized coat, the high boots, the cup in his hand, the unbrushed mess of his hair, and the way sunlight hits his eyes differently, bright and creased around the edges. His scar creases, as well, around his nose and spreads to give way to a smile.

Artoirel’s chest feels tight and warm. There have been few times in his life where he’s felt like this. He recalls a then unmarried countess he had had a mind to court some years ago, of a striking beauty; she had a birthmark on her cheek, and he’d longed to kiss it someday. Nika’s scar is less graceful than the countess’ birthmark, but Artoirel wants to kiss it all the same. He wants to have Nika’s hand around his arm, by his side. He wants to kiss his hands, even if they are not gentle. Nika would laugh at flowers, but does one give flowers when courting a man? 

How does one court a man anyway? And more importantly, how does Artoirel de Fortemps court Nikita Perseis? 

“You’re doing it again,” Nika says. “Looking at me so intensely. Like I’m.. Like you’re in love with me, or something.” He laughs, awkwardly. “Are you in love with me, Artoirel?” 

Artoirel purses his lips and looks away. He stands up and runs a finger over the surface of the desk. “I am fond of you, yes. That much is obvious.” 

“Being fond and being in love are two completely different things!” Nika puts his cup down on the windowsill and rubs his face. “Artoirel, I.. You are not like everyone else. You are dear to me, and I care for you, and–” He takes a deep breath. “I care for you more than I should. And twelve help me, everything else I’ve done feels like– fucking foreplay for the main thing. Which is–” Nika waves his hands around. “All of this.” 

There’s something that goes unsaid. Us, Nika wants to say, but his throat seems to have closed up. Artoirel swallows. His heart beats wildly in his chest and he takes a step closer. 

“In Ishgard,” Artoirel starts, “to announce our serious intentions in pursuing someone, we court.” Nika squints. And Artoirel stands before him and swallows again. “Please let me finish, Nika. Ordinarily it would lead to marriage, and ordinarily we would not have slept together beforehand, but this is no ordinary situation. But I do wish to– to court you. To show you I am serious. We don’t have to say anything yet.” 

Artoirel reaches for Nika’s hand, yet allows his fingers to dangle in the air. Nika looks down, away, anywhere but Artoirel’s face, and pouts. 

“We can just try and see where this leads us,” Artoirel offers softly. “I want to think this meant something for you. I want to think that I mean as much to you as you do to me.” 

“You do,” Nika says after a while, almost inaudible. Artoirel’s hands itch to wrap around Nika’s, yet he refrains. Not yet. Not until Nika gives his consent. He will not force his affections on him. Yet, Artoirel can’t look away from the emotions that fight on his face, from the way he trembles. Artoirel trembles too, the patter of his heart drowns all other noise but Nika’s voice, and his stomach ties in innumerable knots. 

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity, on the precipice, ready to walk away or fall together. Eventually, Nika lifts his hand. Artoirel squeezes it. 

“We can give this courting thing a chance,” Nika says, breathless. “Because, I–we– yeah.” 

Artoirel breathes out. “Fury take you, Nika,” he mouths, and kisses him. Nika rises on the tips of his toes and kisses him back, draws him close, and Artoirel holds onto him, his grip strong enough to almost lift him off the ground. 

When they part, Nika’s eyes are wide and round, as they were last night. Artoirel’s cheeks burn like a furnace, but he doesn’t care; it’s his first day of courtship, as unusual as it may be. He can’t find it in him to let go of Nika, and if it were up to him, he’d rather see Eorzea aflame than let Nika go to save it. 

He knows Nika doesn’t like that anyway. 

Frankly, Eorzea doesn’t matter anymore. What does is the way Nika clings to him, and the way his hair smells, and the warmth of his body against Artoirel’s. What matters is them watching the city move about, away from it all, standing by the window together. Together. 

The rest of it really does not stand a chance whatsoever. 

[ethernetmeep]

the amount of disemboweling and mangling of flesh done over the years is baffling, almost grotesque. i will make a synopsis of what i mean

being shown a certain way of life, making jokes of inappropriate caliber -> having to unlearn this vividly, something i struggled with; primarily because i grew to be accustomed to things which i shouldn’t have and had to deconstruct who i was as a person at age, like, eleven -> rinse and repeat, several times over, across my entire living experience

a plethora of traumatic experiences, none of which i will name.. would take too much time, also frankly boring. i don’t believe anyone would take joy in reading about it all. will say, these experiences ruined my sense of knowing essentially anything -> ruined sense of intimacy, tainted lens of love (although i more so didn’t believe in it, as i stated somewhere before.. so it wasn’t really tainted, just not believed in)

acute paranoia from a young age, lead up to today, probably will continue— although lessened as i’ve gotten older -> acute awareness of existence and being alive, whilst simultaneously being so disassociated from surroundings in my middle school years -> just in general knowing way too much and overthinking more than any sane child would

the acts never really done, but always thought about… generally because of cowardice -> finding ways to go about this in ways which are not the norm -> ultimately still being self-destructive, just in odd and abnormal way

what i mean to say is that, metaphorically and somewhat physically, i have contorted my flesh into something that has persevered despite the grueling states of living. i took the ribs which were given by my mother and father, destined to hurt others, and came out with the only blood on my hands being my own.

i have been beaten down again and again, a child who only knew too close touches as a means to affection, a girl who had her own issues regarding sibling relationships presumably viewing my friendliness as something of romantic desire, a teenage girl vexed by the lingering veil of parental issues and interpersonal failing relationships, taking to being an edgelord & insulting her childhood friend as a means of odd pleasure, surrounding herself with horrible people, two grown men accustomed to the allure of vices and the beating of women, reeking of booze…

despite all this, i still manage to be where i am today— my therapist tells me i have drastically improved. i was born from a body originally inhabiting a cancer, and although beaten & bloody, i manage to stand upright. i am kind, and i don’t even realize it. i hold reverence when i don’t need to, i am utterly baffled when i am hit with insults from my mother… i look at her, the hand that feeds, the one half of my corrupted veins, and say to her face to stop saying rude things about someone i care about, regardless of what i may have endured. because i am her daughter, she argues— argues intensely. when she realizes i won’t give up, that i will be stubborn until the end, she inevitably relents.

i don’t do any of this to inherently get anything, nor do i act the way i do to write about it. i would prefer to not talk about that argument in this public format, actually.. but it is only fitting, albeit embarrassing. it shows how different i am compared to what i could be… how, despite everything, i am kind. i take my hands which were made to fight and use them to carefully flip pages & upturn beetles back to standing upright, to help caterpillars get to a safe destination. i know i don’t have to, but i want to.

i think… i think its a good thing that i have changed from what was originally imposed onto me.

i believe i am finally getting the life that i never got to live, and it is nothing short of petrifying. however, i’m happy to fear it— that means im living.

[betasuppe]

Hi, I often see your posts where you express the urge to delete your works off the internet. I really like your style, it is very clean and recognizable (although it's not the point of this ask). I'd like to share a situation that happened to me several days ago. I have some fandom works on the web, which are around ten years old, some older and some newer (they are, admittedly, very low quality, I abstain from reading them because of cringe). There is a counter on the site, it shows daily views. I used to check it maniacally back than, so much it is still in my top viewed sites. So when I was feeling bad - when I AM feeling bad, I usually check this counter. And you know what? Even after 10 years. Even in a fandom that is wayyyyy less active than before. I get 1-2 views a day. Sometimes someone comes and binges half of my works, even, leaving thumbs ups in their wake. That is to say. There are always cake lovers in the internet (there are also cake haters, but we don't have a negative like button do we?) So even the works you consider cringe may find their audience, in several years EASILY (but probably even less). Yes, some of the things are history, but it is always a pleasure to receive a like or a comment, even on older works. Maybe if you think your art gets less recognition than it deserves, you may switch social media platforms and have them up on a more specialized site or archive (although I currently don't know any better platform for that than tumblr). To sum it all up, give your art a little time and it will certainly find its lover. You may derive some pleasurable emotions from that as well. You are cool, keep it up 👍

Hey thanks so much♡ I truly appreciate your kindness & suggestion here as well.

I don't think I can find a decent way to rationalize my thought process [beyond: depressed with having impossibly high standards at all times ha ha] but it's like.

When I get realization how god awful or disappointing a drawing is, it's as tho I haven't registered anything beyond that it needs to be destroyed. It's like a sickness & shame & disgust I can't explain, but can only be relieved by destroying whatever I've just created.

I wish I could make sense of it. I wish I could think further in the long term besides "god, this drawing sucks, I need to obliterate it so it's like it never existed in the first place" but.

When you are unwillingly consumed by your own insurmountable flaws, it's impossible to argue with & destruction is the only path at hand.

& sure, someone somewhere down the line might see one of my drawings later & love it, but the desperate need to be invisible & just vanish in shame of myself is. A lot.

[darlingpwease]

♡♡♡ @candycane30345, if you were a character in a novels, I would ship you with...

liu mingyan

her outward calm, proud manner would be pleasantly combined with your personality in public. LIU MINGYAN is laid-back in a cooler sense; her presence is enough for people to overlook everything that is happening, and at the same time she herself is peaceful and accepting enough to get along with you regardless of whether you are wild or calm now. she has something serene, close to maternal, but you never expect from her either this "maternal acceptance" or most feminine traits — if at some point she behaves quietly and "modestly", you know from personal experience that this is closer to tiger serenity than to maiden personality.

although LIU MINGYAN never intentionally scares anyone away when she is with you, it just always feels like you are being guarded by a heavenly valkyrie, whose one appearance resembles ice and jade — and the fact that she is straightforward and fair, combining a pleasant personality and a sharp mind, makes everyone feel such an influence even more keenly.

when you behave straightforwardly, LIU MINGYAN takes it calmly (not that it was easy to hurt her; she feels comfortable in emotional situations, even when emotions are strong and uncontrollable) — and you will never have doubts about her intentions, although at the same time LIU MINGYAN adapts to your rhythm of courtship, never choosing anything for you and always interested in your opinion or the opportunity to go somewhere together (or the desire to stay at home — she obediently follows your desires, and never questions this; even if she has a strong personality, she is more than indulgent).

(if you ask if it's a date, she'll need to blink twice before confidently saying 'yes' in a soft voice)

(and, besides, your hobbies? although LIU MINGYAN tends to be almost nervously active, especially during times of stress, you may be the only one who knows this side, she will try to relax her ever-tense body, taking an example, especially if you like to cuddle. in addition, you definitely share a love for toxic works — and she feels guilty pleasure when shares her own works or favorite works with you, as if she opens a view of something special and messy.)

(you may find her boring, but when your hot, strong girl shows her wild personality alone, being absolutely unhinged in the coldest sense, like catching fish with her teeth or breaking things that fragile gentle-looking girls like her definitely shouldn't break, will let you know that LIU MINGYAN is the exact opposite of you, letting you see what she is in fact, only in private. pretty face privilege exists and your girl is a direct example of that.)

wen qing

would ship for comfort reasons. considering everything that happens in the novel, I would point at the two of you and say, "please, this is my favorite couple, I live for them and I will die for them." tensed girlboss x crackhead girlboss; you are so unlike and at the same time would fit together so well, like pieces of a puzzle that are not similar, but it is from dissimilarity that creates a beautiful whole picture.

WEN QING is straightforward and open, but has a soft side, like a cat that retracts her claws; she is closer to the type that can only be reached by breaking through walls, but when you do this, she believes that she takes responsibility for you and will protect you in any way, become easily worried if she sees that you have there are wounds or you are in an uncomfortable situation.

she is direct, blunt, and sometimes even forceful, yet at times show great sensitivity towards you, easily switching between a more aggressive and a softer role. she will definitely respect and consider your personality; WEN QING is introverted and has little interest in social interaction, but she can easily keep company just to keep an eye on you, although she prefers to stay at home and be with you in more deserted places.

WEN QING is very attentive to your condition and will always make sure that you are okay, from which sometimes she can be almost too protective, but you know that this will not last long, since she respects your autonomy and is ready to step back if you insist, or continue to stay close and support until you do not it will get better.

there is a lot more tension and almost rigor in her, so your dynamic will create that tension in slow burn, in which something is really being cooked, for the time when WEN QING takes over your features, allowing herself to stop and finally rest, almost resigning herself to the idea that she can sometimes let go of the desire to have all the time control to be safe and loving, especially with you, and maybe you'll find her with some of your favorite pieces that she denies having, but you can't blame her when she's so excitedly in denial.

xie lian

the reason why I would be socially isolated from the fandom with a bunch of others like me and we would write metas & headcanons about our little meow meow couple who 'just CREATED in heaven gosh they are SOULMATES you don't understand!!!'. there would be ten works on ao3 and they are all mine.

but, listen, malewife x girlboss, where then it turns out that it's not malewife x girlboss, it's not gold, it's platinum, which I find while I'm looking for bronze. XIE LIAN would just look so good with your personality, being able to sort out any possible social difficulties that have arisen and at the same time saying something like 'yes, this is my baobei, she is so good' and he means both of these things. someone is bothered? it's very bad because his baobei is his sweet sunshine and she is clearly on a roll right now, while he is not interested in stopping what is happening somehow, and it would be undesirable if someone else tried to get into this situation.

wild x is just as wild but just expresses it more calmly? gold. 11/10. XIE LIAN will look like a beautiful delicate flower, although you know that he is even worse, he just hovers in the clouds more often than he talks to people. in modern au, it would be equally likely to be pining from both sides.

XIE LIAN definitely wouldn't hurt to have someone straightforward and blunt on his side, while being quite funny/wild and calm. if you are also prone to long conversations and you are not indifferent to the topic of 'justice', then this will be even better.

(does he read the same thing as you? don't ask such things. you already know the answer. yes.)

this would be the couple about whom all the works are either enemies to lovers or childhood to lovers and a little more soulmates. your intensity would lie where you learn from each other and collide, but grow from that experience. there are a lot of collisions on the edge between open emotions and closed emotions, and a little too much average yandere tropes content than usual, but it's always exciting, even if the angst is no less.

[polyamarhousgarden]

Mon petite Donia,

It is my sincerest hope that this letter finds you not only in good health and good cheer but indeed, that it finds you with a changed heart regarding staying in Paris instead of leaving with your mother for I swear to you, with every fibre of my being and upon every star above, that my own heart has changed irrevocably since you justly reprimanded me for my previous insensitive behaviour toward you. I can only hope that these past few days together have proven this, but if you wish for further evidence of this change within me, all I ask is that you keep reading and allow yourself, please, to set aside your warranted hurt feelings to see that all I speak is entirely from my heart.

Because I am speaking from the heart, I shall speak candidly. Indeed, I admit, in the very beginning, my heart was not entirely where it should have been. I have not had the pleasure of meeting and taking people as sincere and stalwart as yourself out and about. I am used to a more laissez-faire approach to courtship, abstaining from proper courtship and although you may be swayed to believe otherwise, I mean it when I tell you I only ever go as far as exchanging an occasional kiss when I greatly fancy a person, never anything more. That is why I was shocked when you expressed distaste in my natural sway of easy, carefree courting as you no doubt saw in my countenance when you rejected my request for a kiss but I assure you it is only because of how novel the situation was for me. Please understand that, and please forgive me for the unintentional and unfortunate implications my shock must have inherently had regarding your good character- indeed, yours is much greater than my own and I feel I have so much yet to learn from you.

After much reflection, I understand now the egregious error I had made by requesting a kiss from you when I did. I had acted as an ass. While I sorely regret that I had upset and made you uncomfortable, I must confess I am grateful that by doing so it revealed to me just how deeply true and sincere you are as an individual and the standard you demand and deserve from a partner worthy of you. I beseech you to please consider staying, to please consider me, despite my recent blunder, as someone who could possibly earn such a coveted and honourary title such as ‘Yours’.

Lastly, I want to thank you. Thank you, mon petite Donia for this rare opportunity for me to seriously reflect upon my own feelings. Regardless of what you decide to do with this letter and what you have read within, I am forever touched by you. Your smile, your laugh, your views on freedom, your decorum and grace, you have changed me for the better. While I grieve at the thought of you sailing away forever, I understand it is your choice to make and indeed, I only hope you will write to me, think of me, and know my memories of you, of our time together, will never leave me. Part of you will always be right here with me walking these streets of Paris alongside me, dining with me, accompanying me to the opera house. I love you; soul and all. Please, allow me to prove it. Please, stay awhile. If you find you still cannot bear to stay, all I ask is that you give me time to come to you once the Revolution is won so that I may see you and have one more chance, please. I'll be waiting anxiously for your reply.

Sincerely,

Courfeyrac

@sincerely-your-fo

M. Courfeyrac,

This one does not know how best to respond to this letter.

It had only been moments ago that Gavroche had come to me with this letter, urging me to read it before he ran off to God only knew where.

Your ward is a quick and shrewd one.

I had my reservations about doing as he said, I must admit. After the way things ended during our last excursion together, I did not think it wise to correspond with you.

Still, I found it difficult to deny Gavroche anything.

Though my upset has not yet faded from your request of a kiss, I find myself... In conflict.

It is as if my soul is in conflict with my mind. I know I must leave, yet I find my own feet faltering.

Though my heart sings for my homeland, my immortal soul cries for your presence by my side.

Though I cannot make promises to stay, I can at least promise to delay my leave. Another ship is set to leave for my homeland in the next five months, I shall delay my departure until then.

Until I discern what we feel for each other.

I hope you know the depth of my regard for you.

Yours,

Chelidonia

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Watching horror movies with Rip Van Kelt would include~

(My gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- When the two of you first get together, you’ll notice very quickly that Rip is not a fan of horror films; and not even for the reasons that you’d typically expect. He’s not scared of them, he’s just plain bored. He thinks they’re lame and he only ever agrees to watch them in an attempt to make you happy or because he thinks he’ll manage to scare you into his arms/be doing something other than watching the movie while you’re in the cinema. 

- So yeah, if you’re going out of your way to watch a horror flick then it’s probably your idea to begin with. Although, on occasion, he’ll surprise you and choose the ticket himself: mischievously brushing off your questions until you’re settled into your seats and bathed in darkness.

- It’s at this point that his hands will begin to wander and depending on who chose the movie and how invested you are in seeing it, you’ll either accept his very obvious advances or brush him off: insisting that you actually want to watch and subsequently forcing him to resign himself to his fate of actually be forced to watch the crappy film. 

- Rip is completely unaffected by horror films; almost to an alarming degree. He just sits there and watches; occasionally smirking as he sees you jump out of the corner of his eye or feels you clutch onto his arm.

- That’s the only real appeal those sorts of movies have for him: the fact that they make you scoot in closer and cling to him like a child. No matter how frustrated or bored he was to begin with, he’d immediately soften and feel a wave of pleasure course through him the minute you snuggle into him and act like he’s your knight in shining armor. He just can’t fight his amusement and the butterflies he gets when you hide your face in his neck. 

- But, if you aren’t prone to getting scared, he’d have a habit of teasing you about your weird infatuation with the films and grumbling about how “oh course he would be the one to fall for a girl who actually likes horror movies”. Don’t take his displeasure to heart though, he kind of likes how odd it is and how easily he can make you happy just by taking you to the movie theater. 

- Nevertheless, rest assured that he’ll notice when you’re scared; no matter how small the signs are, and he’ll tease you about it as much as he can. He’ll laugh and insist you were practically shaking in your seat as you head home for the night; ignoring your grumbles and protests. And if you continue to insist you weren’t scared, he’ll unconvincingly pretend to believe you and make like he’s going to leave you alone in the dark; grinning as you refuse to let him leave. 

- That’s usually when his genuine charm starts to come back: his grin forming into a lightheartedly mocking pout as he calls you “poor baby” and assures you that he’ll protect you. You’d be annoyed by his behavior if he didn’t drop his voice down to a frustratingly sexy octave while pulling you in close. 

- He’ll almost always ask if he can “have his kiss now” once the movie is over and the two of you tend to view it as a sort of payment system. The worse the movie arguably is, the more kisses you owe him. You sort of feel an obligation to make it up to him whenever you drag him into a movie he already wasn’t excited for only for it to be egregiously terrible; not that he pressures you or makes you feel bad or anything. 

- If the film was bad to the point of you not enjoying it, he’ll usually say something along the lines of “now what did we learn” before letting you rant to him about how stupid it was. He could have easily seen it coming but he graciously chooses not to tell you this. 

- If you confess that you want him to stay with you because you’re scared, he’ll be nice enough not to tease you for it; merely ruffling your hair as he walks past you into your house. He might ask if you want him to check for monsters under the bed but you get him back for that by throwing a stuffed animal at him. 

- He may not be the best horror movie watch partner but when you end the night wrapped up in his arms, you never seem to mind his lack of enthusiasm. 

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 8 Ep. 60: Relationship Things

The romantic night all three couples spent at the homestead following Don’s wedding was a turning point in their relationships.

Chance and Bianca began spending more and more time together at the house by The Bay. Her little trailer and troops over in Strangerville must have started to feel neglected with all the hours she spent hanging out with her new boyfriend, both in Brindleton and out and about.

---------------------------------------------

On one of those dates, visiting the brewery and bar near The Moonwood Collective farm, Bianca broached the idea of moving in together officially. She was already spending most of her time at the homestead, she may as well move a few more things from her footlocker and call it home.

Chance thought that sounded like a great idea! He’d seen how little she stored at her trailer, and was happy to give her a lifestyle a little more domestic and a little less spartan. He felt she’d missed out on a lot of civilian comforts in her years of dedicated military service.

He still couldn’t believe how quickly he’d found someone so special after so long alone and was excited to see what the future held for them.

---------------------------------------------

Jack and Peachy had also decided to live closer together, although Jack’s move from the guest bedroom down the hall was a lot easier than officially changing primary residence. At least he didn’t have to worry about forwarding his mail again.

The biggest modification to their lifestyle was getting to enjoy bed cuddles every night, which despite the snoring, was still the best thing ever.

---------------------------------------------

Jack’s unexpected crush on Peachy had made him realize there was a lot he didn’t understand about his preferences.

Romance had never been very important to him, so he had always assumed he was just boringly average in that regard. A little researching showed that being generally uninterested in all kinds of sims but developing strong interest in a particular Sim after forming a close relationship had a name.

His revelation didn’t change anything, but it was nice to have a label to put on his feelings.

---------------------------------------------

Now the Paul and Nikita had unleashed the physical aspect of their relationship, they pursued it with great gusto whenever they could.

Unfortunately, not long after, Nikita developed some rather unpleasant symptoms that really took a lot of the carefree pleasure out the activity for her. Besides the sudden interference with their favorite new pastime, the health implications worried them both, so they sought out a specialist.

---------------------------------------------

At the clinic they learned that while neither of them were suffering from any serious injury or disease, Nikita had developed a yeast infection.

Unfortunately, all their new playtime was the exact opposite of the right treatment for that and had made things quite a bit worse. The sad pair agreed to take a break from woohoo until Nikita’s infection cleared and healed, so they could both enjoy the experience fully once again.

At least they still had each other, and the rest of their shared interests, to keep them happy in the meantime.

---------------------------------------------

Overall, a lot of changes big and small were going on in the lives of the three couples in the old house by The Bay, but they were happy to go through them together.

Despite the difference in their ages and situations, having family on hand every day brought them all comfort and joy.

---------------------------------------------

Want To See More? View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[dollycas]

Special Guest Gianetta Murray - Author of Moved to Murder: A Vivien Brandt Mystery - #AuthorInterview / #Giveaway - Great Escapes Book Tour @gianettamurray

Moved to Murder: A Vivien Brandt Mystery by Gianetta Murray It is my pleasure to welcome Gianetta Murray to Escape With Dollycas today! Hi Gianetta, Please tell us a little bit about yourself. Just like my protagonist in Moved to Murder, I’m a California native who worked as a librarian and tech writer, and I moved to the UK after marrying a Brit. (Write what you know, they say!) I now live in South Yorkshire with my husband and two cats, and my UK career included stints as a Library Operations Manager for a York university as well as working in knowledge management for the National Health Service and a medical insurance company. My first job in the UK was managing a small branch library, and I learned most of my British swear words from the kids who hung out there. I enjoy Hollywood Musicals, interior design, and rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. My husband and I bought each other ukeleles, with which we plan to terrorize my relatives during Zoom calls. What is the first book you remember reading? I have fond memories of the Dick and Jane books we read in school as well as my Nancy Drew mysteries collection, but a book that had a huge effect on me as a youngster was The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare. I still go back and read it on occasion as I love the main character, a free-spirited young woman who has trouble adapting to Puritan New England. What are you reading now? I’ve just finished Holly Trinity and the Ghosts of York, a wonderful urban fantasy novel by Ben Sawyer, whom I met at a local book fair. I’ve also just discovered Becky Clark, a cozy mystery writer from Colorado, whose books make me laugh out loud. What books have most inspired you? In addition to the above, I love reading Golden Age mystery writers, particularly Josephine Tey and Ngaio Marsh. Their prose is just so beautiful. I also keep a copy of T.H. White’s Once and Future King close by, one of my favorite retellings of the King Arthur legend. I earned an archeology degree so I could go out and find Camelot, but that goal may have to be achieved in another life now. What made you decide you wanted to write mysteries? Reading tons of them. 😊 I enjoy the process of logically working through the clues, solving puzzles, particularly when they are accompanied by colorful characters and fascinating locations. We all know the world contains bad things, but mysteries—particularly cozy mysteries—allow us to vicariously resolve them and be comforted, at least for a little while. Do you have a special place where you like to write? We have a small office in our house which I have decorated with all my Buffy paraphernalia. Unfortunately, my husband has claimed it since Covid allowed him to work from home, because he’s the one still making money. So I write at the dining room table, although I still have a view of the garden from there. Where do the ideas for your books come from? Moved to Murder is full of my own experiences from trying to adapt to England. Well, minus the part about finding dead bodies, of course. My book of humorous paranormal stories, A Supernatural Shindig, as well as stories in various other collections, were partly inspired by writing exercises we did in my writing group, suggestions from my husband, ideas spurred by my favorite television shows (Castle in particular is full of inspiration), and my own imagination, which has proved very fruitful once I started exercising it more! Is there anything about writing you find most challenging? It has actually flowed better than I thought it would, with twists and turns suggesting themselves as I went along (although I do always start with an outline). But letting go is hard. I think most writers want to keep editing and rewriting until perfection is reached, and that way madness lies. What do you think makes a good story? There has to be some kind of conflict as well as entertaining and empathetic characters who grow as the conflict is resolved. Personally, I also enjoy a good dollop of humor and a clever turn of phrase. Which, of all your characters, do you think is the most like you? Oh, that’s definitely Vivien Brandt, the protagonist of Moved to Murder. Except she’s younger, thinner, and more optimistic than I am. But we do have similar hairdos at the moment. What makes your books different from others out there in this genre? In the case of Moved to Murder, it’s set in a South Yorkshire city called Doncaster, and I can’t find any other mysteries with that backdrop. It’s definitely a place of contrasts, with a history of train and plane building as well as home to a famous annual horse race. But it also has a reputation for wild drunkenness on the weekends. Second, my protagonist is an American expat who moves to England thinking she knows everything about her new country and doesn’t have to worry about the language. She’s wrong on both counts. I think in general my stories tend to have quite a bit of humor in them, even the scary ones, to counter the conflict and leave the reader with a sense of well-being. What’s next on the horizon for you? I’ve just finished editing the next edition of the Paths short story collection, which I do with a group of Canadian and British writers, and I’m working on the second Vivien Brandt mystery, Dug to Death. Of course, there’s always providing my cats Cordelia and Winifred with their next meal, as they are staring at me expectantly at this moment! They keep me grounded and humble with their need for sustenance and worship, while ignoring me the rest of the time, thereby giving me space to work. They are the perfect writer’s companions. Thank you, Gianetta for visiting today! ____ Keep reading for more info about Gianetta and Moved to Murder! About Moved to Murder Moved to Murder: A Vivien Brandt Mystery Cozy Mystery 1st in Series Setting - South Yorkshire, England Publisher ‏ : ‎ Troubador Publishing Ltd (June 5, 2024) Print length ‏ : ‎ 266 pages Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0CXJB9KVH Vivien Brandt (forty-something editor, librarian, and future interior designer extraordinaire) has spent decades dreaming about a life in England, and thanks to her marriage to second husband Geoffrey, her dreams are finally coming true. She and her cat Sydney (who is considerably less excited about leaving the warmth of California) are the newest inhabitants of a cosy South Yorkshire village. But as Vivien meets the locals - including the vicar, a charismatic politician, and a pair of troubled teenagers - she finds she still has a lot to learn about her new home. Especially after she discovers a body in it. Now she must work with her neighbor Hayley and a somewhat mistrustful police inspector to uncover the village’s secrets and find a killer. Preferably, before the killer finds her. Because it seems when the chips (crisps?) are down, the only common language between America and Britain… is murder. Praise for Moved to Murder: A Vivien Brandt Mystery by Gianetta Murray I do love getting in on the ground floor of a new mystery series, and book one in Gianetta Murray’s Vivien Brandt Mystery was a treat! ~Sarah Can't Stop Reading Books I recommend MOVED TO MURDER to cozy mystery readers who enjoy an English setting, an American fish-out-water protagonist and are looking for a new author and series to enjoy. ~ Boys' Mom Reads! About Gianetta Murray Like her protagonist, Gianetta is California-raised and moved to England twenty years ago after marrying her British husband. She has worked as a technical writer, knowledge manager, and librarian in both countries and is currently owned by two cats who are unimpressed by her accomplishments but willing to tolerate her in return for food. Author Links: Website - https://gianettamurray.com, gianettamurray | Instagram, Facebook | Linktree Purchase Links - US Link: Moved to Murder    UK link: Moved to Murder TOUR PARTICIPANTS - Please visit all the stops.  July 16 – Mystery, Thrillers, and Suspense – SPOTLIGHT July 16 – Cassidy's Bookshelves – SPOTLIGHT July 17 – Sarah Can't Stop Reading Books – REVIEW July 18 – Books, Ramblings, and Tea – SPOTLIGHT July 18 – Boys’ Mom Reads! – REVIEW July 19 – Elizabeth McKenna - Author – SPOTLIGHT July 19 – Maureen's Musings – SPOTLIGHT July 20 – StoreyBook Reviews – AUTHOR GUEST POST July 20 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT July 20 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – AUTHOR INTERVIEW July 21 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW, AUTHOR INTERVIEW July 21 – Sapphyria's Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT July 22 – Literary Gold – SPOTLIGHT July 22 – Ruff Drafts – AUTHOR GUEST POST July 23 – Christy's Cozy Corners – CHARACTER GUEST POST July 24 – Ascroft, eh? – AUTHOR GUEST POST July 24 – Lady Hawkeye – SPOTLIGHT July 25 – Novels Alive – REVIEW July 25 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT a Rafflecopter giveaway Have you signed up to be a Tour Host? Click Here to Find Details and Sign Up Today! Want to Book a Tour? Click Here Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you. Thank you for supporting Escape With Dollycas. Read the full article

[the-hatchetfield-chronicles]

6/9/20. Interview with Mayor Solomon Lauter. Mayor’s office. 10:30 A.M.

EM: Good morning, Mayor Lauter.

[They shake hands.]

SL: Good morning.

EM: It’s nice to meet you. My name is Elle Marden. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about your town?

SL: Of course. I’m happy to assist.

EM: Firstly, how long have you been the mayor of Hatchetfield?

SL: I was elected in 2012 and won reelection in 2016. I intend to win again this fall, so I trust that you will paint me in good light? This election is very important to me.

EM: Of course. I’m sure it is. Now I’d like to hear more about what you think of this town. What are the people here like?

SL: Oh they’re very friendly. Hatchetfield is full of kind, genuine people.

[Note from Elle: Something about his tone and his expression suggests that he might not be telling the full truth?]

EM: I love to hear that. What’s your favorite thing about Hatchetfield?

SL: I love the sense of community this town has. There is one thing we all can agree on, one thing that unites us all: we are Nighthawks.

EM: What kind of events take place in Hatchetfield? Are there any festivals of any kind?

SL: Yes, we hold the annual Honey Festival every summer. There are lots of different vendors, booths, and games. There’s live music, and boats you can rent for an optimal spot to view the fireworks show. And of course the main attraction is the Honey Queen Pageant. Every year the crown is given to whom the judges deem the sweetest woman in Hatchetfield. Most Honey Queens then move out of Hatchetfield and onto “bigger and better things,” although I don’t think it gets much better than Hatchetfield.

EM: That sounds like a lot of fun.

SL: We have a summer camp in the middle of the woods that takes place every year, focused on keeping our youth pure and chaste. In fact my daughter is there right now. I can’t have her doing anything that could tarnish my image.

EM: I didn’t know you had a daughter.

SL: Yes. She’s a good kid, but sometimes she just needs a little…redirecting.

EM: Are there any other fun places or events in the town?

SL: There’s a theme park on the edge of the island called Watcher World, known especially for The Tear-Jerker, the tallest rollercoaster in the midwest, as the musical extravaganza Blinky’s Watch Party. I do wish to emphasize that Blinky’s Watch Party is entirely a work of fiction, and Blinky is simply the park’s mascot.

[Note from Elle: It seems a bit strange that he had to emphasize that. I would have imagined that it was fiction. Is he trying to hide something?]

EM: That’s so cool.

SL: Indeed. This may be a tiny town, but we certainly have it all.

EM: Well, now that we’ve discussed some of the great things about this town, I’m interested to know: is there anything you dislike about it?

[He pauses.]

SL: I will say this: there is more to Hatchetfield than what meets the eye. There is some history that I discourage you from looking too far into.

EM: Okay…

SL: It was a pleasure speaking with you today.

EM: But I wasn’t—

SL: I hope you enjoy the rest of your visit.

[He escorts Elle to the door.]

[Note from Elle: That was strange. He was happy to talk about the good things this town had to offer, but once I tried to get into the less good things, he was eager to end the interview. I feel this is further evidence that Mayor Lauter is hiding something. Something sinister, perhaps? Either way, it’s very odd.]