#and i don't want the people who made need to hear it not see it

[jess-the-vampire]

In the background Hunter could hear the protests of the quickly arrested cult members, shouting in anger as he grabbed hold of their "resurrected savoir". He held the small grimwalker in his arms, knowing he was probably cold and terrified from all the commotion.

"Guess we didn't make it in time", he turned to see luz, out of breath, placing herself next to him. "No, No, i think we made it in time just fine, he's not hurt at least", the little boy was still crying as he attempted to soothe him with some rocking motions. He had little experience with this, but it did seem to be working, as the baby snuggled just a little closer to him.

"Hunter, you know what I meant, now that he's here he needs someone to look after him so those belos freaks don't try and get their wriggly hands on him again", She then began to eye him questionably as he held the baby closer, catching onto his thought process before he could even pitch the idea.

"Hunter....you sure this is a good idea for you of all people to-? I mean, if it makes you a bit uncomfortable I'm sure me and amity could-"

"I'm the only other one out there who understands, and we have a room he can stay in, it's no big deal, If he's with one of us he'll be in good hands"

She still didn't seem entirely sure, and maybe to an extent he wasn't either.

But he also couldn't bare to let it happen again, not to another one, and it wouldn't if he was there.

He gave her a cheeky smile instead, "Besides, he's super cute, and he already likes me". The woman snorted, but even she couldn't protest to that, "Ok, i give you that, but if we're doing this don't expect me to not be the nosiest aunt in the world and make sure you aren't falling apart".

He poked her, "I expect nothing less".

The small baby had fallen asleep, finally at some peace since he popped from the ground, Hunter following the others out of the cave as he kept him close.

There was bound to be more commotion to follow as word got around on the isles that some witches attempted to resurrect a man long gone and feared among the isles, and the result was being taken in by the former right hand man.

But right now, hunter wanted nothing more then to make sure the lil guy felt safe and sound.

After all, it's what he would've wanted all those years ago.

[lenislenii]

𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐲

Synopsis: teasing him? Tsk how foolish Warning: Brat Taming, Degradation, edging, p in v but no female pronouns are mentioned! NSFW MINORS DONT INTERACT Author's note: this man does stuff to me, love u anon!!

Calcharo x gn!reader

request: Brat taming with calcharo from wuthering waves pretty please<333

You only wanted to sneak for a festival for a little, to tease your partner, after all Calcharo seemed like a busy man how bad could things turn? Right......wrong.

You we're taking a walk on the forest, collecting fruits for the upcoming spring also because soon the city was gonna have a festival and you wanted to make some food for the people, Cacharo wasn't a party person so when you told him you we're going he tried to convince you to stay but to no avail you ignored.

Your partner didn't like your misbehaving in the slightest, you should listen to him and stay, not go to a sad excuse of a festival to share....food?

Calcharo observed with a frown on his face, you walked closer to him the pink cherry blossoms dancing with the wind "I'm done, let's go home" you smiled, he scoffed but began walking back to your shared home together "Honey should you really go to that festival?" he asked a frown on his face.

"Calcharo we spoke about this before, i'm going you like it or not" you smirked as he gave a small "tsk" oh how you wish you knew how bad you've messed up with those words

. . . . .

The time to the festival came you dressed a beautiful dress made your hair and makeup "why are you dressed up so nicely to give out food on the festival?" you smirked "nothing, is a festival can't you see? i need to be- wait!" your chest was pressed against the wall, your partner smirked.

"what? what happen with the attitude that you had a few minutes ago darling? don't look to cofident now" *he said with a deep voice that made your legs go weak.

"C-calcharo hm! let me go, i'm gonna be late" you whined "fuck that festival, you can't listen to a simple order now you will suffer the consequences." he said smacking your rear stealing a yelp from you.

he ripped that dress off of you with his teeth, the dress falling on the floor, rolling your hair on his hand making you look at him "i'll make you behave, whore." that made you whine as he threw you over his shoulder "i can walk you know!" you scolded "after i'm done with you, i'm sure you won't."

As you reached the bedroom you yelped knowing what was coming, he puts you on the bed, the white haired sat on the bed as he told you to lay down on his lap, you complied "now...count with me"

Slap

"one..."

Slap

"t-two"

Slap

"three"

Slap

"fi- no w-ait i mean f-four"

you whined feeling the wetness between your legs growing "tsk, we just started and you're already failing? let's restart and this time no more second chances ." he warned, the process repeated itself, until you reached twelve

"t-twelve!" you moaned at the harsh slap "wrong..darling it was eleven" he said with a smirk taking you off his lap, you heard him unzip his pants.

"Now let's go to the fun part, one moan and i'll stop and leave you wanting, do you hear me baby?" he smirked as you nodded "all fours fast" he commanded as you complied, he grabbed lube putting some on his own member, he slowly removed your underwear throwing it somewhere on the room, his fingers played with your pussy lips and clit, teasing you, you bit your lip trying not to moan, as he kept his little game on your private part he smirked "good, see is not hard when you know how to listen to orders"

you feel the head of his cock touch your lips as he thrusted inside you with no warning, you let a yelp slip "tsk, can't praise you so soon can i?" he said "you wanna be like that fine" he said moving his hips fast and with force making your head spin "C-calchar-" he grabbed your hair "who?" he smirked as he noticed the small tears on your eyes "s-sir!" you moaned "ngh~ please" the man let his head fall back with a chuckle "good"

As you were close to your climax he quickly pulled out with a smirk making you whine at the loss "nuh uh whore, you don't deserve to cum after that behaviour, now hold on pretty"

He was sure that after he was done with you, you wouldn't step onto that festival again.

Reposts are appreciated!

[i-yap]

Batboys x quiet! reader(who is not quiet in private)

( some of the reasons for the quietness is a bit traumatic so uhh warning)

Dick grayson -

opposites attract is possibly my favorite trope ever. And that is exactly what you guys are . Not exactly golden retriever x black cat though people who didn't know you guys well assumed such .

Dick would get exhausted spending forever being charming and charismatic for even the most extroverted of people get tired when they had to manage multiple superhero teams, a detective squad and the whole batfamily.

You were silence, peace serenity almost..until you weren't. Grayson was worried about this relationship in the start, after all you guys were really different. He was afraid you were going to be annoyed by his sunshine self, and that when he isn't feeling like talking, the conversations would go silent.

But you really are so different when comfortable with someone, and its tough not to trust and drop your shield with grayson.

It took him by surprise slowly seeing you open up and show your weird side. It somehow made him cherish it more and even want to show sides of him that only you got to see.

When he asked you why you weren't like this with everyone you said " My parents had a habit of talking over me, sometimes outrightly not hearing me speak at all. No matter how loud I spoke..i wondered if they couldn't hear me...if anyone even wanted to you" "why me then?" asked dick , "you're nothing like my parents, I know you care" and he does..he really does. He won't ever let you feel like that every again. He will make sure everything you want said is heard, and if not he will burn it into the skyline

Jason todd

he appreciated it, a quiet person in public. He hated being in public, he hated the buzz the noise the push the touch of humans around him. He felt strange

till he feels you hold his knowing you felt just as strange as him. Leave the gala and walk around the library , one earphone in each ear listening to whatever you wished to play.

Pulling you close in crowded areas- was it for you or for him? Glaring at anyone who dared tease you about your quietness. A single glare usually does the job but don't worry ...other ways exist too.

He loves that when you two are alone, you are a completely different person. It makes him feel special, like he is the only one who understands you. Because you're the only one who understands him.

When he asks " well I guess I never felt like people liked what came out of my mouth.. my humour too dark, my words too dumb and I didn't make sense. So I stopped trying" don't worry about being cringe..he understands you completely

Tim drake

he is intruiged. How do you pull such a perfect facade. How does one look so poised and collected with those rich assholes and so wild and untamed with him?

He could never really perfect the act the way you did. He's seen you grow up, but somehow its like you were born with two people living in your brain.

If you're this mysterious to your childhood lover, how does anyone in the world even think that they could know you, both versions of you.

Dont get me wrong, he loved it, A mystery he never could solve, not even with your help.

" Teach me your ways master" "I remember you wanting me to call you that last night..oh no wait it was si-" "shut upp" "fine ill tell you timmy boy, I just believe those rich stick up their ass puppets don't deserve to see all ..this.." "what about school kids, friends , teemates-" "I don't need anyone to get me as long as you do"

He will never get it, even if someone engraved it into his skin he wont understand everything about you , you'll always be the case he couldn't solve.

AND WE ARE BACK BICHES , send in requests and stuff, inbox open again blah blah I'm feeling much better now but I might push angst stuff more

[polinsated]

@polin-erospsyche said these tags i wrote shouldn't be tags, and i trust her with my possible-inpending embarrassment, apparently, so, here you go:

i adore this look so much. the way colin looks at pen here will never not be used as a defence against people saying polin are 'rushed', or 'have no chemistry', or whatever it is they're saying now. and here's my little take on it.

-> you know how they say, you don't know what you have until it's gone. in this case, colin didn't realise how much he needed pen and her letters until they were gone....

—

this lonely, weary traveller has been away for months. we know his family doesn't often reply to his letters. and although he jokes about it, and they do too, we can all agree that he's upset by this, yes?

so in this moment, he turns around and sees the only person who has been corresponding with him throughout his journeys. he sees the woman who not only responds to every letter he sends but also who does so with genuine interest and fondness. the person who has made him feel like he has had a friend there with him on his travels. i personally believe he was alone for most, if not, nearly all of the time he was away. though, even if he did have some companionship; penelope was his constant for that time.

she has probably been keeping him entertained with stories, making sure he knows his family is okay, and asking him about every detail of his adventures. and in my opinion, i believe she barely ever mentioned herself in these letters. she has really been there with him every step of the way via her open ears (nay eyes) and written words.

and so finally, he sees her there, and i don't think he knows what to do with himself.

does he want to just say hello? probably not - look at his face! does he want to sit down with her right away and ramble on about things he has yet to say? or maybe just tell the same stories - because he knows she will listen, and she will understand, and she will enjoy hearing about them. maybe. does he want to hug her and say thank you? possibly.

my point is that i think he doesn't know what to do. it's such a short look that he doesn't have time to decide. and he's suspended in those moments when he sees her looking back at him with a huge smile on her face. he's overwhelmed.

i may be wrong in this part, but i also think he's a little surprised. he knows pen hangs out with his family a lot, but i don't think he expected her to be there right at that very moment he walked in the door. the man is baffled, to me. and in love.. despite not knowing it yet, hehe.

and it leads me to the sudden and heartbreaking point of 3.01. when colin has finished greeting his family, he turns to look at the featherington house because he notices right away that pen is not there like last time. and now it feels wrong that she isn't.

and if you watch that moment, the exact part when he turns back to his family again, there is something in the way his hands swing loosely at his sides, like a defeated sigh from his body - if you know what i'm trying to say.

his body language, to me, just screams disheartened... dispirited, or whatever other fancy word you'd see fit to use. but it's so subtle...

and then later we find out that penelope didn't respond to any of his letters this time. and i can only imagine how confused he is. because, honestly, he probably forgot about the horrible courting comment he made, and even if he remembered, he doesn't know then that pen heard it. so in his mind he is wondering where on earth his friend is. the possibility that she could be unwell has probably also crossed his mind. he is just - desperate, most likely - at this point to find out what's going on.

the thought of him, on his travels, everyday wondering why there still hasn't been a single letter signed 'penelope' absolutely breaks my heart.

and while i was about to end this post, i just thought about colin actually writing his own letters, and how he might've changed his tone along the way... do you think they ever included such words as something like: "i eagerly await your response." / "i hope to hear from you sometime soon." / "are you well, pen?"

or even this soul destroying, lump in the throat inducing quote that my mind has just come up with: "i've begun to think that there's a possibility you have not received my recent letters. for several weeks i have not heard back. not even a single tidbit about your mama, or my bothersome siblings. i must admit, my travels have not been as such fun or as fascinating as when i have my good friend to tell them to. i hope my writing finds you soon enough, or that yours finds me."

......

anyway, i don't write metas.. or i do and i never post them because i feel stupid and rambly and i'm never sure if it makes sense, but, i'm being a little brave here, haha. (thank you, luwen)

[dollypopup]

Lady Whistledown is the worst part of Penelope.

Lady Whistledown is not her independence, or her dreams. Lady Whistledown is not Penelope's purpose. Lady Whistledown is her coping mechanism for being unheard and invisible. She repeatedly tries to give it up, and she repeatedly returns to it, as if unable to let it go. Her entire narrative has set her up for realizing she doesn't need Lady Whistledown and that, in fact, for Penelope to live in the light, she has to kill that which keeps her in the shadows.

Penelope not wanting to tell Colin and insisting she doesn't have to is likely because she has already given it up, or she plans to. "I don't have to tell Colin because I'm retiring". What use does she have for Lady Whistledown when she's going to be married and thus cannot stay in hiding anymore? What use does she have for a coping mechanism when she knows she has people who listen to and hear her?

But even still, her not telling Colin is *wrong*. Whether she is retired or otherwise, she is in danger. And the fact that she then continues gallivanting about in the midst of a hunt for her, putting herself, their marriage, her family, and his family in danger, and still insists on not keeping him in the loop?

Polin is meant to be a partnership. That's what a relationship, a good one, is. When Portia tells her that she no longer has dreams, that's wrong, but also. . .Lady Whistledown isn't her dream. Writing, being heard, that's her dream. In fact, her and Colin have the same purpose: to love and be loved, to write and explore and sate curiosity, to be heard and taken seriously.

Colin has been honest with her, and she owes him the same.

Lady Whistledown is the anchor yanking down at her ankles, and she's wrapped her arms around him. If she sinks, he sinks with her. To see people insist that Penelope is not in the wrong for such an action, to purposefully keep the truth from him, and, even worse, to state it is COLIN'S problem to solve. . .that's asinine. And it's toxic.

Penelope has an arc of growth she must undergo, and in traversing it, she commits several harms. This fandom spent YEARS insisting Colin had to grovel and suffer for one statement, and were frankly cruel to people who rejected such an idea. And I don't want Penelope to grovel or suffer, either.

But she owes this man a hell of an apology. She has to see her actions as hurtful. She has to realize and understand that she is no longer alone, and that the mortifying ordeal of being known means she must open herself to unlearning the survival mechanisms she was so accustomed to. Because they weren't good for her. Whistledown made her win, yes, but it also made her cry. Whistledown is power, and that power corrupted. Whistledown is danger, and it is security of funds. Whistledown has served its purpose for her. And now she has to own up to it, and she has to walk into the light. Because to be loved is to be changed.

Colin has been open and vulnerable with her, he showed her all his cards, he was always in her corner and he always owned up to his messes, and he deserves a partner who can do the same with him. Otherwise, the same reasoning Penelope had being so adamant against his marriage to Marina, applies to her as well. Because what of him? What of Colin? She must not do this to a good man.

To love Colin is to choose him. And what people forget is that Colin *is* part of Penelope's dreams. He's not the full scope of those dreams, but he is absolutely a vital part of her fantasies and desires. Lady Whistledown? Lady Whistledown isn't. Lady Whistledown wrecked her relationships, broke her friendships, forced Penelope into corners both literal and metaphorical. Lady Whistledown is the coping mechanism I cannot wait for her to shed. That does not mean Penelope stops writing. That does not mean Penelope 'gives up' her career for a man and sheds herself in marriage to him. It means she can move on, upward, to better.

And let's be very clear here: Penelope is *lucky* that what Eloise wants is honesty and not revenge. She has good, kind people around her. Colin is a warm hearted person, he is the most forgiving of everyone in that entire ton, and all he wants is her truth so he might love her in full.

To deny him, her, them that much- is cruel.

[idleoblivion]

"Hey Man I Love You, But No Fucking Way" Jamil Viper x GN Reader

Synopsis: The time has finally come for you to leave, but he isn't ready to lose you. Surely you'll hear him out, right?

Word count: ~900

A/N: I usually prefer fluff but thought I'd experiment with a little angst, though I don't think it's too intense. Never written any kind of yandere stuff before so sorry if it's tame.

Warnings: angst, yandere Jamil

This day was bound to come. He knew it, you knew it, everyone did. That didn’t make it any easier for him, though. 

He knew you had started bugging Crowley harder about going home after the second overblot. And harder again after the third, then his, and so on. He wanted to meddle, but Kalim kept him busy. Plus, his faith in Crowley was so low he thought he’d have more time. Time to win you over, time to convince you that your place was with him. And he had made progress, you two had become very close despite what went down in Scarabia over the holiday. But the time for you to go had come regardless. 

He knew you had people you missed and places you still wanted to see. He knew that at the end of the day, no matter how much he’d grown to like your presence, you were not meant to be in Twisted Wonderland. 

But he still held onto that naive hope he had that you would hear him out tonight. Perhaps too tightly.

“You know how much you mean to me, don’t you?”

“I do.” You answer almost emotionlessly.

“Then… then please-” “Don’t ask me what you’re about to ask me. Don’t do that.”

He should’ve stopped there, but he couldn’t. If there was any chance of you staying with him, he had to fight for it. So he kept going.

“Please… you don’t know what my life was like before you. Please don’t leave me like this.”

You don’t say anything back. He could already feel himself unraveling, but tried to hold it together the best he could. 

“You’re the only person I can be myself around. You’re the only person who I can show what I’m actually capable of, the only-” “Jamil, you need to stop this. Now.”

“I love you.” He admits with desperation. “I love you, please, you can’t leave me like this. I’ll never…” he trails off, holding back tears.

“I love you too, Jamil…” You sigh deeply.

“Just not enough to stay?” He snaps without thinking. The look on your face immediately tells him that was the wrong thing to say. “How fucking dare you? You think you’re the only person I’m allowed to care about? I have people that I miss, Jamil. That I’ve been missing. I had a life before this school, sorry that hurts your feelings so badly.” He hadn’t expected you to get so angry with him. 

“I didn’t mean-” “I had a life. A life without magic and overblots. Where I didn’t spend every waking moment waiting for something else bad to happen. Where people didn’t want to fight me just for existing, and I wasn’t almost constantly in some kind of trouble or danger.” You’re crying now too, and you turn your back to him as you continue. “I can’t do it. I can’t stay. There’s nothing good for me here.” “What…what can I do? There’s has to be something I can do-” “No, there isn’t. I’m leaving tomorrow and that’s that. Stop making this harder than it needs to be.”

“I…I told you, I love you!” “And I told you I love you, but I can’t do this for you!” You wipe your face as you turn to face him again. “You think I’m happy about leaving you? Of course I’m not! But I’m not going to suffer here for your sake. I have to do this, for me. Why can’t you understand that?!”

And in that moment, he finally did understand. You didn’t want to hurt him. You weren’t trying to, you just needed to look out for yourself. He couldn’t blame you for that. You said you loved him, and he believed you. He watches you sniffle in front of him and put your face in your hands. He feels remorse for how this world has treated you, and guilt for not getting what you really meant at first. Yes, he understands perfectly. 

It was the rest of the world that was the problem. You could be happy in Twisted Wonderland, you just didn’t know it. With Crowley and overblots and other stress always wearing you down, of course you didn’t think you could stay. If you were constantly hurting, how could he expect you to?

But, why hadn’t you just said that from the start? If you knew how much you meant to him, didn’t you also know just how far he’d go for you? The mountains he would make move? The people he’d dispose of? Wouldn’t you do the same for him?

Of course, you would never have to do the same for him. He would do everything, take care of everything. Nothing would keep you two from each other. All you had to do was be with him and be happy. He could make that happen, he was sure of it.

He decides that those kinds of plans don’t matter right now, though. What matters most is that you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life, and he isn’t going to let you.

“Look at me.” “Jamil, I’m done with this. I-”

“I get that, okay? Just…please, look at me one more time.” He was pleading, and his voice sounded so terribly dejected. You sigh again. You lift your head up from your hands and meet his eyes.

“I told you, I’m sorry. I really am. I-” “Snake Whisper. Follow me. You’re not going through that mirror.”

[mianexil]

◇ Things that make his heart melt ◇

◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇

🌿 Warning: Spoilers 🌿

🪷 [ It wasn't in my plans before, but I really want to comfort these boys ]

🪷 [ Cuties, I see your requests and don't forget about them. I'm going through a little stressful period right now, so it may take a little longer than I wanted, but I'm already working on it ]

◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇

ㅡ Suo, Sakura, Umemiya

Suo

Sincere care for him

Everyone knows that Suo is strong in every sense. He is also smart, restrained, independent and confident.

It is not uncommon for people to admit such thoughts in his direction as 《 He is strong/smart/hardy, he will cope 》, waving away unnecessary worries.

But not you. You've never neglected it and it came from the heart. You knew that Suo was far from weak and admitted it, but it never affected the level of your concern for him. Yes, he is, but this does not mean that you can take less care of him, referring to the fact that he can do it himself.

Strong people can take care of the difficulties outside and also take care of themselves. But if they can, it doesn't mean that it's easy for them.

You always paid attention to his comfort in one situation or another, did some small and inconspicuous things that actually made a big difference.

Starting from the way you imperceptibly put a cooling compress in his furin jacket pocket before patrolling on a hot day or a a small pocket warmer in winter, and ending with silent hugs at the right moment to maintain peace in his soul.

It wasn't just a superficial concern, it was about his feelings.

At first, he somehow automatically shielded himself from it, it was his defense mechanism. He didn't want to admit that he needed it in any way, he didn't want you to think that he had at least some weaknesses to know the truth.

However, time and your perseverance have done their job. Over time, Suo began to accept your truly deep concern, letting it into his heart and passing through it.

And believe me, it made his heart blossom.

Sakura

Listening and hearing

Sakura, as a person who has spent his whole life alone, is not used to conducting dialogues and generally having any long-term relationships with people.

That's why, when he first caught himself telling you about some hobby of his with a desire, and at that time you were really listening attentively to him, he felt this terribly strong and strange feeling in his chest.

Of course, at the same moment he fell into a stupor, and then he got angry because he was confused. You still don't understand why he abruptly stopped talking, flushed red in annoyance, and then abruptly said goodbye and ran away.

Poor boy, for him, these feelings seem especially strong. Because it was the first time for him.

You knew it was very difficult for Sakura to open up to people. That's why, when he started sharing his thoughts with you or telling you something, you immediately put all the worries in your head aside and focused on Sakura.

You wanted him to feel heard so that he would understand that you want to hear and listen to him

And it was at such moments that the young man's heart seemed to melt like ice under the warm rays of the spring sun.

God, you really make this boy happy.

Umemiya

Special intimate moments between you

When you are alone, he's lying on your lap, and you're stroking his head.

It is this moment that permeates Hajime's heart and soul with sparkling threads that touch his most sensitive and vulnerable points.

At this moment, he feels as if he is transported back to childhood, when he was still a carefree, happy, beloved little boy, surrounded by family love and a sense of childish lightness.

Once he had lost this happiness, these incredible sensations, but now he had found them again. In a different form, but the same happiness.

He is lying on your lap, and your fingers are tangled in his white hair while you stroke him and at this moment Umemiya feels this warmth again, he is sincerely loved again, he is again childishly carefree and happy, he is home again.

◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇

[bringinubackto2014]

How the creepypasta's would be in a relationship.

Jeff The Killer

•He's probably the worst to date tbh. I don't see him as a misunderstood uwu boy, no he's manic. He'd get less assholey the longer you were together though, but in the beginning expect being insulted more than greeted

•He wouldn't be physically affectionate either. Maybe you'll get to hug him once or twice, but for the first year or so if you try to initiate something expect to be pushed away. But maybe once he trusts you (it'll take years) then he'll cuddle you once in a blue moon.

•A goodish thing about dating him instead of the others, he doesn't get jealous, and if he does its only a little bit. He probably wont care too much if you do leave him, but if he grows it love you A LOT he'll just kill whoever tried to take you, simple as that. (just an extra thing I feel like he'd want to give you the mouth scar he has to claim you as his)

overall rating 5/10, it would suck dating but he's hot so ill give him that

Eyeless Jack

•He's really quiet, so don't expect verbal praises or compliments too much. But he's definitely more loving than Jeff. But he probably loves way more easily, it'll take a good 9 months for him to realize that he doesn't ever want to kill or eat you, and that he's found someone he cares for.

•He's super strong and tall, maybe around 8 feet. But he has a sleeper build (idk if that's the right term), this dude looks skinny but he could crush your head with two of his fingers if he wanted to. So he always has to be gentle, he'd be really scared of touching you at first

•Before he found love in being affectionate with you, he would offer you organs (how sweet), to be honest, he'd probably want to propose by giving you a ring stuck in a kidney. (He's a true romantic)

overall rating 7/10 he's great but your gonna have to drive everywhere since he's blind and the smell of human organs get a little gross sometimes

Ticci Toby

•He says that he doesn't trust people at first, that might be true but when he met you. oh God his trauma spilled out so fast. He didn't mean to spill it but it just kinda came out

•Once he found out that he could trust you he loved you with all his heart. He gets really shy but he'll compliment you all the time under his breathe. He wouldn't anitiate hugs/cuddles or anything and it'll take him a while to get comfy with it. But once he does he'll never want to stop holding you

•He has a lot of anxiety attacks and mental breakdowns. Do NOT touch him when thats happening, he can't control himself. So he'll either hide in the woods or sit in Jack's room until he feels better

overall rating 9/10 he's pretty much perfect other than the breakdown things, but he goes on TikTok and I feel like he goes thought depressed vent pages (like the ones made by kids who got yelled at their parents once.) and he quotes them a lot so its kinda annoying

Jane (she's mine guys sorry)

•Kinda like Jack she's very quiet and distant. It takes FORVER to get her to trust you so until then expect one sided convos. Once she does open up she'll express her love verbally, but rarely and she speaks so quiet its hard to hear

•She's a writer, she'll write you love letters, in the beginning she'll hide them, but eventually she'll let you read some. Only some. She'll also write poems as well, she would make a whole book of poems she wrote for you.

•It'll take months for her to take her mask off, she'll need constant reassurance about her face and her scars. If you do her makeup in the style of her mask (gothic kinda) she would marry you. right then and there

overall rating 10/10 nothing is wrong with that perfect woman

[emeraldbloodcrown]

Once More

Chapter: Three - New Acquaintances Pairing: Poly; Tattoo Artists!141 x Baker!Female Reader Summary: Not getting the answers you want, you decide to catch a break at the town's festival, meeting two new strangers. Content/Warning: Still none, Kyle's dimples Word Count: 3.1k

Sharing a look with Anna both of you crouched by her sides, hooking an arm around her and guiding her movements until she could settle down on her bed. You swept another look over her body, trying to see the beginning of a bruise or her favoring an arm; anything to prove that she was injured. But you couldn't tell and she wouldn't say.

"Alright," you huffed exasperatedly. "Yell if you need anything."

Your grandmother waved you off, turning her hand as if to shoo you out of her room and you watched her pull the covers over herself before Anna closed the door.

You walked down the stairs in silence, a charged atmosphere between you both but Anna only addressed once you were back in your room.

"Do you buy it?"

Raising one of your eyebrow, you shot her a skeptic look. "Do you? Heavens, I don't want her to actually be injured but the way that just sounded… Plus, I can't shake that she's hiding something."

Anna furrowed her brows, "Anything in particular?"

"No, nothing I could point out but it's sitting there in the back of my mind, like things just don't fit together."

Climbing back into bed, you pulled the covers over you, setting an alarm for the next morning with the decision to start figuring out if your mind was playing tricks on you, or if there was truly something your grandmother was keeping to herself.

The next morning came faster than you had expected it, your entire body still aching from the day before and desperate for more sleep, and your finger hovered over the snooze button - just ten more minutes, or an hour - before you woke up enough to remember why you had set it so early to begin with.

The reason how your grandmother wound up owning a bakery had to do largely with her love for sweets. According to your father she had always been baking and progressing recipes to perfection. That was a similarity you apparently shared with her but where your drive came from a plethora of food allergies that made store bought foods feel like a round of Russian Roulette, she simply didn't like the taste, always complaining why she should buy it when she could make it so much better.

A sentiment that was soon shared by family and friends and after the first few people who hired her for making cakes and treats for their parties, she started to dream about doing that for a living and once her children had been old enough, she was able to fulfill that for herself.

Your grandmother had an unmatched love for good sweets and you reckoned that, with her age, it had been a long while since someone had gotten her something that hadn't been from a store, which could be just the right thing to get her to be more indulgent once you ask her some questions she's probably not gonna like.

Question was just what you were gonna make for her.

By the time you had something to show for your efforts, it was already an early morning and you could hear the slow, single footsteps of your grandmother making it down the stairs.

"Smells good in her, dearie. What're ya making?"

She circled the counter, one hand clutching the corner tight enough her knuckles were turning white and peaked into the pot.

"Quarkinis, hm?"

You hummed, rolling another ball out of curd dough and dropping it carefully into the hot oil.

"Gonna use powedered sugar?"

You hummed again.

"You used vanilla pods?"

Another hum.

"Two or three?"

"Don't play me; you've always used two and a half."

From the corner of your eyes, you could see her lips curl into a soft smile, nudging your side.

"I never understood your obsession with these. Ever since we made that trip to Germany, you just couldn't get enough of them."

"Cause you brought me there in the midst of the carnival season. Of course, I was gonna get hooked on sweets, music and bright colours. And," you raised a finger for emphasis before pointing it at her, "you combined Kreppels and Quarkinis for me so I wouldn't have to decide which I liked more."

There was a pause before your grandmother addressed the elephant in the room: "I also made them for you whenever we needed to talk."

"Sure did." Taking the last batch out of the oil and turning the stove off, you grabbed her a plate with the already filled in sugared curd balls. "Come on."

Your grandmother and you sat down in front of each other, the plate between you. She took one, observing the shape, giving it a small squeeze before taking a bite from it. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, her smile widening and pride shining in her eyes when she opened them again.

"Alright, what do you wanna talk about?"

"How did the fire start?"

You could visibly see how she was closing herself off: her shoulders drew high, lips turned into a thin line and her gaze hardened.

„I told you. Electric fire. The wires were old, was bound to happen one day."

You nodded. The report she had shown you when you had gotten back did state the cause of the fire as an electric one. Anna and you had already decided that you wanted everything of the bakery be new so that nothing could backfire on you due to age or over usage, so you had called someone to check and redo all of the wiring.

The thing was, given the tight-knit community, you had wounded up getting the son of the man who had done the check-ups for your grandmother, so they had both shown up for the appointment, meticulously checking everything after the father had apologized to you - 'could‘ve been your granny just the same' - and what they had found had raised more questions than answers.

All of the wiring was just as it should be, except for the one that had caused the fire. Which, father and son had pointed out, had started at a strange angle. It was too burnt now to truly tell, but you knew what they were trying to imply.

Someone had meddled with it.

"We just so happened to get the same electricians as you." 

"Oh, James‘ son? How nice of him to take over for his father" 

Her smile reappeared but it didn‘t reach her eyes, too practiced, as she went into an anecdote about something James did in his younger years.

"Sure, he also said that it‘s unlike his father to mess up like that-"

She didn‘t even let you finish properly before she started into an excuse.

"Well, didn‘t you always say that old people have a hard time coming to terms with the things they can‘t do anymore? And it‘s not like James‘ father is getting any younger either."

"Grandma."

She halted at the tone of your voice and watched as you crossed your arms and leaned over to rest them on the table.

"What aren‘t you telling me?"

"I don‘t know what you‘re talking about"

"All of the wiring was good. Kinda unlikely for it to burn your shop down, don‘t you think?"

"It was an electric fire," she insisted.

You knew you should back off but you also had the feeling that if you didn‘t push now, you might never get any clear answer from her.

"That‘s not true, and you know it!"

Her chair scratched over the floor as she slammed her hands on the table and got up.

"Stop it. You have no idea what you‘re talking about, just focus on rebuilding and leave everything else in the past. Where it belongs, I mean it."

You watched her leave before you deflated and pressed your hands over your head together. That wasn‘t ideal, but even if it wasn‘t the outcome you had hoped for, her reaction did show that something was off.

You took your time cleaning up, so by the time Anna found you, you were sitting on the window sill in the living room, window wide open and the hand closest to it holding a lit cigarette.

She came to a stop next to you, holding your shoulder to squeeze in and take a seat next to you, resting her head on your shoulder.

"Been a while since I've seen you smoke."

"Been a while since I've had a reason to."

She took the cigarette from your hand, taking a drag from it herself before she answered. "Yeah, I heard both of you yelling. Got anything?"

You shook your head, a bitter expression taking over your face. "Nope, only told me to drop it."

Anna scoffed and you couldn't help but smile. Years of working together had taught her that you were known for your stubbornness, often taking up fights with management for the sake of your residents' wellbeing. She had experienced it so many times that she had grown used the tone of voice that would precurse you not listening.

The same tone that was in your voice right now.

"Which you're obviously not gonna do."

Wrapping your arm around her shoulder, you squeezed her body. "Aww, look at you knowing me so well," You took your cigarette again, taking another drag, "No, I know something's going on."

"Well before you make that bomb explode, we got a festival to get to."

The sun was just starting to set when you and Anna arrived. The town square had been transformed: fairy lights and colorful pennants with the town's emblem hanging between the old street lamps and a stage right in the middle of it with several stalls loaded with a wide variety of food or little trinkets to buy.

You watched the pre-teens dancing to a mix of popular songs on stage before you hooked your arm with Anna and wandered into the masses. Quickly you noticed that nearly every family business was represented on this festival in one way or another but any bigger shop, those that had hundreds of branches all over the country, were missing.

A sudden pull from your elbow made you stop and look to Anna who had stopped, her fingers still in the crease of your elbow but she was focused on something on your left, her eyes filled with a child-like wonder. You had an inkling what had put her in such a state but you followed her line of sight, and heaved a sigh when you saw indded what you had been expecting.

Behind the row of food stalls were a few festival games set up, among them a shooting gallery with the woman working it advertising a giant sparkling Pegasus as the main prize.

"I want it…"

"5 pounds for three tries; that's gonna add up fast."

"I knooow"

You almost laughed when you heard her honest-to-God whine and you couldn't help but egg her on a little.

"You don't need it, tho"

Anna grabbed your arm with both hands and shook you while she kept whining.

"I want it so bad. I need it! Come on, have a heart."

"Okay, okay!  Where's your cut off?"

"500," she replied instantly and you snapped your head at her.

"The fuck you are; go lower. We ain't made of money."

"495"

"Try 50 or I'll keep your wallet hostage until we're home."

"You're a horrible friend," she said while grabbing the bills from you and stomped towards the game.

"For keeping you from bankruptcy? Yeah, so horrible."

Your only answer was Anna flipping you off. Laughing to yourself at that, you decided to take a look around to find something to keep you occupied while Anna tried to score her new friend.

You set your eyes on a claw crane and found if Anna could waste cash, so could you. Most people walked past the money trap, leaving only one person in front and you used the time to figure out which prize you wanted to try for.

"Bloody hell," he exclaimed in front of you, smacking his hands against the machine as it beeped sadly, indicating a loss. Noticing your eyes on him, he turned slightly, allowing you to see his, admittedly, pretty face; clean shaven and dark skin so soft to the look that it made you think of needing to do more of a skin care routine.

"Sorry, didn't mean to shout."

"All good. Which one were you trying to get?"

He made space for you and you stepped to the controls of the machine, feeding it the money for the first try. Surprised by your question, he pointed to plushie of a red panda holding a heart.

"That one. For my girlfriend."

You smiled at that and set the crane up for the panda.

"Oh please, you really don't ha-"

"They're a favorite of hers?"

You got on your tip toes for a moment before you decided to take the arm a little more to the left and letting it go down.

"Yeah, saw some compilation of them and has been obsessed ever since."

"That's cute."

The claws opened and closed around the leg, slipping a bit but had grabbed enough chunk of the body that it held on. You cheered the machine on as it so ever slowly moved to the front, and jumped in joy when it slid down the hatchet, and the machine beeped a success.

Taking in by your joy, the two of you high-fived before you went to retrieve the toy and give it to him.

"There was really no need for that but thank you," he said, adorning a sweet smile that dimples pop out in his cheeks.

"Anyone willing to get that angry for his girlfriend deserves some help. Besides, I often get lucky with these machines. Only them, tho," you laughed.

"Gotta remember that for next time then. I'm Kyle, by the way." Putting the panda under his arm, he reached to offer his hand and just as you were about to give him your name, you heard it being scremed by a very familiar voice.

Turning around to the commotion, you saw Anna waving, and when she noticed she had your attention, she waved the giant Pegasus in her arms.

"Unbelievable…"

"Your friend?" Kyle asked and, once you nodded while sighing in exasperation, he continued, "She looks fun. And she's found Johnny."

You looked again. Hooked around her arm was a man: tall with a mohawk, shirt exposing the intricate sleeve on his right arm, and an easy smile on his lips as he chatted with Anna and let himself be dragged by her to where you were standing with Kyle.

"Look!" Anne yelled when she was close enough, excitement bubbling in her voice.

"Can't believe you actually won it."

"Oh no, can't take the credit for that," she pulled Johnny closer, "he got it for me"

Mohawk guy - Johnny - winked at Anna, "Cannae leave a damsel in distress, aye?"

"And I'm sure you only had noble intentions," Kyle scoffed, smirk on his lips to which Johnny only rolled his eyes.

"I see ye got the toy fer yer girl."

Kyle clasped a hand around your shoulder: "Curtesy of my new friend."

Clapping his hands together once, Johnny said, "That calls for drinks. Come on."

You joined Anna's side just as Johnny went to Kyle, wrapping an arm around him and patting him on the back.

"Glad you could make it."

Johnny lead the three of you to the backside of the festival where a couple restaurant had their outdoor seating left open and offered food and drinks for a lower price. Naturally, seemingly ever table was occupied but Johnny found one almost hidden away at the far back.

Anna and you sat down next to each other with both of the boys opposite tou, and when you all had a drink, you clinked your glasses together in a toast.

"To new acquaintances."

Talking to new people had never been your strong suit, especially when you couldn't hide behind one of your expertises. But there was just something about how Johnny and Kyle created a pleasant atmosphere that even you could let yourself loose and not worry how you might be perceived.

"Am serious, Simon looked ready to murder him. Poor lad just about pissed himself."

Johnny had been retelling stories of their work, most of them having a Simon guy at the front of some customer forgetting their place.

"Wait, wait," you interjected, "so Simon's the big guy, right? Dressed like he's ready to rob a bank, that one?"

Johnny nodded vigorously, almost bouncing in his drunken giggle fit.

"And you have actually customers who throw a fit with him?"

Anna and you looked at each other incredulously, ready for Johnny to anounce it was a joke but nothing happened.

"So people are insane here, that's good to know."

You finished your drink, taking another look at Kyle. He had been joking with Johnny and sharing his own stories but for a while he had been absolutely quiet, eyes glued to the phone while his thumbs flew over the screen. A sharp curse escpaing his lips, getting Johnny's attention too, before he threw his drink back, patting his jacket for his wallet before Johnny stopped him.

"I got ye. Donnea worry, can pay me back later."

"Thanks, man. Sorry, I'll make this up to you," Kyle said, shifting his eyes as if to include you and Anna in the apology.

"Take care"

Anna nudged you, showing you the time.

"We should probably get going too," she said, raising her hand to flag down a waiter.

That seemed to get Johnny's attention, his head turning back to you both.

"Sure, ye girls mind if I bring ye home? Jus' tae be safe."

You hesitated for a moment but Anna jumped on the chance, swooning about him being a gentleman and hooking arms with him as soon as you were ready to leave. You could practically see hearts in her eyes and you realized where this was heading; sighing.

The entire way home,the conversation kept going but mainly between Anna and Johnny but you found yourself smiling at his attempts to keep you a participant and not just a listener while Anna chatted his ear off.

It didn't take long until you were almost home, bakery to your left when Johnny stopped, observing the work you had been doing.

"Damn me, almost back to her glory."

"And we're not even close to done," Anna exclaimed, letting go of Johnny in favor of hugging her new friend to her chest.

Johnny looked at you, "Cannae wait. Ye ever need help, ye know where ta find me."

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.  

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first. 

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind. 

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first. 

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you. 

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say. 

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways. 

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume. 

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be. 

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said. 

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter. 

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky. 

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding. 

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by. 

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says. 

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.” 

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently. 

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up. 

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality. 

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you. 

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized. 

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

[goodluckclove]

I don't know who needs to see to hear this, but I'm taking a break from writing book two to post a little rant to my fellow indie authors online.

Your work is worth money. Self-publishing is worth it. It's a slow process and it's a lot of work, but holding a physical copy of your book is really cool. Seeing your book for sale on a website is really cool. Knowing you have an ISBN number (Which you can get for free on Amazon and Ingram Sparks) so you can get your book into libraries and indie bookstores is really exciting. Searching your name on Goodreads and having something come up is great, even when no one's submitted a review yet.

I've made almost 30 dollars so far based on e-book sales of Blind Trust. That's not a lot of money. It's a start, though. Once people start submitting reviews I'm going to work on advertising and reaching out to reviewers. I already have a bookstore in Portland that says they'll buy and stock a copy of Blind Trust.

Self-publishing for money does not make you more valid of a writer than if you don't. It doesn't mean you're better. But thinking you shouldn't bother because you'll probably only sell a few copies is not the right way to think about it.

If anyone wants my book they can just ask and I'll give it to them. I have no problem with that. I'll give a free e-book of Blind Trust to every goddamned aspec person that wants it assuming they message me comments on it occasionally. It's cool to make your work accessible. But - like - it's also not a bad thing to want to make 30 dollars. It's not a bad thing to be proud that you made any amount of money off your art.

I'm already planning on what I'm saving my income from Blind Trust for. I'm buying my wife the leatherbound edition of Tess of the Emerald Sea, but they told me I'm not allowed to do that unless I buy myself some french fries first because they're my favorite food.

There's like a balance here, people. We have to remember that.

[tavina-writes]

i want to share salt. have you ever had a ship that annoyed you so much it starts poisoning other ships you could have potentially liked? because this is me with xiyao vs nielan. like, xiyaos are so fucking loud and proud of the fact that he sides with jgy over everybody else multiple times in ways that turn out to be incredibly hurtful. so it gets to the point i can't even enjoy cute teenage nielan art knowing xichen is going to so catastrophically fuck this up by repeatedly writing off mingjue as just imagining things and lying to him and leveraging their relationship for someone else's benefit and handing his killer the method to kill him and that people are *gleeful* about all that.

Hi Nonny!

First off, I want to offer you a hug, because this sort of feeling about fandom is never a fun thing to experience, and since you recognize that this is a salty ask, you might want nothing more than a "hey I see this and I get it in some part!"

But if you're thinking about how you might improve this situation and like, enjoy interacting with 3zun fandom again/mdzs fandom in general, I have a few ideas:

block everyone whose takes are pissing you off. There needs to be no bigger reason than "You know what, your takes are ruining this fandom experience for me" or "making me slightly more irritated than I would've been." There's no shame or like, anything wrong with this. Ultimately, we all live in this mosh pit of stuff together, and I might think everyone has a right to whatever kind of take they want, but I don't have to martyr myself on the cross of "hearing all sides" or whatever, and neither do you Nonny.

Recognizing which things are fanon and which are canon. This might help, but like, LXC doesn't, canonically, keep picking JGY at every turn. He is a flawed character with his own problems (as are they all in MDZS lol) but this is...not really what's happening? People can say what they want in their meta and their headcanons and interpretation of canon, but that doesn't make it...true.

this goes with 1 and 2 but also: if a fandom or a ship or a trope or something no longer brings you joy Nonny, there's always the opportunity to pack it up and leave it behind, either permanently or for a time. There's nothing wrong with not being "on" about a ship or fandom or recognizing that it was once something you really liked but not something you enjoy right at this very moment.

All that said, I'm personally of the opinion that there's a very loud and vocal part of the xiyao fandom (who exist on my blocklist by now) who've made me lose interest in the ship altogether, because the parts of the ship that I find most interesting -- the deceit, the almost gothic horror vibes, the slowly rotting center of their relationship when it didn't begin that way -- is obviously not what most (or what seems like most) people who ship it are looking for. And overall, I'm sure that it's no loss to not have me there, and that I (a NieYao girlie at heart) would not be welcome in that sandbox, so like, Nonny, I do get you and your frustrations. Ultimately I guess sometimes it's just easier to recognize that not all fandom spaces are welcoming and to find places that serve you better.

[tellmegoodbye]

-> Music Monday

We're back!!

The playlists and docs have been updated with the submissions from last week. Go give them a listen!

Daylight - Shinedown

I was diagnosed with a fear of getting too close Had to tell the ones I love, I was on the ropes

It's amazing what the hard times can reveal Like who shows up, who walks away, and who's for real

You saved my life, not once but twice You keep me free from falling You saved my life, make it all alright When I don't feel like talking You make sure I always see the daylight

To me, this song encapsulates the relationships between everyone on the show. It's about the people who lift you up and have your back no matter what.

Fade In / Fade Out - Nothing More

Just the other day I looked at my father It was the first time I saw he'd grown old Canyons through his skin and the rivers that made them carve the stories I was told

He said, "Son, I have watched you fade in, you will watch me fade out When the grip leaves my hand, I know you won't let me down Go and find your way, leave me in your wake Always push through the pain, and don't run away from change Never settle, make your mark Hold your head up, follow your heart"

When the morning comes and takes me I promise I have taught you everything that you need In the night you'll dream of so many things But find the ones that bring you life and you'll find me

This is an emotional one, y'all. Firstly, I implore you all to check out the music video for this song. Bring tissues!

This song reminds me of Carlos and Gabriel. It's about a father and son that have a complicated relationship and grow apart as they get older. In the end they get to a point where they want to reconcile, but unfortunately, it's too late. However, the father knows his son is going to go achieve great things. It's bittersweet, yet hopeful.

Moondust - Jaymes Young

I'm building this house, on the moon Like a lost astronaut Looking at you like a star From the place the world forgot And there's nothing that I can do Except bury my love for you

Yeah, I'm living far away, on the face of the moon I've buried my love to give the world to you

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love in the moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love in the moondust

This is the ultimate breakup-era song! Carlos is trying to build his life and his home while loving TK from afar. He knows he may have to let him go, and he'll bury his love if that's what it takes for them both to move on and for TK to find happiness.

Time - NF

That's when I look at you and tell you I'd be better alone Just the pride talkin', isn't it? 'Cause both of us know I'm the definition of "wreck" if you look into my soul Comes out the most when I feel I'm in a vulnerable place Made a lot of mistakes I wish I knew how to erase When I'm afraid, might get distant and I push you away But no matter the case, I'ma do whatever it takes

Yeah, way before I bought you the ring We were fighting back and forth like you were wearin' the thing Two passionate people not afraid to say what they think Lead to passionate conversation when it's hard to agree

And I know it hurts knowing that I carry this weight on my chest Making it difficult for me to open up and connect Lot of regrets, I apologize for all of the stress That's not what I meant to do, you know I love you to death

Even if we both break down tonight And you say you hate me, and we go to bed angry I know everything will be alright I'll be here waiting, I promise I'm changing I just need time

Time is a very universal song when it comes to relationships. It's about recognizing your own issues and working on them, not only for yourself but in order to be a better partner. This is what TK and Carlos do every day.

Tags!

@strandnreyes @goodways @nancys-braids @captain-gillian @lemonlyman-dotcom

@carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @literateowl @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos

@welcometololaland @reyesstrand @bonheur-cafe @heartstringsduet @theghostofashton

@goldenskykaysani @freneticfloetry @eclectic-sassycoweyes @whatsintheboxmh @honeybee-taskforce

@messymindofmine @fandomswonderland @kiwichaeng @reeeallygood @toomanycupsoftea

@firstprince-history-huh @fitzherbertssmolder @safeaswrites @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

[aprilsuzanne]

On my last blog, I wrote about my eating disorder at great length. I think it's time to do it again. If you don't like long text posts, feel free to skip this, but don't skim read it and reply because that's not nice.

TW if you need it, eating disorders, self harm, body dysmorphia.

----

People seem to think that eating disorders don't really apply to men. I spent my entire childhood listening to just about everyone passing judgement on other people's weight. As a boy, my apparent role models were all athletes, thin or muscular actors, skinny popstars and guys in music, and any husky person was either funny or tragic.

As I got older, I noticed these attitudes getting worse. Muscular men between acting jobs would stop cutting and starving their bodies, but would still look like peak physical condition but would be referred to as having a 'dad bod'.

Older still, I'd see people waggling their little fingers making jokes about small dicks, or laughing about people who cum to quick. People were too tall or not tall enough. Then they'd be too skinny if they were too fat. Then, laughs about baldness or their bodies being too hairy. It went on and on.

It melted my brain. I wanted to be whatever this idea shape was and deep down, I knew it wasn't possible, and I developed an immovable self loathing that I suspect I'll carry with me through my whole life.

I'd hear women getting similar criticisms, and the criticisms came equally from women and men, gay and straight, and of all races and creeds, and I think somewhere in my thoughts, I gave up trying to find a peaceful way of navigating this and began to purge every time I ate. I was playing a lot of team sports and would vomit before every game. I'd then go home, eat, and repeat. I became dangerously thin and people would tell me my body looked great.

I would pass out a lot through exhaustion and my eyes became dark. At some point I collapsed and hit my face on a shelf, then a radiator, and pretended to everyone that I'd just been in a fight.

After a short time thinking I'd fixed myself after scaring myself when I'd collapsed, it started again. I switched out bulimia for anorexia. I was now not eating at all. I remember hitting my hand with a spoon over and over when someone brought me some food to work, anxiety in overdrive as I hoped they wouldn't notice me not touching any of the food they gave me. That happened a lot and the back my hand was frequently purple with bruises.

I've kept a photo of a more recent period so I have something to check, in case I've dropped too much weight. This was me not that long ago, irresponsibly thin and I'd made myself very poorly. The skirt is cute though.

It was around this time that I'd collapsed again, this time in public. I was rushed to hospital with malnutrition and it was in the middle of lockdown so hospitals were swamped and everything was weird.

I was given a COVID test and while the nurses went to do my test, I sneaked out of the hospital because I didn't want them to tell me anything about how thin I was, even though they'd already clocked me. I walked home and collapsed three more times in the street, and twice more at home. I managed to get myself back to hospital eventually and spent the night under observation and was fed sugary gels and put on a drip to try and replace some of what my body had been missing for months.

I again discharged myself and ran away from the problem.

I was disgusted with myself. I was being irresponsible. I thought I looked enormous. I then made myself more depressed because I shouldn't talk about people's bodies like that. I loved people of all shapes and sizes and here I was, judging someone for being fat. I didn't eat or drink a single thing for two weeks after being in hospital. I was going mad. It was time to tell my friends what was going on, and it turned out a number of them had already worked it out.

One of the things I needed to fix was some of the people I sought advice from. I'd found people in secret who also had eating disorders and people who self harmed. It sounded like we were helping each other from the outside in, but the reality was that we were all enabling each other. Some call it trauma bonding. I call it unwell people egging each other on and even being competitive about it.

One girl said to me that my eating disorder wasn't as bad as hers. She gave me tips on how to act like I was getting better to other people. Saying you're trying is as good as actually trying, she added. It's all part of the performance.

I didn't want to be ill. I just wanted to not feel violently sick when I thought about my own body existing. I wanted to not be perceived at all, and to be left in darkened rooms, wasting away. While I spent all those nights, just lying there, I realised that this illness wasn't like other illnesses. Cancer wants to devour you. Broken bones want to heal. This eating disorder wanted me to stay alive but maximise the suffering in a prolonged bout of self harm. Me being dead was no use to my dysmorphia. I did just enough to stay alive, so I could maximise the suffering. It was like an endurance sport with no medal.

At some point, my name was put forward to appear on a news programme on national television. One of my supposed support network worked in TV and was asked if they knew anyone who had what had been rebranded as 'manorexia'. It's funny - even when showing concern, people still do stupid things like giving an illness that applies to anyone a ridiculous name. We don't call it blokeaemia do we?

After speaking to the genuinely respected and very nice journalist who I'd seen on television a lot, she was heavy handed in her questions. Things like "is it just vanity then?" is one that sticks in my memory. After 3 days of back and forth, the news story was dropped because a panda had given birth in a zoo somewhere. My sense of the absurd and gallows humour kicked in, mercifully. Men's eating disorders, relegated beneath a captive animal having a baby.

Another friend who was genuinely being well-meaning told me how brave I was, "going around telling everyone you have a woman's disease". I wasn't angry because I knew what they meant, but to someone more fragile, it could have gone horribly wrong. Another friend simply said "I don't want to ever talk about this - it's too upsetting."

I became aware of famous men talking about their eating disorders. A politician called John Prescott spoke of his and everyone laughed at it and made jokes on panel shows, based entirely on the fact that he wasn't thin enough. Everyone laughed at Hugh Jackman on talkshows when he spoke of the starvation and duress he put his body under to look a certain way for movies. Thin women were pointed at when they put an ounce of weight on. I heard women sniggering about other women saying "what does she look like in that dress?"

More recently, people would berate the 45th president of the United States for being "fat", rather than going after more pertinent things like his whole personality and terrible views. Fat, in this instance, was the ultimate sin, not being pro-fascist. I noticed how many larger men were clowning around at their own expense, and women would coo about them online. People like Jack Black - talented, good looking, charismatic - would be met with "I don't care that he's fat".

So where am I now? Mentally, the damage is done and I don't think I'll ever lose the will to harm myself. However, since my last collapse, I swore I'd never go there again. I rigidly eat three times a day. I've actively learned to enjoy the cooking process. It's been incredibly difficult, perhaps in part because I stubbornly refuse any professional help. I looked around for a psychiatrist who would help at one point, but every single one told me that they weren't taking men on.

Way back when, I started sharing photos of my body on Tumblr in a state of undress because I wanted to normalise how I looked. If I sandwiched myself between everyone else's nudes which I thought were beautiful, then I gave myself a chance to think the same of my own. It certainly helped. There's something about the kind of people this site attracts that celebrates a variety of people and I can be flooded with dopamine when my photos get complimented. They're compliments from people that sometimes get it, and that matters. Some people just think I'm being thirsty, and sometimes, they're absolutely correct.

My stomach has grown. There's fat bits on my back which I've never seen before. My neck got chunky where my jawline used to be razor sharp. At long last, I'm learning to love this. I love the softness of people's bodies, and it's taken me decades to realise that I'm just people too. I wear soft clothes that feel nice against my skin. I've collaborated on photos with wonderful people. While my dysmorphia is so bad that I doubt I'll ever find it easy to sexually pleasure myself, I've been shocked to find that people on here have actually had me feeling like a viable and sexy person! It's a completely new feeling to me and I'm trying to get better at taking compliments instead of pushing them away.

I've written about this before and at some length, but I feel it's important to do it again so it doesn't get lost. It might help someone. It might help people understand me better. It might help someone understand what their friend is going through. It might just be enough to offer an interesting perspective and nothing more.

I'm doing better than I've done in memory and it's weird and makes me feel vulnerable. I don't want to get complacent and writing this reminds me of how far I've come and not to let this terrible illness sneak up on me again. I've been through some horrendous emotional stress recently, and that's exactly the kind of time where a thing like this can reintroduce itself into my brain.

I'm doing okay though, genuinely. I can only write about these things when I'm in a good place. I hope you are too. If anyone ever needs to speak to me about anything like this, I can't promise I can fix you, but I can definitely empathise and I will root for you.

(please forgive any typos or garbled language in this - I wrote it in one take, off the cuff, without editing)

[salllzy]

Back in Alastor's time the child mortality rate was sky high but so too was the great depression so a lot of children probably had to resort to desperate means like crime and canibalism just to survive but still died young.

Suppose Alastor enters hell and his dad instinct just kicks in when he just impulsively takes in a feral bitey child off of Pentagram's streets...

Then another and another and another...

And suddenly the whole Overlord thing just becomes necessary to provide a good life for his growing family.

The Radio Demon is a great if terrifying good father figure but woe upon those who would harm a single child on the streets of Pentagram's Pride Ring.

The Radio Demon was clearly the demon to approach about sponsoring the Happy Hotel, Charlie Morningstar thought.

Okay, hear me out. Out of all the children that Alastor had as a human only one survived and that made his already shattered mind even worse, the death of his mother coupled with losing almost all of his children?

It causes him to snap in ways that would make even the hardest sinner demon shiver. He tries to keep his daughter out of his business, but she is his daughter and as such has the best and worst qualities of him. Not limited to his stubbornness and his capacity for violence. I have part of a backstory for Sarah already planned out and part of it is, that she fought in an underground fight ring to help ease Alastor's burden, despite being a teen she was one of the best fighters. There is a lot about the great depression that we don't know, crime rates were sky-high, coupled with the already staggering high death rates of infants and children, it wouldn't be all that shocking if one or two corpses went missing. This of course plays a factor with Alastor, because these parents are killing their children, he has lost the majority of his and out of them all he only has his eldest left alive. So finding out that these people are having children for the sole purpose of killing them or selling them as cattle? Well, they don't live long. So when he lands in Hell and sees all of these children that had wrongly been thrown into eternal damnation? Yeah, that doesn't sit well with him and he had always wanted a big family but never got one. It also makes him wonder if any of his children were already in Hell. But he never gets to find out because he is so busy trying to build up a reputation for himself. Then his eldest arrives in hell with all the grace of a bomb going off and it eases something in him, and it eases something in him. he may not have all of his family there with him, but he has her and that is what matters. But then they start finding children unattended and as much as he will try and deny it, he keeps bringing them home. Sarah had been a wonderful older sister for those few short years that her siblings had been alive after all. All the while he begins to heal, those fractures and cracks that had formed in his mind were slowly being patched up with bloody stitches and spite. He would need to pull himself together if he was going to be a father after all. So that is what he does. What he doesn't know is that by doing what he is doing, he is changing things. All he cares about is taking these children off the street and trying to give them a better life. All the while his princess is there with him, making sure that no one harms her siblings. She is her, father's daughter after all.

[skunkes]

if life is categorized by Before Loss and After Loss then I exist in the before but with a countdown to the after. and the countdown is always always present and debilitating. the loss will be debilitating too but i cant help myself. i will always suffer twice.