#I feel like I’m missing something to say but idk what

[in-my-feels-probably]

Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

I Feel So High School (Every Time I Look At You)

Request: Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

and: art being 10ish years older than reader? that’s all i got. go crazy

Hi! Challengers has been on my mind literally since the day it came out, and I think I've read every single fic on here about it, so I figured I’d give it a shot writing one myself. First of all, I combined your requests, hope that’s ok. Second, this is my first time writing for Art, so please bear with me while I try and get the hang of writing his character. I haven’t written a fic in weeks, so my skills are definitely a little rusty. Please be kind! Anyways, I hope you like this. Let me know what you think, and thank you for the request :)

(Warnings: none? idk, maybe very vague mentions of sex, art is divorced, swearing, i guess the age gap taboo. let me know if i missed anything)

—

You should have known trying to explain your situation with Art to someone else would’ve been difficult, but finally telling your roommate everything was just as humiliating as you thought it would be. She always had a knack for nosing her way into your business, and not even you were immune to her federal level detective skills when it came to getting information out of someone. 

“And I’m seeing him today,” you finished your rant as you sucked in a breath, wincing as you waited for the bomb to drop.

But it didn’t. Your roommate just grinned, standing up and walking over to your closet. You watched with a confused look on your face until she turned to you, already elbow deep in your clothes.

“So…you have a sugar daddy?” your roommate asked, trying to stifle a laugh as she rifled through your closet to help you find an outfit. “No judgment, I’m honestly jealous.”

You picked a pillow up off your bed, launching it at her when she smirked as you flushed. “I don’t have a sugar daddy! I have a…well—ok, I don’t know what we are. But he’s not my sugar daddy.”

“No, he’s just an ex pro tennis player with a famous ex wife who was also a pro tennis player that he had a perfect little girl with, complete with a house in the Hamptons. Now, he’s…what, exactly? A coach? A commentator? Part of Stanford’s glorified alumni? No, I’ve got it! I know what he is — hot. In a beekeeping age, recently divorced, kind of way.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to help her look through your closet. “He’s only in his thirties. You’re making him sound archaic and washed up.”

“Look at you, gushing over him,” she grinned as she finally landed on something for you to wear, quickly handing it to you. “At least he has good taste. You’re hot, too.”

Your roommate turned around while you quickly changed, sitting down at the foot of your bed. She talked over her shoulder as you got dressed, her voice full of curiosity.

“So, how did this all happen anyway?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Remember alumni week with all the guest lectures and presentations a few months ago?”

“You met Art Donaldson during alumni week? What the fuck! Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have skipped all my classes that week if I thought I was gonna pick up a trophy husband instead of being forced to sit through a mind-numbingly boring presentation from some guy who used to go here that I’ve never heard of.”

“Sucks to suck, babe,” you grinned, finished getting dressed. “I’m good, you can turn around now.”

She quickly turned around, patting the spot on the bed next to her.

“How did this even happen? I’ve never seen you step foot on a tennis court in your life, and I know they wouldn’t have asked him to speak in a graduate lecture.”

You sat down next to her, nodding. “He did a seminar down at the courts for the kinesiology majors or something like that. They were learning about sports related injuries and how to treat them. He told them about how he hurt his shoulder a few years ago during a match, and he talked about all the physical therapy he had to do.”

“You’re telling me you sat through a kinesiology lecture? On a tennis court? When you don’t even study kinesiology?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed, leaning back against the headboard. “He told me about it that first week while he was here.”

Your roommate giggled, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Oh my god! Okay, okay. Spill. Now. I want to know everything.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, but started ranting again anyway. 

—

In truth, you didn’t really know what your relationship with Art was. You’d met when returning alumni who’d gone on to excel in their fields came to campus for guest lectures and demonstrations.

In a total mortifying cliche, you ran into Art in a hallway while you were rushing to a lecture that had already started ten minutes earlier. You would have been on time, but your roommate accidentally locked herself out of your dorm, and the RA wasn’t answering their phone. She had an exam she needed to get to, which—in her own words—“trumps your boring book lecture.” You had no choice but to turn around and save her, making the trek back across campus to let her in. That’s how you ended up running face first into Art, your bag and all your things scattering across the floor. By some miracle, at least the halls were empty.

You quickly kneeled, scrambling to pick up all your things. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m late for class.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling to help you.

It was then when you looked up, and you felt your heart jump into your throat. Art Donaldson—famous alumni and world renowned tennis player—was crouched right in front of you, handing you half empty tubes of chapstick, a pair of headphones, and a stray pack of gum. Oh god, you thought to yourself. Why me? Why today? You quickly cleared your throat, standing up.

“God, sorry. Thanks…Mr. Donaldson.”

You cringed as you said it, the title of Mr. feeling off as it rolled off your tongue.

“Mr. Donaldson?” he raised a brow, shaking his head. “No, just call me Art. Uh, you know who I am? Am I actually still recognizable here? I figured no one off of the courts would have any idea who I was.”

You glanced down at his shirt, pointing. “You’re wearing a name tag.”

Art paled, raising a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. Good one, he thought to himself. Very humble. He cringed to himself as his cheeks flushed, a small smile on his face.

“Right. I knew that.”

You smiled, pulling your bag back over your shoulder as you let out a little chuckle. “I know who you are. Stanford never lets us forget about their prized students.”

“Ah,” he nodded, grinning. “In my day, it was Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Connelly. Although, Reese dropped out halfway through her degree, so they don’t talk about her much—”

“And Jennifer left Yale to come study here,” you finished. “That’s one they do still brag about.”

Art smiled, leaning back against the wall as he looked at you. You suddenly became very aware of your situation, tearing your eyes away from him to look down the hall where your class was. Art’s eyes followed, and he straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Am I keeping you?”

“No!” you said all too quickly, biting your tongue for a second before you forced yourself to calm down and continue. “Uh, my class already started. It’s not really important, he doesn’t count attendance anyway. And, to be honest, he’s pretty dull. He managed to make Jane Austen boring.”

“Not Bazin’s class, is it?” Art asked, making you raise a brow.

“Yeah, it is. How’d you know that?”

Art smiled, letting out a little laugh. “That’s why I came this way, I wanted to see if Professor Bazin still taught English here. He was a dinosaur even when I graduated. I’m surprised they still let him teach.”

“If they actually read the end of term course evaluations they make us fill out, they wouldn’t,” you mused, making Art grin wider.

“I guess I should let you go then,” Art shrugged, glancing down the hall. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on something you could use in your scathing evaluation.”

You glanced back down the hallway at your classroom, but you couldn’t get your feet to move. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t want to go just yet. 

All you did at Stanford was go to and from class and stay on top of your studies. It was monotonous and boring, and you were always up to your neck in papers and projects. Other than your roommate, you hardly had any people left you talked to or hung out with. They all graduated with their undergrad degrees, and you moved on to your graduate studies. Your education was important to you, but it got lonely. You almost never took risks anymore. But as you glanced back at him, that’s what you did.

You took the risk.

“Or…you could save me from my misery?” you stuttered out, an awkward smile on your face.

Art looked at you with an amused expression, tilting his head as he waited for you to continue. You swallowed, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“My classes are almost all entirely in this building. I’m sure you’re sick of talking about tennis, but between here and my dorm, I don’t think I see enough sunlight in a day to keep me going. Maybe you could walk with me somewhere that actually sees the sun? Doesn’t have to be the courts or anything, although I can say with full confidence that I’ve never actually seen that part of campus and I’m in my graduate studies. Uh, maybe you’ve got somewhere in mind? Or you could let me buy you a cup of shitty cafeteria coffee? I promise I’ll refrain from asking you about your career. But, as I’m sure you can tell just by looking at me, I don’t really know enough about tennis to ask anyway.”

As you rambled on, horrified by your own rambling but determined to put yourself out there, Art smiled. 

He’d met a lot of girls over the years. Some girls who had a genuine interest in him but didn’t last, and some who saw his fame and fortune as a one way ticket to an easy life. 

None of them mattered. 

He had married Tashi, head over heels from the first moment he saw her. He had a kid with her, a career with her, a seemingly picture perfect life with her. It didn’t even occur to him to look at other girls until his marriage started to strain under the weight of his career, and he’d almost forgotten what it was like to look at a girl for the first time and feel that sickening but addictive feeling of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. After the divorce, it felt so foreign to him that he didn’t even try. He had resigned himself to being a single father who co-parents and lives the rest of his life comfortably and quietly.

But here you were, rambling on with flushed cheeks and bright eyes trying your hardest to ask him out, and he couldn’t be more captivated.

There was just something about you. You were pretty, obviously. Anyone with eyes would’ve been able to see that. But there was something else, too. You were still young and not entirely pessimistic yet, with your whole career ahead of you. Probably no more than a few heartbreaks under your belt, able to muster up some sort of courage to fight for what you wanted. He used to have that, and he missed it — admired it, even. As you finally cut yourself off and looked up at him with mortification written across your face, Art saved you from further embarrassment with a smile. 

“Um…coffee sounds good,” he said with a shy smile. “Not from the cafeteria, though. If it’s as bad as it was when I went here, I’m not gonna let you waste your meal card money on it. There’s a cart outside of the athletics center, I stopped by it this morning. It’s still good.”

Trying your best to mask the shock you were feeling by his answer, you quickly nodded. “Oh, okay. Sounds good.”

You spent the entire afternoon with him. Coffee turned into lunch, and lunch turned into a long walk. Although you both had things to do, neither of you wanted to say goodbye and go on with your day. You skipped the rest of your classes for the day, letting Art show you around campus. He took you to all the places you had never been, and you kept quiet and let him show you anyway when you passed somewhere you had already been a hundred times. He was polite and asked you about your major and career goals, even managing a graceful smile when it was his turn to tell you about his career and how it unfolded after he graduated. He was careful to leave out the end, but he found himself comfortable enough to tell you about the first few years. You asked what you could, but you really didn’t know enough about the sport to ask much of anything.

“I’m boring you to death, aren’t I?” he asked when there was a lapse in silence after you passed a poster with his face on it for a Wimbledon campaign.

“No, not at all!” you replied, tilting your head up towards the poster. “I’m just wondering how you managed it.”

Art cocked a brow, turning towards you. “Managed what?”

“Not becoming a complete asshole,” you shrugged, making him burst out laughing. “I’m serious! You’re not the first celebrity to come here during alumni week. The difference between you and them is that you didn’t show up and immediately start bragging about how successful you had become. As far as I can tell, you’re the same as when you graduated. That seems pretty rare.”

“There’s not much to brag about,” he shrugged, too humble for his own good.

“A career Grand Slam isn’t worth bragging about?” you asked, turning away from him when he gave you a confused look. “Okay, fine, I may or may not have Googled you back in the restaurant while you were in the bathroom. I was running out of things to ask you, and I figured I should know something about tennis. Anyway, I was impressed.”

Art just chuckled. “I’m flattered.”

After walking a few more minutes, the street lamps turned on. It had gotten late enough in the evening that they were starting to light up around the darker parts of the campus. It was your cue to stop walking and look around, both of you realizing how long it had been since you started talking.

“I guess I should be headed back to my dorm,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice. “My roommate is probably freaking out by now. She knows I never really go anywhere after class without her—and yes, I heard how pathetic that sounded as it came out. She’s probably gonna call campus security if I don’t show up soon.”

Art nodded, knowing you were right. And yet, his feet didn’t move. Neither of you made any attempt to leave, still standing under the soft light of the street lamps. Art looked at you with soft eyes, absentmindedly reaching to fiddle with his wedding ring with his thumb before he remembered it wasn’t there anymore. Finally, he cleared his throat. 

“Well…I guess this is the part where I ask you for your number.”

“It was nice meeting you, too—” you started, doing a double take once his words registered. “Wait, what?”

Art let out a nervous laugh, shrugging. “You bought me a coffee, it’s only fair that I do the same. I’m here all week. Maybe you’d want to do this again sometime?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied, trying your best and failing to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Art smiled and pulled out his phone, opening his contacts. He handed it over to you, watching as you typed in your number before handing his phone back to him. You fought the heat pooling in your cheeks, fiddling with the strap of your bag. Art grinned, breaking the silence. 

“Go find your roommate. Tell her to call off the search party.”

You chuckled, nodding. “I’m on it. Well…bye, Art.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll text you,” he replied, enjoying watching you shuffle back and forth on your heels. 

He made you nervous. And for some reason, he liked that. He’d spent practically the last decade of his life perpetually nervous. It was nice to know someone else felt the same way. 

He watched you go as you turned around and headed back to your dorm, a distant but still familiar warmth in his chest. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he could already tell he liked you. By the time you made it back to your dorm and managed to come up with an excuse for your roommate who immediately interrogated you the second you stepped through the door, your phone was ringing. You excused yourself to the bathroom with a bashful grin on your face, answering the call.

—

You spent the better part of a week with Art when you both had time between your classes and his seminars. 

It felt surprisingly easy and normal talking to him. Your small talk about your careers and plans turned into more personal topics, and then you were talking about anything and everything. You were fully aware of the age gap between you two, but it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. If anything, it was part of the draw to him. He was also kind and friendly, with a surprisingly self deprecating sense of humor that made you laugh. Not to mention the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous. You had to actively make sure he didn’t catch you staring at him when his head was turned. He made you want to actually giggle out loud, which is something you never thought you’d do over a guy.

By the end of the week when it was time for him to leave and go back to New York, you both were dreading saying goodbye. 

It was late in the evening, about an hour before he had to leave to catch his flight. He’d finally taken you to the courts, once again only lit by the street lamps overhead. It was the first time all week he’d stepped onto the court and actually wanted to be there, not surrounded by onlookers who knew every nook and cranny of his life and career. Instead it was you, the sweet pretty girl who made him genuinely laugh when you asked him why the points system would ever use the term love to describe a lacking score. 

He fiddled around for a while, teaching you a few serves and how to hold the racquet to hit the ball. Eventually he was on the other side of the net, watching you giggle and chase after the few balls he’d softly serve your way. He could hear you panting and the sound of your shoes skidding across the court, but your laughter was too sweet to make him stop. 

Finally, you stopped to take a break, sitting down on the bench. “Don’t look at me, I might cough up a lung.”

“Very impressive,” he smiled, passing you his water.

“Thank you,” you grinned, motioning between him in the court. “Go on, let’s see what you’ve got. I’m down for the count, but I’m sure the ball machine will be more than happy to fill in for me.”

Art smiled, watching you grin at him with flushed cheeks and glowy skin. If anyone else was asking, he wouldn’t have done it. He wasn’t interested in showing off his skills, or lack thereof to put it more accurately as of late — he’d stopped training as intensely after the divorce, no new tournaments waiting for him to come and win. But the look on your face when you asked was just one he couldn’t say no to. Plus, your knowledge of the sport wasn’t that vast. You probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped up anyway. And if you did, you’d be too kind to make him feel bad about it.

“If you insist,” he groaned, but he was still smiling to himself as he moved to the other side of the court.

You watched him play for a few more minutes. He really was something to see. Every movement he made was smooth and graceful, a far cry from the stumbling around and huffing and puffing you had been doing. Every ball hit its target, every serve lining up exactly where he wanted it to. As silly as it sounded, you actually had to prevent yourself from clapping once he finally slowed down and turned the machine off.

“Look at you go,” you smiled from the bench, handing him back his water as he walked back over.

His cheeks flushed pink, and he was silently praying you couldn’t see it from under the low lights. He was too busy getting all flustered to reply to you, and it made you smile. It was silent for a long moment as you stared at each other, before he finally stood up. You followed him, a sinking feeling in your gut as you realized that it was probably time to say goodbye.

It had been a week you had never even dreamed would’ve happened to you, and yet it did. The one risk you decided to take had led to the most fun you’d had in your entire time at Stanford. You didn’t want to see him go.

As you looked up at him with soft eyes and a melancholy look on your face, like you were looking to him for all the answers, Art felt a sharp tug in his chest. He found himself immediately wanting to fix it, wanting to make you smile again — smile because of him. He’d have done anything in that moment to get you to laugh again.

So, against his better judgment, he leaned in and kissed you. 

It was a spur of the moment decision, one he almost immediately regretted. But then he felt you sink into the kiss, your hands coming up to his waist to steady yourself. He cupped your cheeks and pulled you into him, unable to stop the smile spreading across his lips. 

And that was all it took — he was falling, and falling hard. 

—

That was months ago now, and yet, Art still found reasons to visit you. 

When there was lapses in tours, or it was Tashi’s week with Lily, he always somehow found himself ending up coming right back to you. He’d pick you up from your dorm, and you’d spend the entire day with him. On weekends, you ended up in whatever hotel he was staying at, telling your roommate you were going back home for a few days. When you weren’t together, you were constantly texting or calling. He even sent a postcard once when the ATP took him to Europe. It was cheesy, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face all day when you got it in the mail. 

You hadn’t exactly put a label on the relationship, but it was clear to the both of you that you meant more to each other than either of you cared to admit out loud. Quite a bit more, actually.

And Art wasn’t stupid — he knew what your relationship looked like. 

Recently divorced, a younger woman by his side. If they knew, the media would paint him as one of two options: an easily manipulated victim of a gold digger, or a washed up athlete who split with his wife that was now taking what he could get, the younger and prettier the better. 

But that wasn’t it at all for Art.

It wasn’t just sex, or a new pretty face. You were something different. A breath of fresh air. Someone who didn’t care about his career or money or fame. You had no interest in what he could offer you, or what you could get out of him. You never made him feel pressured to do anything or talk about anything he didn’t want to. He’d spent so many years craving a sense of normalcy and peace. Time and time again, he’d wanted to go to Tashi and beg for a break in his routine. But, always too afraid to disappoint her and everyone else watching him, he stayed quiet. He never got a break. As odd as it was to say, that’s what you were to him when he met you — a break. A minute to breathe, a moment to relax. He always felt that way around you.

Simply put, he was head over heels for you. He didn’t think he’d feel like that for another woman after Tashi until he met you, and it shocked him how easily the feeling came to him.

And it wasn’t just him that had fallen. 

You practically hung on every word he said, and soaked up every ounce of praise he gave you. You had never been with someone like him before. Someone so experienced and sure of himself, but just as gentle and patient as he was sure. He made you laugh and smile, and he made you feel safe. For whatever reason he had taken interest in you, you didn’t care, you just didn’t want it to stop. You clung to it, enjoying it while it lasted.

And if either of you had anything to say about it, it would last.

—

By the time you finished explaining your relationship with Art to your roommate, she was already pushing you out the door. 

“Go, go, go,” she squealed, tossing you your keys. “Wait!”

She wrapped her hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks as she glanced down at the outfit she chose. “Is that a new dress? Did he buy you a dress? Oh my god, please tell me he has a brother.”

“Not sure,” you grinned, smoothing your hand down your front. “Show up to alumni week next time and find out.”

You were already pressing a kiss to her cheek and rushing down the hall before she could get out another word, giggling as you made your way to the stairs.

On the drive over to the hotel, the nerves in your stomach were making you nervously tap your fingers on the steering wheel. You must’ve got caught by every stop light, making the trip even longer. You were practically vibrating once you finally pulled into the parking lot, grabbing your bag and hurrying inside before your nerves got the better of you and made you stand like an idiot in the lobby, trying to muster up the courage to get in the elevator. You coasted on autopilot as you forced your feet to lead you upstairs to his floor, all the way down to his door. You only came back into your body when you raised a hand to knock on the door, pausing to take a deep breath.

Just knock, you thought to yourself. You’re a big girl. Just knock.

You had barely even knocked twice on the door before the door swung open, and you came face to face with Art. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you took a second to take him in. Still as pretty as you remembered, and every bit as alluring. You could feel yourself melting. 

The feeling was mutual. 

Art let out a sigh of relief, like it was the first good breath he had taken in weeks. A genuine smile crept onto his face as he reached for you, practically making grabby hands like a child. 

“Come here, pretty girl.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle, immediately burying yourself in his chest. You let out a hmph as you pressed your cheek against him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You could feel his thumb running along the bare skin of your arm, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He nudged the door closed with his foot, tugging your bag from your shoulder and setting it on the floor without even letting you go. He was warm to the touch, and steady against you. He hummed into your hair, squeezing you tighter.

“There she is,” he murmured, letting out a small laugh. “My girl.”

“Hi, baby,” you giggled, the sound making his heart soar in his chest. 

He slowly walked you backwards to the bed, supporting most of your weight as you laid down. He was quick to follow, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. His arms hooked lazily around your waist, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

This is what you both had been waiting for. This feeling, this moment. Just this.

“You look very pretty today,” he whispered into your skin, pressing a kiss where his lips rested. “All this for me?”

The humor in his voice made you grin, your fingers running through his hair. “Couldn’t let you be that pretty all by yourself.”

Art smiled, pressing his face further into your neck as he let out a breath. You tightened your grip around him, holding him close. You let your eyes close, resting your cheek against the top of his head. 

A comfortable silence fell over the both of you, as easy as it ever was.

—

A/N - Hi! So sorry this took so long to get out, thank you for your patience. I keep rereading this and editing it over and over, I’m not totally happy with it. But something is better than nothing, and I’m tired of staring at, so here you go! Hope this is ok, let me know what you think :)

#challengers x reader #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #taylor swift #so high school #ttpd #the tortured poets department #the anthology

[forlovvers]

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ smitten

pair: richkid!jake x f!reader | genre: fluff kinda angst kinda | warning(s): a lil jealousy, a kiss, one suggestive joke | wc: 700 | synopsis: in which you’re tired of keeping your relationship with jake a secret.

lynne’s notez🗒️: missing jake so bad rn and idk why </3

you let out a yelp of surprise as you’re snatched from the hallway, and pulled into the janitor’s closet. you’re about to slap the perpetrator when he reaches up and pulls on the light, revealing a very disheveled looking sim jake.

jake looks even better than when you last saw him—it nearly makes you choke. messy dark hair that frames his face and an unkept uniform was something you didn’t know you were so attracted to. you’re backed against the cramped walls of the closet, only then realizing how close the two of you really were.

“you can’t just go around kidnapping people, jake.” you say indefinitely.

“why were you talking to sunghoon?” he asks, completely ignoring your previous comment. jake cocks his head to the side, staring down at you. he places his hand on the wall to keep his balance, unintentionally trapping you against him.

you shrug and instead of answering him, you take his knotted tie and begin to undo it. jake surprises you by leaning in closer, so close you can smell his sweet cologne. you start to loop the tie properly when he places his index finger under your chin to lift your head so you’ll finally look him in the eyes.

“i’m up here, yn.” he says your name softly, the way you like it. “i don’t like that you’re talking to sunghoon.” there’s a frown on his lips when he says this.

“i’m tutoring his sister,” you say finally and you watch a look of relief wash over his face. “but you’re the one who wanted to keep our relationship a secret, remember?” you remind him again.

it didn’t come as a surprise to you when jake said he wanted your relationship to be a secret—or private as he called it. that strictly meant no talking at school and only hanging out during the evenings. it didn’t bother you too much for the first week, but when you saw how many people hit on your boyfriend without the knowledge of your relationship, it really started to irritate you.

you knew the two of you were is different social classes; you went to decelis on a scholarship and jake’s father added a building onto campus just so he’d be able to attend. but you didn’t think it would affect your relationship as much as it did.

“but that doesn’t mean you can go around talking to other guys.” jake’s frown deepens and his eyes go big like puppy’s would. he reaches up to twirl your hair around his finger. “your hair’s so soft.” he was definitely trying to flirt his way back to your good side.

you brush his hand away and firmly cross your arms. “jake, i don’t want to keep doing this.”

“doing what?”

“whatever this is!” you gesture frustratingly at the space between you two. “i don’t want to be a secret anymore! i don’t want to watch other people flirt with you—!“

jake cuts you off by placing his lips on yours, almost immediately shutting you up. you fall into a familiar routine as his hands find your hips and yours reach up to run through his hair. he lets out a small groan when you tug a little on his hair, causing him to lean even closer to you. you truly have no backbone when it comes to sim jake.

you pull away after a couple of moments to get a good look at him. with puffy pink lips and rosey cheeks, you’d think he’d might actually be smitten with you—too bad he doesn’t act like it.

“i’m gonna go out before you so i’m not late to class—“

“why would we go out separately?” jake interlocks your fingers together and it feels like it did the first time: right.

“because you don’t want us to be seen together?” you say it like a question and watch as jake’s eyebrows crease together in uneasiness.

“from now on, i only want to be seen with you.” jake pulls you in, arms wrapping instinctively around you. “i thought i was protecting you from rumors and other stupid stuff but saying it out loud makes me sound like an idiot. gosh, i don’t know how you don’t just slap me sometimes.”

you crack a smile, “i do want to slap you sometimes, but i think i’d rather have you walk me to class.”

“or we could stay here and make-out some more?”

“wrong answer! try again.” you say, accompanying your words with a loud incorrect buzzer.

“we could do more than make-out?”

you gasp, “jake!”

#kpop #imagines #enhypen #jake #jay #sunghoon #fluff #heeseung #jungwon #niki #sunoo #sim jake #sim jaeyun #park sunghoon #park jongseong #lee heeseung #yang jungwon #kim sunoo #nishimura niki #jake drabble #jake x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen jake #enhypen oneshots #enhypen x female reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen heeseung #jungwon enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen jay

[nekropsii]

what do you see in equius ?? genuine question i don't mean to sound rude but to me she's just really offputting. she gives me such creep vibes that i can't seem to get over and every time i read a page with her it just gets worse..... like when i first read nep & eq's chats i was sitting there wondering if this was outright abuse or at least bullying of some kind??? it felt like it idk.......

but honestly i do wanna see an equius liker's opinion on him because i can't understand it like at all and i'm probably just missing something that all the equius likers saw and i didnt LMAO

Well, considering I’m an Alpha Trolls Enthusiast and have been for, like, a decade, as well as having Horror as a Special Interest since age… What, 3? I’d say I personally have a pretty strong stomach for Weird and Offputting in fiction, lol. Stronger than most. Equius isn’t a very palatable character at all, I’ll be the first to admit that - a lot of the characters I enjoy the most in Homestuck aren’t very palatable… But I find ‘em real interesting, personally. The fact that they aren’t palatable adds to the intrigue for me, and poor execution tends to be a total weakness of mine. Again, Alpha Trolls Enthusiast for a decade straight.

I have a post here that talks a bit about my reading of Equius, I’d recommend giving it a read. I see Eridan and Equius as being very similar characters - not necessarily due to their shared hemoloyalty, but because they’re both teens falling down online pipelines. They’re very prevalent Kinds Of Guy that no one wants to talk about.

But people talk about Eridan plenty even to this day - he was even a fandom favorite for a while, being the fandom’s first Prettyboy Sad Gay Anime Prince long before Dirk… So he doesn’t reel in as much interest for me as the chronically overlooked Equius.

If there’s anything to know about me, it’s that I love a good underdog.

Equius-Likers, from my experience, are very aware of his issues. It’s part of the draw. Enjoyment of him tends to be an analytical fixation. I haven’t met a single Equius-Liker that hasn’t had some very complex thoughts on him. They’re just kinda quiet about it. Fitting.

Unfortunately, I’m Aranea But Real, so. No quietness here.

Your response to Equius is valid. It’s also intended, I feel. To specifically address the bits about concerns of his relationship with Nepeta not being healthy… I mean, it’s not abusive, but it’s definitely more complicated than fan art would lead you to believe, as always. “Complicated” is to be expected from a Moirallegiance - remember what they exist for?

Nepeta is very much so in control of the things going on, and their relationship is pretty equal, all things considered, so I wouldn’t be worrying too much about that. She very distinctly does not lack agency here - Nepeta is the one who has a leash on Equius, not the other way around. Equius is mean, because that’s the way she is to… Everyone, more or less, but she’s not of any danger to Nepeta. They have a fine Moirallegiance. 1,000% more functional than whatever the fuck Karkat and Gamzee had going on.

Anyway. I think Equius is neat, and has both missed and oft overlooked potential. One of the very few characters I’d be 100% down to have seen more content of in the comic.

Once again, check out this post. I still think it’s decent. Maybe you will, too.

#also there’s a big difference between ‘Equius fan’ and ‘Meowrails fan’. i am very specifically referring to Equius fans. you understand. #homestuck #beta trolls #equius zahhak #eridan ampora #nepeta leijon #cw abuse #<== mentioned #meowrails.ship #equius.pdf #nepeta.pdf #nekro.pdf #nekro.sms

[miss-eli-starfleet]

My critique of CW’S The Flash

The Flash is one of my absolute favourite shows, and I think it deserves one of these. Yes my favourite shows deserve critiques because there are changes I would’ve liked to see instead. This is all just my opinion on the show, not exactly hating it. Plus.. I saw someone else doing something similar to here goes.

Imma be clear at the start. I don’t hate WestAllen, just really really disappointed with how they were written in the latter seasons sometimes.

Props to every actor in the Flash who put all their effort into the show whether the script was cringe or not.

Season 1-2 was FIRE. No complaints. Loved the WestAllen.

Season 3 was good,

but I think they could’ve done Savitar better. Still liked him as the big bad being depressed/emo!Barry. I’ll say that I got really attached to Harry in S2 which made me wonder why they have HR there at all? The dude grew on me, and he added humour to the team, but honestly between him and Harry, it could’ve easily been Harry. Though it means he would die at the end.. so I’m glad Season 3 had HR Wells instead sorry not sorry.

The relationship between Julian Albert and Barry was so fun to watch. Which reminds me, LOVED Eobard’s appearance as Matt Letscher in 3x01. I have no idea why they continue to use Wells’ face like bruh. Your pretending as Wells is over so like why. GIMME MORE MATT!EOBARD.

I loved Frost???

Season 4 was also great.

I’d say more quality than season 3 because it was their first time against a big bad that WASN’T a speedster yet posed a more than adequate challenge to the team. The plot was nice and unique (I really loved Hazard!). I’ll say that DEVOE was kinda showing some red flags before becoming the Thinker in his relationship with Marlize, like he seemed kinda overly possessive of her. Glad that she switched to helping Team Flash after seeing what her husband had become. Loved her “Thinker’s first victim” line.

I felt like they started focusing on Cecile too much? Her role was vital to the plot at the end with helping Barry hop into Devoe’s mind to retrieve Ralph. And speaking of Ralph, I was neutral towards the character at first, but he grew on me. Also why fire him for sometning he did like 10yrs ago. That made no sense. I’d rather Ralph than more Cecile or Allegra.

LOVED ALL THE BANTER BETWEEN HARRY AND CISCO. And FROST FROST FROST!!! I liked her S4 outfit. I also think Barry’s supersuit was the best in this season.

One of my favourite episodes was “Flashtime”. Awesome awesome filler episode.

Season 5 was also great.

Barry’s supersuit was trash tho imo. He just looks like a weird deformed strawberry.

Above average but not quite as good as S4. LOVED NORA WORKING WITH THAWNE then Barry finding out and tossing her into the pipeline cell lol. Just the betrayal, and then dumping her in the middle of a random street in the future. Loved all the father-daughter moments she had with Barry. Cool to see the writers creativity in “meta-tech”.

However Iris.. bro in 5x19 she has some issues bringing up the fact Barry NEEDED to go into the Speedforce TWICE. And then her telling Barry to his face that she didn’t care that Nora was working with Thawne. Like bro, he murdered your husband’s mother and caused sm problems. And you don’t care about that?? Good to see that Barry called her out in the end.

Imma complain about freaking Sherloque again. Why not Harry? Even after what happened to him in S4, I think he could’ve figured out that Nora is secretly working with Thawne. Like dude’s still smart af.

Nora getting erased from existence at the very end.. sad :( I miss S5 Nora

Season 6.

I feel like this is when everything started going downhill. I didn’t care for Mirror Monarch. The mirror!Iris storyline was interesting to see. Idk what happened the rest of the season. That’s how much I didn’t care for this season lol. I think the other half was about Ramsey and how he wanted to make everyone zombies. Man I HATED Sue Dearborn or however you spell her name. She just took up too much screentime. This is when it started feeling like “Iris & Friends” instead of “The Flash”.

Liked to see how Barry dealt with slowly losing his speed bc he was killing the speedforce lol. Liked how the Caitlin/Frost duo became separate people. It was cool. At least we got that lol.

I think this is when Allegra comes in. I honestly can’t stand her. Like the whole her and her sister trope? Why.

The one thing I did like was Barry’s artificial speedforce gave him speed thinking. Awesome episode to watch. EXCEPT NASH. WHY. His sacrifice is useless in the end because of the whole “Iris is Barry’s lightning rod” thing. Have nothing about a speedster’s lightning rods in the comics, just didn’t like how that was written into the show. It eventually got really annoying.

Season 7.

Where do I even begin. This is when Barry’s “children” became a thing, and then suddenly speedforce!Nora wanting to kill all of them? Like what??? Where did that come from? Dion’s storyline was interesting. The rest were just.. Meh. And the CGI was so cringe.

I loved Abra Kadabra??? Why they gotta kill him off in one episode.

Does Chillblaine start coming in this season? I dislike him in general.

Season 8.

THIS IS WHEN BARRY’S ACTUAL CHILDREN COME BACK.

Now with Nora getting erased in S5, I really would’ve preferred if they gave us Tornado Twins instead. Like you can even use the same actors, but I honestly don’t really like the new Nora. I did like seeing her interaction between her and her family.

Also. Bart. I. Have. Major. Problems. I LOVE Bart but he is supposed to be Barry’s GRANDSON. Give us Don Allen instead. I did like the episode where they messed up the timeline, went back to 2013 and then accidentally reset Jay into the timeline. Also loved the episode with the whole Barry and the gamma radiation making him age hella fast. Bro was basically a zombie at the end and still overloaded the machine with the speedforce.

The. Stupid. Power Rangers godspeed arc was shit and them being Bart’s Thawne-like arch nemesis. Like boy, don’t compare Thawne with your godspeed problems. Don’t even start. Also what is with the “Negative Forces” and “Positive Forces” Power Rangers thing and then Iris’ time sickness? At this point, The Flash just started to feel like a soap opera.

I liked Chester even though he was a “replacement” for Cisco. He was unique. But the whole Allegra/Chester budding relationship where did that come from?? It just seemed very cringe and didn’t do much for the plot besides drama I guess. Khione was meh. Like just give us Caitlin with Frost in some way. I don’t care about Khione and her arc. Pls give us more Barry and not so much Cecile and Allegra.

Season 9

The show should just be renamed “Power Rangers: Iris & Friends” at this point. They made an entire episode without Barry?? Like if I pick up a Flash comic book, I expect it to be about THE FLASH. Not his random friends. Like yes, his friends can make appearances but don’t give me a whole dang episode without Barry THE MAIN CHARACTER. Also how the hell did Cecile become that OP, where is the character development.

Idk where Chillblaine comes in but I just don’t like him, not to mention that I don’t like the relationship between him and Frost. Like what.

Eddie’s Cobalt Blue arc and Red Death arc could’ve been done WAY better. I didn’t see any plot relevance in any way. It was written so poorly. Red Death was just like evil speedster!Batman or something. Please don’t bring our beloved Eddie back if you gonna write him all just jealous of Barry and him somehow becoming the new avatar of the Negative Speedforce. And what does Batwoman have anything to do with this (I believe she appears in the finale villains arc)l

There is legit only one episode I like in S9. The one that comes “full circle”. The one where Barry gets stuck in 2000, gets to chill with his parents for one day, and then comes full circle with Matt!Eobard killing Nora. SEASON 1 QUALITY. They even use the same bg music which awwww. And the “If I can spend one more day with my parents, then what would I say to them?” Line? Chef’s kiss.

Did not like the finale. His final run speech was okay about sharing his gift. Definitely would’ve preferred if Barry became the lightning bolt that struck him in S1 like in the comics.

Idk which episodes: Loved all the Amunet & Frost storyline, and then Goldface time to time appearances. Especially “Officer Chemist” lol.

#this was long af #dc #dc comics #Barry Allen #the flash #Iris west #WestAllen #cisco ramon #caitlin snow #Harrison wells #Eobard Thawne #reverse flash #eli speaks

[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.

#kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #michael kaiser #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #fake dating #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

[murpha]

Hi! I love your art and your characters are very interesting to me— I’m wondering what the plot of your main oc’s world is? I would love to hear, but it’s ok if you don’t feel like saying :]

Hello!! Thank you so much🥺💛💛

It's nothing too special but the general thing is that Beth goes missing and finds herself becoming a ghost with no memories of what happened. Cody is the only one who can see her due to the accident happened to him a year before the plot. He assumes she is dead and tries to help her to find out what happened and how she died. And they make a semi-new friend group in the process. Plot twist is that Beth isn't actually dead, but is replaced by some evil spirit or something idk this is the part I'm currently thinking about. I have a concept that could change this story in a way, but for now that's how it goes.

#ocs #my therapist said it's healhy to share stuff i have on my mind even if it's shitty so I'm trying

[datusaguy]

A wholesome Hetero ship gets significant screen time in a piece of media.

(Some of) the fandom:

“Omg, I LOVE this yuri/wlw ship. It’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me~! ^_^”

#feel free to headcannon whatever you want #tags #le epic #196 #shipping #shitpost #maws #my adventures with superman #fionna and cake #adventure time #Had this on my drafts forever #Pushed it out to get it off my mind #I feel like I’m missing something to say but idk what

[twinstxrs]

there’s probably something deeply wrong with me because every time i see someone react to the pok gukgak interrogation scene it’s like “oh no oh my god is riz’s dad a bad guy?” when the first time i saw that scene my only thought was “oh my god is riz’s dad HOT??”

#i mean admittedly my instinct was that he was lying about what he was saying & he was a good guy (which i was right about) but #it truly was like pok: i don’t give a shit about my wife & kid i only care about this job / me: pok gukgak save me… save me pok gukgak #fantasy high #dimension 20 #pok gukgak #riz gukgak #in my defense ​i really love spies so watching someone convincingly act indifferent about the most important part of their life… CRAZYYY #but i still feel like i’m setting back feminism so many years but also. he got acid splashed on his face & didn’t even flinch… that’s hot #guy who would literally go through hell & back bc it’s for the greater good but would also if he had to do it for the people he loves #but like. the greater good always came before the people he loves. that was the job. he loved them so much but he also missed so much #how much WAS he willing to sacrifice for the sake of the job? work is a great form of love but it can’t be the only form #especially for a young kid. but yea idk i have complicated feelings #pok gukgak u r so fascinating to me #pok sklonda riz ​& work as a form of love or whatever #truly would not work as a campaign & would be better as a book but young pok young kalina young sklonda… i need to know EVERYTHINGGG #the shameful thirst post -> character rumination journey of these tags is truly Something but also par for the course w/ my brain

[that-was-anticlimactic]

one of the worst feelings ever is wanting to write but your hands hurt too much or the words just don’t want to work so you just sit there staring at a half finished doc with tears in your eyes bc you want to write and you need to write but everything is telling you that you can’t

#and that you’re a terrible writer and that no one cares aaaaaaand imposter syndrome kicks in and you just feel like crap #bc all your friends have been wriying recejtky so why can’t you??? cause they’re bETTER THAN YOU #lol idk why my head is so bad today #the feelings of inferiority and emptiness and idk worthlessness are strong and i hate it but i can’t stop it #i just wanna write!!! and like what i write!!! #but i Can’t and i haven’t liked anything i’ve written in Months and ugh i hate not being able to d something i wanna do #oh and now i’m crying??? why the frick am i cRYING litetally why is typing this making me Worse #sorry guys needed to rant #the inadequacy was strong today #something something students keep telling me how much they dislike me or how i’m whiny for asking them to be respectful and like #i Know i shouldn’t compare myself to my friends but gosh it’s hard when they’re all like. so much better than me. #and i don’t have a lot of time to be on tumblr bc of work so i just feel like i’m watching everything from afar and it’s no one’s fault but #my brain’s like no one is Doing anything it’s just my brain being dumb and i can’t stand it and I want to stop feeling empty and like i’m #missing a part of myself and like the words i write don’t matter gOD why can’t i just feel happy with where i am and not care what the kids #who hate me say or realize that no one cares that i’m not on much like i’m still Here and trying to interact it’s not like everyone hates me #for being busy or for liking side characters more than the main characters and just— #sorry #that felt good actually #idk what came over me #imma just. imma shower. then maybe delete my tags #sorry if anyone got this far aT ALL grace is either asleep or trying to sleep so i don’t wanna bother them since they slept poorly last nigh #okay done now for real sorry delete tags later sorry if you saw this and how freaking messed up ky freaking brain is

[i-wanna-show-you-off]

just started watching disventure camp today (finally) and I’m already on ep 6. I have (out loud) made the “you a baby quit cussing” joke like. Every single episode at least once. I have SO MUCH to talk about..

more in tags..like spoilers and stuff..

#disventure camp #spoilers.. #i love love love lill. idk that much about her and it’s honestly kind of suspicious she’s not appreciated more like. #what did she do. did she do something malicious??? is that why I don’t ever see posts abt her?? #also I have mixed feelings on fiore. Bc on one hand I love evil characters BUT. She got my girls (lill and ashley) out. #I miss them so much. #how dare you fiore. whyd you do that to them #also love the dynamic between gabby and Ellie. love them separately as well. #ellie only voting with fiore bc it gets her further in the game. real. #gabby having trouble trusting people on BOTH TEAMS #bc her first team voted her off and her second team betrayed her #also. love drew he shouldve been there longer. grett whyd you do that to him.. #SPEAKING OF GRETT. she’s so complicated I have mixed feelings on her as well. Bc on one hand. #She’s very manipulative and is so so rude to gabby but on the other hand #It’s clear that she doesn’t get much attention prior to the show and she likely wants to win the million to finally impress her mother #also I’m not kidding when I say the bond between miriam and Jake in ep 5 made me cry. I was in SHOCK. how could u do this to me.. #Also found it really funny how in ep 5 all of them got devastating phone calls and Dan was just standing there like “:)” #There’s not a thought in that head. There’s not a brain behind those eyes.

[slythereen]

why is everyone acting like carlos giving lando DRS was some revolutionary and genius tactic previously never seen on this earth… don’t drivers play DRS games all the time??

#and I think I saw someone saying this is pretty common in other classes #like ……. #am i missing something #is this a product of being newer to the sport #it just seemed…kind of obvious……. #I’m pretty sure my commentator was even speculating about having to do something like that before he did it ? #from an objective pov pls I feel like I’m going crazy every time I see ‘GENIUS!!!’ #…..idk what to tag this tbh #it is in fact a genuine question #so you know. carlos fans. May be helpful #but it is probably a less than pro Carlos tone ahdjsjsjxb #fuck it we ball #carlos sainz #f1 #er #singapore gp 2023 #*delphi

[blupengu]

Y’all is Hollow Knight hard or do I just suck because oh my god??

#not gonna inflict my ramblings onto someone else’s post so just making a text post for myself #but oh my god #what the fuck? #maybe I’m not a hardcore metroidvania fan but I like them well enough #do I suck that badly at games now?? am I old to the point that my hands can’t do this shit???? #did I just somehow fuck myself at some point??? #because wow this feels kind of sadistic???? #and not even in the fun kind of way????? #like I think I’d rather submit myself to fear and hunger again rather than continue where I am now in hk #idk maybe I’m missing something #but I just got wall jump and was so happy until I fell down to where you can challenge those mantis dudes #got myself out of there but then as I was exploring northwest I keep dying and reviving from the fucking bouncy balls over water #and the normal mantis mobs are also kicking my ass? #and dont even get me started on the weird tentacley nuclear bomb mushroom things those are just bullshit #AND THEN AS I WAS HAVING A GOOD TIME EXPLORING HEADING TOWARDS A SAVE BENCH I GET DROPPED INTO DEEPNEST?????? #WHAT KIND OF JUMPSCARE BULLSHIT?????????? #AND THE FUCKING COCKROACHES THAT NEVER SEEM TO STOP SPAWNING KILL ME #and then I see how fucking far back I’ve been dropped in the corner of fungal wastes #and I try jumping through the fucking bouncy balls again #and I die and lose my money #I can’t fucking do this shit anymore y’all holy fucking shit #the number of times I’ve died and restarted from that fucking fungal wastes bench I am so sick of it 💀 #legit I think this is the first time I’ve rage quit a game #it’s been a while since a game’s actually made me this angry I want to fucking throw something 😂 #the willpower and self control I needed to not chuck my pro controller across the room… #if I didn’t have neighbors and a unit below me I’d be throwing shit for sure though #but instead I must smack pillows against my mattress in a rage 😂 #I think I hate the ‘go back to where you died to get back your money’ punishment system… like legit I actually really really hate it. #I do think the game is fun and I know I’ll probably quickly gain the money… but it feels like the game’s telling me I fucking suck lmao #suffice to say I will not be playing any more hollow knight for the foreseeable future 💀

[honorthysalad]

can’t believe they didn’t have Yoshiki connect his experience with being possessed to that one guy who broke into the school grounds and killed himself.

#I also doubt he’s going to connect it for the old man he also just watched die #Idk I just feel like we missed a window of opportunity #Because it’d seem insincere for him to only make the connection now right? Like it feels like a lot of time has passed even #if it’s only been 2 days. It’s going to be coming a whole volume later. The audiences sense of time is skewed #And like the diner scene is so tonally jarring? The slapstick faces and casual air to everything #And I guess it’s supposed to be scary but it literally made me laugh so hard seeing the ghost under the table #And the ghost going ‘YOOOOOO’ also sent me #“I won’t treat death lightly anymore” #“Huh? Someone died? When did that happen? Anyway I have to study for my math test” #I’m not saying I want Yoshiki to be crippled emotionally every time something bad happens #But just like acknowledging the tragedy of an innocent person being forced to do something like that and offering empathy? #Because Yoshiki could’ve suffered the exact same fate. He only didn’t because he aligned himself with ‘Hikaru’ #the summer hikaru died #hikaru ga shinda natsu #hgsn #hgsn spoilers #idk you’re free to disagree with this. Emotional scenes are just what I like and ‘spooky scary ghosts’ aren’t #So obviously I’d prefer an emotional scene over yet another ghost trying to tickle Yoshiki #My hgsn shit

[rosicheeks]

i do not know if i ever sent this to you. i have posted it. i hope you like it Princess.

#uhhhhhm no you HAVE NOT SENT THIS TO ME BEFORE?!?! #I literally am speechless #I’m not super talky right now #but even if I was I feel like I’d still be fucking speechless #like I already said I love your writing 🩷 #and it fucking BLOWS ME AWAY when people write about me or use me as an inspiration #like????????? what??????? me???????????! #I’m going to keep this close to my heart and look at it whenever I’m feeling down #I don’t remember if I said that already but it’s true #I need to get a journal or a cute box to put things like this in so I can just grab it and look through them when I’m feeling shitty #one thing I needed to say is the fact that you shared this with me now of all times??? is kinda crazy to me #idk if it’s a coincidence or if the universe/God/whoever/whatever is trying to tell me to go back into music and singing #not going to go into it too much but I’ve been looking at my life a lot lately #and I’m realizing I’m not getting any younger…. I know I’m still young but if I don’t do something soon - #my life is going to completely pass before my eyes and I really really don’t want that #I’m *finally* going to get mental help soon (long story but I have to wait a few weeks) #and once I’m actually mentally stable I can focus on what I want to do with my life #so I’ve been thinking a lot about my performing arts background and then randomly a get an email from a choir director I know #asking if I could please join the choir for their Easter performance cause they could really use my high notes #and she just kept complimenting me and it felt really nice ☺️ #then when I went to the first rehearsal I sat next to this girl and we were singing a part and the first sopranos go up to a high A #and I can hit it easily but most of them couldn’t so it felt like I was going this mini solo lol #but she asks me what my range is and I told her that back when I trained I could sing queen of the night which I think goes up to an F6 #and she was talking about how impressive that is #and it made me think about if I actually trained and got back into it how good I actually could get #I don’t mean this to be like ‘look at me look at me I’m so good’ #it just feels nice to have a little bit of a direction again #who knows if I’ll actually go down the music path again but it does sound damn exciting #I miss it with all my heart - I miss singing and performing and acting… I even miss music theory #anyway rant over and i ran out of space but thank you so much I seriously can’t thank you enough 😭🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

[binders-and-beanies]

Not to make it deep bc I do love having my own music taste but like. Listening to music that most people don’t like means you have to listen to music you don’t like during sexual/romantic moments, while you’re on adventures, while you work and study, any time you’re in public. Your happiest times are narrated by something that doesn’t feel like it’s for you and your most stressful times are almost mocked by the background music lol. Like not to be a bitch about it bc we all have to experience things that aren’t our favorite but I wish the world made it easier for me to like feel included in my own life. I wouldn’t mind other types of music at all if it weren’t an automatic expectation that I’ll like it and never want to show anyone what *i* consider to be A Vibe

#Idk how to describe the feeling I’m thinking abt lol #it’s like everyone decides for you what’s relaxing to you and whats fun and what vibe matches what you’re doing #and god forbid something entirely different sparks joy for you lol #that isn’t accommodated in the way that you’re expected to compromise 24/7 #this post was prompted by a post that said ‘let’s cuddle and listen to metal’ bc I was like me and who #thats the one thing I miss abt my most toxic ex is I got to listen to music I liked during the most intimate/spiritual experiences #(gay sex) #and like i have close friends who don’t know the most basic things abt me!! #and I talk about wanting to show them and it’s like they don’t hear me #I’m scared to like try harder bc I feel like they’ll just make fun of me lol #but GOD FORBID they ask me if I like h*rry st*les and I say no. then I’m a hater #and like in other cases I feel like people do support my interests and it feels so refreshing but #I still feel like I have to be annoying about it lol #im not even rly saying I want my music playing more with people who don’t want it bc that’s uncomfy #it’s just weird how people don’t even realize their music is the default and not everyone hears their own shit everywhere they go #mine #txt #music

[callixton]

idr if i already posted abt this but i have been in a little phase of feeling sad abt being aro bc i’ll be reading things abt happy couples and go oh that sounds nice :’) but i am literally currently in a stable and good relationship and i fucking hate it so like. no it doesn’t ur deluding yourself :(

#i just don’t feel that ! and i’m bad in a romantic relationship ! it feels Wrong #but i still read like. idk fanfic and go oh man i wish i had that and its like no you don’t you wish you had something else that felt the #- same way. you wish you felt that not that you had it #idk. i don’t really feel like i’m missing out i love being aro but also i think it’s so much harder to communicate your desires & have them #- taken seriously. for so many people i think the idea of holding a romantic relationship is seen as a maturity thing #& so i feel like i will always be seen as less than in one way or another #even tho i have friends who love me deeply and i feel so lucky for that #but like. i hope that they don’t let me go once they find a partner. bc i get that’s wonderful but. in many ways they’re mine #this is SO all over the place i’m not even sure what i’m trying to say in the tags tbh #i’ve just been feeling a bit bad abt it but also sure of myself #ted talks