#AND THERE'S NO LIMIT TO HOW MUCH THEY LOVE EACH OTHER

[fuckyeahfightlock]

I'm going to get guff for being too mired in a gender binary, but I do want to share something I was told decades ago (like early '90s) that has resonated with me ever since:

Male fandom is acquisitive. Female fandom is creative.

Male fans value completing a collection, owning every pressing of a vinyl record--the 7" single, the 12" single, the limited edition blue vinyl, the album containing the single, the live album where the single is played--or every comic in a series (books 1 - 99, the 9 anthologies, a copy of Issue 53 with the misprint on the cover), their favourite movie in every format (DVD, blu-ray, laser disc, digital, the American VHS, the Japanese VHS, the European DVD). They buy the licensed figures, the signed and numbered animation cels, the official posters, the special boxed set, the Platinum Edition Compendium, the companion collector's guide. They want to complete the set, and the quicker they can do that (quicker than the next guy), the "better" fan they are. They want to have it all and put it in cellophane and be surrounded by it because when they like a thing, they want to own it.

Female fans write fanfiction to put those guys in situations, to fix the things the writers of their show did wrong, to put their own original characters into the novel's world, to see those guys doing dirty stuff to each other. They make paintings and drawings and art books and comics because the actors are beautiful and the characters beloved. They roleplay, send each other headcanons (and elaborate on them, and send them to someone else they know will absolutely know that yes, that's exactly right! that's our guy!), make costumes, make dolls, make quilts of the logo, cross-stitch quotes from the script, and knit the sweater their guy wore in episode 4. They want to make a brand new, but familiar thing and share it. They want to give their work as gifts to each other. They want to praise each other's creativity and thank each other for loving the thing so much. When they like a thing, they want to expand it, share it, pass it on.

The Powers That Be are not exclusively male, but of course they are largely male, and in the interest of acquisition (of money), they drop a wholeass thing--the trilogy of books; the 10-episode "season;" the album, concert film, sticker collection, and range of new t-shirt designs--all at once. Because they understand consumers as people who want to have it all, right away, A - Z, because that is how their own fannishness expresses itself.

I don't know. Feels like a partial explanation to me.

this this this

[featherwurm]

Thinkin' about Karlach's parents, Pluck and Carelach - and how much they loved their little mite (here about three or four.)

Some head-canons:

I think of Karlach's parents as both being tieflings.

Pluck and Caerlach adored each other as much as they loved Karlach, which is saying a lot.

Pluck's hair is sunbleached from his travel as a porter.

Caerlach keeps her claws filed to not snag on cloth at her job as a laundress.

Karlach had more red in her hair as a child, and takes a bit more after her mother, appearance-wise (she still has horrendously sharp little baby claws here).

Pluck and Caerlach changed the spelling on Karlach's name to make it seem more 'Bauldurian' and to try to eliminate some of the difficulties Caerlach had with people saying her name wrong.

Pluck and Caerlach lived in the Tumbledown area outside of Baulder's gate until just briefly after Karlach was born, when they were able to save up enough to rent a tiny place in the Brampton district near Cliffgate. (Pluck and Caerlach took on the last name of Cliffgate when moving to the city, having had both painful relationships with their own families, more below, under the cut.)

Unlike Tav’s huge, predominantly tiefling family, both Pluck and Caerlach had human parents and come from backgrounds much harder on their tiefling nature. These sorts of stories are familiar to a variety of tieflings throughout Faerûn – even if Karlach and Tav have escaped that narrative themselves through their own family’s love.

Pluck was abandoned by his family as a child, somewhere between about five and seven when it seemed nothing would ‘beat the devil out of him.’ At that time his family simply left him in Scornubel (where they were passing through), continuing on without him, no further word or explanation given. This was probably for the best in it’s own terrible way, as any much longer with his biological family and he likely would have suffered worse and possibly lethal abuse. He ended up running with a little gang of street kids who looked after each other with almost nothing to their names, taking up whatever labor they could find to earn enough to eat. Scornubel is a constantly shifting city, and fortunately the kids managed to survive there through whatever means they could. The group changed over time, with members coming and going as their fortunes changed, but they looked out for each other. Pluck was old enough when he was left to never really shake the feeling of being unwanted, but he learned to be strong, shrewd, and clever for those around him.

Caerlach was raised by her mother alone, her father having left the family at her birth, believing Carelach to not be his own child owing to her 'devilish' features (although she was, and it is from his line of the family they derive, though he could not have known this). Her mother was distant to her, poor from lack of familial support because of her daughter (she was disowned by her family for the same reasons her former husband did), moving frequently to try to improve her station, and when Carelach expressed that she was ready to make her own way in the world as a teen, eager to see her out the door. While she did not suffer as much as Pluck growing up, that was a low bar to clear, and she knew herself to be a problem that made her mother’s life difficult (though she would come to accept it as no fault of her own.) They had a strained relationship of limited contact after Caerlach left, and Karlach never met her grandmother.

Pluck and Caerlach met in Scornubel as teenagers working odd jobs and immediately hit it off. It was a bit of a whirlwind romance, but everyone that knew them would have described it as idyllic. They never stopped ‘courting’ each other, never failing to jump at the opportunity to make their affections known in whatever way they could with their limited means. They were married just at the start of their twenties, and were going to stay where they were, but Carelach’s pregnancy came as something of an… accidental surprise. It didn’t take the two of them any time at all to decide to go through with the pregnancy and keep the child – while young, they were still eager to start a family, and to try to give the best start to it they could, they left for Baulder’s Gate, to give their kid everything they possibly could. They were good people, and even though they made it to their 40s, their lives were tragically short.

They poured all of the love they were denied into their very much beloved daughter Karlach. They may have been poor, but they kept a roof over their heads and food on the table, even when it was a narrow scrape and there was nothing else to be had. Karlach never wanted for a feeling of safety or affection, and while sometimes work meant her parents had much to do, they gave her all the attention they possibly could. She was their pride and joy, and she misses them sorely.

[officialytwisted]

So, I dunno if I'm doin' right, but I would like to make a request, or two(my first request ever, so sorry if I'm doing it wrong)

So, I was thinking in the OV boys(or any other, you can choose, I'm just looking forward to Leona) with an s/o who has like super curly hair(Finishing your hair or just interacting). And the other is an s/o who curses a lot and since the language used in Twisted wonderland don't have enough or strong enough curse words, s/o mostly curses in their native language(I'm writing this with America latina in mind(I know this looks a bit cringe, srr)).

So that's it. You can ignore this if you want, I'm writing this in the middle of the night and I have a school project for tomorrow, so I'm a bit nervous, so sorry🥹🥹

Twisted Wonderland – OV Boys with an S/O Who Has Super Curly Hair

reference sheet on CURLY hair, is made by a talented artist this is their Twitter: @eafrns

[Malleus Draconia/Idia Shroud/Vil Schoenheit/Leona Kingscholar/Riddle Rosehearts/Jamil Viper/azul ashengrotto]

I absolutely loved writing this thank you so much for your request!!

꧁ᬊᬁ·̩͙།† ͝ ︶ ͝ ⏝ ͝ ︶ ͝ †། ·̩͙·̩͙།† ͝ ︶ ͝ ⏝ ͝ ︶ ͝ †། ᬊ᭄꧂

(You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, a wide-toothed comb in one hand, detangler in the other. Your curls are doing their usual chaos, and you’re mid-way through your routine when—)

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle tries not to say anything the first time he walks in and sees the explosion of curls you’re halfway through wrangling. His eyes widen, lips pressed together, and you can practically see him biting back a comment about “personal grooming time limits.”

But when you pull out the jar of curl cream and start sectioning your hair, his curiosity wins over.

He’s never seen anyone take so much time for something so intricate, so personal—and the ritual of it fascinates him. You, with your determined little routine, gently coaxing each curl to behave, like a gardener pruning roses. And you’re so focused, tongue poking out, brows furrowed.

Eventually, he starts reading aloud while you work—classic literature, magical theory, occasionally something scandalously romantic just to see the way your cheeks flush.

> “You seem more confident when your curls are done,” he says, closing the book one evening. “It’s...nice. I like seeing you proud of how you look.”

꧁ᬊᬁ. ݁₊✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧ . ݁₊ 𝄞 ⊹☾. ݁˖ . ݁ ࿐. ݁₊✩₊˚. ⁺₊ᬊ᭄꧂

Leona Kingscholar:

You didn’t expect him to care. Not really. He’s the nap king, the embodiment of “not my problem.” So the first time he paused at your doorframe, eyes scanning the jungle of curls you were detangling, and muttered, “That looks like a pain in the ass,” you nearly laughed. But he didn’t leave.

He stood there, arms crossed, head tilted like a lion observing something just on the edge of his interest—until your comb hit a tough knot and you winced. His ears flicked.

“Oi, give me that.”

And you were like, excuse me?

He grumbled the whole time, “Damn, how do you even see through all this?” but his fingers were surprisingly gentle. He’d pick through your curls like they were treasure hidden in grass, always mindful of the way you leaned into his touch. Sometimes he’d just thread his fingers through them, scratching your scalp absently as you lay across his lap.

He won’t say it out loud, but there’s something grounding about your curls. Wild. Honest. You don’t tame them, just guide them, and maybe that’s why he likes them. Likes you. You don’t try to change what’s natural—you just know how to live with it.

He falls asleep with a few strands twined in his fingers.

He calls your hair a “mane” every chance he gets. But if anyone else says a word about it, he’ll have them face down in the sand.

> “Don’t straighten it,” he’ll mutter once, half-asleep, voice gravel-low. “It suits you. Just like this.”

꧁ᬊᬁ. ݁₊✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧ . ݁₊ 𝄞 ⊹☾. ݁˖ . ݁ ࿐. ݁₊✩₊˚. ⁺₊ᬊ᭄꧂

azul ashengrotto:

azul doesn’t mean to stare. he really doesn’t. but your curls catch the light when you move, and there’s something hypnotic about the way your fingers move through them—methodical, practiced, patient. it’s like watching a ritual.

“doesn’t that take a long time?” he asks, like it’s just casual curiosity. but the way his eyes follow every curl you twirl around your finger says otherwise.

when you nod, he hums thoughtfully. “you must have incredible discipline… it’s impressive.”

and he means it. azul’s drawn to effort, to control. and this—your careful tending of something so wild—feels like both.

later, when you catch him eyeing your hair again, he clears his throat and glances away.

“…if I were to assist,” he says, too formal, too fast, “hypothetically, of course—would I need gloves?”

(because gods forbid he ruin the pattern with clumsy hands… but he'd try, if it's for you.)

꧁ᬊᬁ. ݁₊✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧ . ݁₊ 𝄞 ⊹☾. ݁˖ . ݁ ࿐. ݁₊✩₊˚. ⁺₊ᬊ᭄꧂

Jamil Viper:

He gets it. He gets it on a deep, spiritual level.

You don’t even have to explain the struggle—he just hands you one of his silk scarves without a word and says, “Trust me, it’ll help overnight.” You trade tips. He asks about your products. You tease him for using your leave-in conditioner because, “Jamil, you have your own!”

> “Yours smells nicer,” he shrugs.

On the rare nights you’re both free, you’ll sit across from each other in comfortable silence, taking care of your hair side by side. There’s something soft and sacred about it. He knows how much effort it takes to keep it healthy, how much pride lives in it.

Sometimes he’ll braid a few strands. Sometimes he’ll just watch you, warm-eyed, like he’s memorizing the way your curls spiral.

> “You look strongest like this,” he says once, voice low. “Like fire that can’t be put out.”

꧁ᬊᬁ. ݁₊✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧ . ݁₊ 𝄞 ⊹☾. ݁˖ . ݁ ࿐. ݁₊✩₊˚. ⁺₊ᬊ᭄꧂

Vil Schoenheit:

The first time he sees your curls post-wash day, he stops in his tracks. Actually freezes.

“You look... divine.”

You thought he’d offer a thousand critiques, but no—he’s enchanted. Intrigued. Challenged. Vil is the only one who sees your curls and immediately wants to learn your entire regimen, not to change it—just to understand.

> “You treat your hair with such care. It’s an art form.”

He insists on weekly hair care nights—facemasks, oils, scalp massages. The works. He’ll run his fingers through your curls with the focus of a sculptor, twisting coils around his fingers, admiring how the light catches them.

> “Your texture is exquisite,” he murmurs. “Untamed beauty. That’s what real elegance is.”

꧁ᬊᬁ. ݁₊✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧ . ݁₊ 𝄞 ⊹☾. ݁˖ . ݁ ࿐. ݁₊✩₊˚. ⁺₊ᬊ᭄꧂

Idia Shroud:

Idia is terrified of messing up your hair. One wrong move and it’s game over, right? The pressure is real.

So for a while, he just… watches. From a respectful distance. Through your tablet. (He swears he’s not being creepy. Just curious.)

But one day, he blurts, “Can I try to draw your curls? I mean—the shapes they make. Like little fractal loops. It’s kinda... cool.”

You let him.

He ends up fascinated. He starts noticing the way your hair shifts with your mood, how certain curls bounce when you laugh. He starts talking to them like they’re sentient.

> “Okay, Curl Boss 3000, let me know if your army is planning a rebellion today…”

Eventually, he gets brave enough to touch them. Just for a moment. His fingers tangle a little, and he panics, but you guide him.

> “Whoa. They’re soft… I thought they’d be, like, crunchy.”

Your laugh becomes his new favorite sound.

꧁ᬊᬁ. ݁₊✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧ . ݁₊ 𝄞 ⊹☾. ݁˖ . ݁ ࿐. ݁₊✩₊˚. ⁺₊ᬊ᭄꧂

Malleus Draconia:

When you first explain your curly hair routine, Malleus listens like he’s being told a sacred ritual. His eyes are wide, his voice reverent.

> “Such complexity… and yet you perform it each time with dedication. It’s beautiful.”

He offers to hold your detangler bottle with such royal seriousness that it almost makes you laugh.

He watches you every time—fascinated by the transformation. He traces a finger around your curls, careful not to pull, simply marveling at how they spring back into place.

> “They remind me of ancient runes,” he says one night. “Powerful. Intricate. Ever-shifting.”

He once tried to conjure magical wind to help dry your hair faster, but you shrieked and yelled, “NO FRIZZ!”

He never made that mistake again.

But he did, however, learn how to enchant your bonnet to always stay in place while you sleep. And he kisses your forehead every night with your curls tucked safely around your face.

> “You carry a crown greater than mine,” he says softly. “And it’s all yours.”

꧁ᬊᬁ. ݁₊✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧ . ݁₊ 𝄞 ⊹☾. ݁˖ . ݁ ࿐. ݁₊✩₊˚. ⁺₊ᬊ᭄꧂

check out my masterlist for more Twisted wonderland Masterlist

[why-do-you-need-2-know]

More thunderbolts head-cannons

Bob doesn't like needles because they remind him of his past

Walker bonded with Bob by training, as Bob liked the challenge of fighting him without power. Walker is happy to have a fighting partner again

Alexei and Ava love boy bands

Walker is terrified of bugs and will scream if he sees one

Ava loves people watching

The team has shared playlists

The team is banned from many places, such as but not limited to: Dave and Busters, Chuck E Cheese, any place with racecars, multiple bars, especially if they have trivia nights, and most family buffet restaurants

Bob is online friends with Steven Grant, who first met by recommending books to each other

Bucky has a specific way of making his coffee

Yelena has a special way, too, but by the time she's done with hers, it barely counts as coffee with how much sugar and creamer she puts

The fridge is always full as everyone there has a fast metabolism and they ALL get hangry of they do not get there food

John can't spell for sht while Ava and Alexei hand writing is horrible

John has every Captain America merch ( including ones of Sam's) and when asked about it he'll say it for his kid

The team jokily have Alexei and Bucky one of those old people emergency phones for Father's Day

Yelena loves kids' cartoons, especially Steven universe

The tower is never silent and will usually have soft music playing in the background cause silence scares the team

Yelena loves Crocs and have mave multiple jibitz, including each one of the team

The public calls Bob "thunderbolt's puppy" which Bob hates but the rest of the team find this hilarious

Sometimes Bob would just go to mission just to feel apart of team

Bob does not have a driver license or even a permit

Walker loves camping and would try to make the whole team go with him.

The thunderbolts have every social page (thanks to Alexei) and I mean every social page, no matter how niche they are. (Ava runs the tumblr account)

Valentina tried getting the team a PR team but every one of them quit.

John had to make multiple apology videos (I imagine it being like Logan Pauls)

The tower has a wall of love ones of every team member as way of remembering what they are fighting for (there is a photo of the team, Sam Wilson, Ava's dad, Natasha, Steve Rogers, Lamar and more)

Bucky also had to publicly apologize for killing JFK and insisted that he did NOT kill Princess Diana.

John Walker's parents were really strict, which is why he always follow orders.

4/4

[voidcat]

— for you’re the sun that burns me one at a time

characters; Michael kaiser x gn!reader.

wc: 2.3k (drabble my ass, someone end my misery)

notes: reader is described to be wearing a skirt. another one of my “not quite friends but not as hostile with each other- something in between” stuf for this pain in the ass man. reader is implied to be working at the same club Kaiser plays for. Mentions of alcohol. Don’t drink on an empty stomach kids. Tysm to Nini and Mira for giving this a read<3

alternatively; in which there are signs of you that Michael Kaiser notices, and those that you return. (to know someone is to love them, or so they say.)

With a sudden weight pressing to his side, Kaiser finds himself brought back to earth, eyes wandering his current predicament.

The pub is nice, one of the classics, or so you've claimed when suggesting the place. "A night out! Come now, what's the worst that can happen? Socializing a little won't kill you." and while it does hold true that socializing won't kill him, it might certainly test his limits given how annoying his ...colleagues can be, especially when exposed to such things as alcohol.

So far though it's been easy on his patience, the fruit flies keeping to themselves and majority of those attending trying to be on their best behavior— including him. No thanks to you pinching his forearm under the table or hitting the tips of his shoes with your heavy boots, knowingly aiming for his toes every single time.

Rustic and shady, no blinding lights, no ringing or chemical like smell— it is an old establishment, the staff scattered around all keeping to themselves but keeping an eye on in case they're needed, a gentle volume of music reaching his ears; mostly just rock from 90s and before, not too loud or obnoxious. A choice Kaiser isn't sure if made by you with him or with yourself in mind. And if he looks a little carefully, he could see the fully functional jukebox by the corner there, but perhaps it is waiting for another night.

The evening is going ...uneventful thus far. As much as it can be.

Leaning against his arm, you are swaying slightly to the rhythm, mostly just your head but with your shoulders from time to time too.

Your arm brushes against his and Kaiser watches as you reach for the cocktail fork, stabbing a small fry and popping it into your mouth. His eyes follows as you chew and keep swaying by yourself, licking your lips by reflex at this point-- You prefer the smaller fries, saying they're crispier and you always sprinkle too much salt to your fries and look for a cold drink to wash down the excess of the mineral.

The song switches to something more slow paced, and your movements with it. Reaching out for your bottle, you shiver as your cardigan falls off your arm, skin meeting with the cool air of the pub.

He allows himself a moment longer for his eyes to roam your body then.

Since the opportunity has risen so nicely and it doesn't seem like you really care.

You're wearing that blue cardigan with cloud patterns on it again, that's a bit too big on you, which you always call a styling choice. Underneath it a tank top with thin straps and a short skirt-- a suggestion of his, in fact. One he didn't think you'd follow through.

Because when it comes to Michael Kaiser's selfish will, you never do. Not unless you've lost a bet of sorts, or it just happens to align with something bigger- be it making appearances and whatnot.

He cannot deny that he likes the look you've got tonight, open and tender, in a blue his shade, however the attention you've been drawing has been aggravating. Compliment after compliment, as much as it is a boasting thing to have something such attracting by his arm, it gets on his nerves after a while, seeing how they eye you, look at you, must think of you and of all the parts of you they cannot see in the daylight.

The thought alone gives him a headache when he furrows his brows too long, hand shooting up to massage his temple.

You pick this as the perfect time to recall you haven't been alone at this booth for the past hour. Turning to him as your hand lifts the basket slightly, "Oh, sorry! Did ya want some?"

Your words sound a little slurred. Not surprising considering the speed at which you've downed that glühwein maybe. On empty stomach too-- another thing uncharacteristic of you. The beers to follow after normally wouldn't get to you this quick, but with how little you've had, only after arriving after the pub, it is no surprise you're like this already.

Michael knows these because he knows you, as much as you try and deny the fact.

When he looks back at you, hand frozen midair, you stare back at him with big eyes, the dim lights of the pub reflecting like twin stars. You're sitting close to him— too close in fact, that at any moment or minute he thinks you'll collapse on top of him.

"Hellooo?" you wave a hand then, "anybody home?"

You have stopped saying his name, is another thing Kaiser has been noticing lately. Not that you ever called him 'Michael' save for the spite in your voice you would reserve only for him when you needed to address him in full, but he no longer hears his surname barked through your lips either.

There is unspoken intimacy in the way you call out to him without needing a name. Not anywhere near to be speaking his name, no, you haven't swollen down your pride to that extent just yet. Yet the creeping feeling that comes with using a name he only carries extended by blood and nothing else that leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

A part of him wonders how much longer it'll take for you to ease up and say 'Michael' not without malice but with something you save for so few, not many people have heard that sweet tune of your voice just yet. And how much after it, before it shortens, becomes a verbal proof of close proximity and the claim you have on each other. For you to drop that fear and accept your fate as it is, how long do you plan to let this drag on longer?

He can smell the aroma of citrus and wine in your breath still, lips flushed with all the blood rushing there. You're standing dangerously close to him, he thinks you are yet to realize. Few more centimeters and the only comfortable position would be to stand chest to chest. The thought makes his mouth dry and he turns his head away, grumbling a "I'm fine." Just the thought alone enough to send the hairs stand on end.

This sentiment feels new to Kaiser— odd and strange, gripping at his throat, breaking through a window to reach.

The why stands on his tongue. He has never felt any sort of negativity when up and around in your personal space; much delighted to see you squirm and uncomfortable under his unwavering presence in fact.

His eyes trail over your limbs again, how your arm reaches you and returns, the bottle by your lips, liquid swallowed down as your throat bobs, with a sigh you detach from the bottle— a stupid, lean smile on your face, "Ah–" you place the bottle and lean back towards him again, feet still tapping to the melody.

It doesn't take long to come up with a hypothesis. It is the ease, isn't it? The lack of resistance on your part, no snap back, no sneer— he should be satisfied with your compliance but it only confuses him further much to his dismay.

Leaning further to his side with your weight, you still do a mini dance of sorts to the song, seeming completely in your world at this point.

Still, despite the weirdness that comes with something unfamiliar, he finds it fine for the most part.

Eyes lingering on you again, taking in your sight almost tucked bu his side, he shouldn't be this surprised at the amount of comments you have been getting all night long. Such a contrast to how you'd usually style this particular cardigan, he notices something else off with your outfit too, not quite putting a finger just yet.

A little shuffling by his side and you reach for your bottle once more, taking a sip and placing it on your lap, too comfortable in your makeshift head rest that is Kaiser's arm.

He watches as your empty hand fiddles with the bottle's tag and the lack of jewelry occurs to him. The vacant table however, stands out to someone else.

One of the employees make way to the table and nod at you in greeting. They get to picking up the empty dish and bottles, cleaning up the table without a word.

Kaiser can see why you seem fond of this place now.

As the table is cleared, they raise their head with a typical "Anything else?" then stare for a second. "Ah, no sun today?" they ask with a chuckle. So you do frequent as well, he notes.

Straightening up from your position, you just give them a smile with a shake of your head, "Didn't need one on me today."

Seeing to the table and for your orders one final time, they depart and you rest your elbow on the table, fiddling with an unopened bottle.

As the clock ticks, the songs begin to pick up on a quicker rhythm, the lights readjusted. From the heaters nearby and the windows reflecting the outside, more colors begin to fall and dance over your skin.

You catch Kaiser in the midst of staring, "Somethin' the matter?" you ask with a tilt of your head.

Despite being able to function just fine, he can tell there is a decent amount of alcohol in your system that you might not even remember half of tonight in full detail. So he decides, why not, and presses on.

"What was that about?"

At his question, your hand shoots up to where a necklace should be, grasping at the air and returning to be a rest for your cheek again.

Closing your eyes, you let your head drop to the side with a smile: "Hmm... I had this necklace, round, that I would wear with this." you say as you try and gesture at your cardigan with your chin.

Without a word, Kaiser raises a brow, waiting for you to elaborate.

"Because I am the sky!" you say in a sudden, chirping up from your place and raising both hands open. With the way you talk, you almost sound like a child— giddy, uncaring and prone to distraction.

"Aaaaad—" you drag the word, "I've got my sun right with me!" you end your sentence, as you grab his arm and pull yourself to him.

It takes Kaiser a decent ten seconds to register your words.

From somewhere across, he swears he heard a chuckle and can spot the same employee turning away just as he spots them, a hand seeming to cover their mouth.

Rigid and frozen under your touch, he finds it impossible to breathe, let alone move.

Were you to read his mind, you would probably roll your eyes and say in an annoyed voice "well, what a wonderful think we do it by reflex that the world will spin to see another day with Michael Kaiser in it kicking and alive."

And maybe you did, the memory feels too clear, your voice so real.

Something warm and growing heavier by the second on his arm pulls him out of his thoughts and he looks down to see you in a similar shape as earlier tonight.

With a sigh, he carefully removes his arm from your hold— though you don't let go at first, and lets you lean into him completely, wrapping the arm around your form.

As predicted, you don't remember much the next day, so Kaiser takes it upon himself to remind you.

You manage to evade him successfully for the most of the day but as everyone disappears into somewhere for around lunch time, he corners you by the hall.

Forearm leaning against the wall above your hand on one side, and your other side partially closed off by the planning of the building itself, you don't exactly have a way out-- unless you want to duck and flee under him on a whim, but that might require a little show down of who has the faster reflexes.

When you turn your head to look anywhere but into his eyes, Kaiser leans in a little closer, his breath fawning over you.

"Something the matter, little mouse?” He says over you with a fake concern lacing his voice, “I don’t recall you minding your personal space being invaded last time.”

His words work like magic, you snap immediately, eyes meeting his with that fire he likes to see so much.

“What the fuck are you on about? Did you hit your head, again? Is this some sort of munchausen syndrome developed at later ages?”

Turning a deaf ear to your insults, he lets out a chuckle at your feeble attempts to scare him off.

Like cornered animals taking a step in and fluffing up their fur in an attempt to look bigger with each hiss, you cock your head higher and closer to him with each word— not realizing just how close you have gotten just yet.

Seeing you furrow your brows at his reaction only deepens his chuckle.

When he stops, he doesn't allow you a moments breath— leaning towards you, nose brushing yours, he looks at you through lidded eyes with the sneer of a man who knows more than he lets on.

“Now, now…” he tuts, “That’s no way to speak with your sun, is it?” He coaxes with a hum and watches in delight how confusion takes over your features as you try and make sense of his words.

You must have an idea of sorts, from the lack of immediate snap he can tell, and before you can mumble out anything else, he witnesses dread washing over and blood rushing to your face, as you turn your head to avoid his gaze, only to end up his breath tickling your neck.

Seeing you as you are now, Kaiser thinks he has you exactly where he wants, with no intention of letting you away.

[whumpbby]

No no, this is exactly what I was trying to formulate with this post:D

Like, if you think about it, LWJ didn't subvert shit - Wei Wuxian DOES end up being his Madame Lan when in CR. Secluded, separated from others, limited to interacting with her husband and child.... 😶

I think that what disheartens me the most about the endgame wangxian is how much is WWX sacrificing himself to fit with LWJ. Against the "he's the only one who understands me!" and all the indulgence LWJ treats him with, they both sort of seem to be playing parts with each other. WWX of a damsell in distress that big strong Huanguang-Jun must save and care for, and LWJ of a Knight Saviour who will sacrifice everything for his love... And it's just not them. LWJ will not leave his sect for Wei Ying, as much as he plays at doing what his heart tells him, he doesn't want to leave. He's rather keep WWX in a cold, lonely place where he has no friends except for a pair of kids, and no one to be himself with... And he'll believe that their love makes up for it. It's his home, or course WWX will learn to love it - any previous "homes" he might have had were of course terrible, right? No one ver loved Wei Ying before LWJ!

And WWX will pretend that he's happy with that state of things, because they love each other right?! That should be enough!

And they will never fucking talk about it, because that's emotions and a chance of disappointing the other side, and neither of them matured beyond teenage years in that respect - so it will just slowly keep building...

And then - and then WWX will find a Cause to champion and, well, that's where the issues will start for Huanguang-Jun xD

I'd really love to read a fic where a year past the canon ends, Lan Zhan starts to realise that his dreamed-up perfect relationship with Wei Ying isn't what he imagined it to be.

That what he got is actually a wholeass person with imperfections that will get annoying after a while, with opinions that he doesn't agree with and behaviours he's not prepared to just accept. A human person that will lie to keep him happy, that will leave when any possibility of strife approaches, that sometimes doesn't want to have sex - or that sex isn't a cure-all for their problems. That whatever Jiang Cheng experienced growing up with Wei Wuxian will fall on Wangji too, because love doesn't change you as a person in 100%, sorry.

Because that's what think will be a hurdle for him - he never was in a relationship. He never even had real human friends. Fuck, he doesn't seem to have acquaintances. All he ever had was a made-up image of a boy he knew shortly in his late teens and a sect where he was the lauded Young Master everyone respected. He can't stoically stand a kid talking back to him without a silencing spell and has difficulty expressing the most basic things in useful words. For all the soulmate talk, he didn't even know the boy he dreamed building a life with - that Wei Wuxian never existed outside of Wangji's limited glimpses of him and a lot of forgiving assumption.

Like, when will it hit him that Wei Ying is actually a complex human being that isn't just for him to care about and love, and that he himself isn't happy with some things? Will he one night wake up in cold sweat when he finally understands that the man sleeping next to him orchestrated a horiffic surgery on himself and his brother, and never indicated that he regrets it and wouldn't do it again? That the man sleeping next to him kinda-sorta just looked on as people were murdered in front of him, and didn't really have any strong opinion about being brought back via human sacrifice?

Like, discarding stiff and stifling Lan rules after being burned by them is one thing, but this is a moral quandary that goes way beyond that.

[too-damn-good-for-growing-old]

can I ask your thoughts on jpc Darry and dan soda in act 2 (or tbh just act 2 thoughts in general)????

Hello!!! I’d be HAPPY to!

I gave some of my thoughts in my earlier post but let me expand a little more on JPC!Darry and Dan!Soda:

• JPC!Darry definitely emphasizes the younger aspects of Darry’s character, and reminds us of how he’s just a kid, too.

• He’s much more quiet overall, and softer, but is capable of exploding at the drop of a hat — especially in RITFR

• My gosh this boy CARES so much, especially when it comes to Ponyboy. It’s so clear to see how even though he’s stuck between a brother and a father, he wants to stay a brother as much as possible.

• Much like Brent!Darry, JPC!Darry just seems so worn down and tired. However, I would say it’s a different kind of exhaustion: Brent!Darry is tired because he’s been doing this for so long and is stuck in his routine, while JPC!Darry is tired because he’s still figuring everything out and the stress and responsibility is still so overwhelming.

• At the core of Dan!Soda is contentment: he is so happy with exactly where he is. If his life never changed, that would be completely fine with him.

• He seems to be soaking up the joy of every moment for what it is and doesn’t need anything more.

• However, when he’s upset, this boy is DEVASTATED and is very expressive about it.

• In Act 2 specifically, Throwing in the Towel had some WONDERFUL JPC!Darry and Dan!Soda moments! JPC!Darry just seemed so totally broken down, and it almost felt like this is one of the first moments that Dan!Soda has ever considered that Darry might not have everything under control — that not everyone is content as he is.

• Like I said in my earlier post, the love between them is so strong when Dan!Soda literally dove his entire face into JPC!Darry’s chest like he was trying to keep him from disappearing on the spot. It was the most emotional ending to the song I’ve seen.

• Soda’s Letter oh my gosh!! He sounded so sincere and at the end of the song, he did a little pose on “Sincerely, Soda,” like he was so proud of himself.

• Dan!Soda had the most expressive reaction to Johnny’s death that I’ve seen — he broke down sobbing while he was holding Ponyboy, and then whispered something to him that I tried SO hard to make out but couldn’t hear. Pony shook his head and said something that I THINK looked/sounded like “it’s too late” and then left, and then Soda was alone to cry even harder.

• Most of my dinner scene thoughts are in my earlier post, but holy crap y’all. Ouch.

• JPC!Darry once again sounded the youngest and most emotional out of all the Darry’s I’ve seen (which is all of them now! Curtis Bros Bingo!). He was more willing to let himself break down and cry in front of his brothers, it didn’t take as much to get him to that point.

• Dan!Soda was trying from the very beginning of the scene to keep the peace, like he could see an argument coming from a mile away and wanted to stop it before he could start.

• His “Come on, guys, stop! Stop!” before he separated Pony and Darry HURT SO GOOD. My boy was at his LIMIT.

• And then once Soda broke down, that seemed to just motivation Darry to get even more emotional. His “we lost mom and we lost dad” was genuinely the most heartbreaking I’ve heard it (thanks JPC)

• And don’t even get me STARTED on “Did you hear what I just said? I said I love you.” JPC!Darry was trying as hard as he could to convince Ponyboy to believe him, that he meant it.

• Overall, JPC!Darry and Dan!Soda together had a relationship of one brother who had to give his dreams but still holds on to them and wants them to come true, and the other brother who never wants anything more than what he has right now. They work together effortlessly, there’s such a comfortability between them that was unexpected because they’ve never played THESE roles opposite each other before.

• Dan!Soda is JPC!Darry’s rock, no doubt about it.

Okay! That is so long so that’s all for now!! But feel free to DM me for more thoughts!

[wistericallhystericall]

bullet lipsticks | mattheo riddle

mattheo riddle | dd:dne | wc: 605

summary: you reminisce on memories when getting ready for a date

dead dove: do not eat content—this is a murderer au for mattheo riddle, and focuses on dark content including (but not limited to) murder, blood & gore, torture, potentially toxic and obsessive behaviors, etc

“Are you still getting ready, cara mia?” Mattheo called from downstairs.

You hummed non-committedly to him, a knife in hand as you held it up against your cheek. It was a sharpened knife that Mattheo had gifted you for your first ever hit, one that you cherished the memory of by keeping it clean from any other crimes. The knife was tilted at an angle as you held the eyeliner to it, a wing slowly forming from the corner of your eye.

“Oh, cara mia.” he sighed. His voice was much closer to you than the last time that he spoke, your head turning to look over at him. “You look so beautiful.”

You smiled warmly at him, like the cat who got the milk as you slowly made your way over to him. “I still need to put lipstick on.” you murmured quietly to him, pressing your lips against his cheek lovingly. “Then I should be ready.”

“Are you sure you want to go on this date, mi querida?” he asked you quietly. His voice was nothing more than a husky whisper as he spoke to you—a dark and low tone that sent maggots crawling through your stomach. “You look absolutely delectable, my love. Christ almighty,  I want to eat you whole.”

You chuckled quietly at his words. “You’re adorable, my love.”

“And you are divine.” he whispered, his hands wrapping around your waist and leaning you over the sink. His chin was resting against your bare shoulder, hands running up and down the reddened silky texture of your spaghetti strap dress. There was a bow in the back as well, one that almost single-handedly held the dress on your body. “I want to take this off of you already.” he murmured.

“You have to wait, silly.” you giggled, eyes glancing over to your lipstick. There was a singular red bullet lipstick, one laid next to three different bullets. 

The first was covered in blood from your first ever hit. You had let him finish the man off after you had gotten bored of his screams, using your nails to dig into the man’s chest cavity and pull it back out. It was a memory of sorts, one that reminded you of that moment. The second was from your first time together, a man who had tried to grope your ass ending up with a bullet in his head. Try as he might—Mattheo couldn’t help but take you right then and there against the bloodied brick wall.

The third had both of your initials carved into it. You had traded the bullet between each other during the private wedding you had between the two of you and close friends, pretending to shoot each other in the heart much like cupid would before falling into a kiss.

“You kept the bullets?” he asked you quietly.

You chuckled quietly at that, finishing off the lipstick on your lips with just the tiniest smudge. “Of course I did, how could I forget them? They match my lipstick too.” you said, placing the lipstick back against the three bullets.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured with a groan. His groin was pressed against your backside, hands shaking as they reached for the ribbon holding your dress up.

“What’re you doing, Matty?” you asked him teasingly, looking over your shoulder for just a moment,

His lips pressed against your neck right before his teeth did, other hand squeezing your waist. “The reservation isn’t until another hour.” he groaned out, his tongue following the patterns of the arteries in your neck. “Please? Just one round, please?”

“Maybe one.” you panted out quietly.

thank you so much for reading! i saw this photo on pinterest and immediately thought of this au, so i of course had to write it out! if you want more murderer mattheo content, you can send in requests, and if you want more fluffy content as well, you can check out my main writing blog over here <3

© wistericall 2025. do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own. reblogs + comments are so very appreciated! have a lovely day, love!

[alethialia]

I am loving all your Pitt fics! Thank you for filling the void since the show ended (really not sure how I'll make it to January!)

I was curious if you're willing to share, what's your headcanon for Jack and Robby's relationship timeline? Or do you have different ones that you use for different stories?

Aw, so glad you're digging the stories, thank you!

As for the Robby-Abbot timeline, I have no idea! We don't know much about their histories, so it's kind of anything goes. There's a world where they were med students together and there's a world where Abbot showed up after covid...and anything in between. I'm currently writing about them meeting in Iraq, ffs, because you can justify that, too, based on Robby's MSF patch.

I tend to use different timelines depending on the story I want to tell, but generally default to the idea that they met after Abbot lost his leg and got out of the Army, so they've known each other for about a decade. Given that - and given the level of emotional intimacy between them - I tend to start from the idea that they've been casually sleeping together for years. But then, I'm a sucker for a first-time story, so I've been writing silly boys quietly pining, too. Every story is a new adventure!

But you can kinda make any case you want for their timeline and a good writer can convince me of anything. At some point I'm sure the show will joss us all on how long they've known each other, but for now, the sky's the limit.

[blueflipflops]

THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT PEOPLE!!

This is why I'm asking for people who are obsessed with baseball. Its more fun to read/listen explainations from someone who's genuinely enthusiastic about the topic. I love you rn. I feel like I understand the gameplay more now. I love knowing wtf is happening in the field ^-^

So THAT'S why some runners suddenly have to run back to base. What if the pitcher hits the batter? Is that like a foul or smth? Shortstop sounds very cool ngl. Catcher too now that i think abt it. Love how they just throw the ball all the way across the field like wtf is that arm. Idk why its not sinking to me but if the outfielders catch the ball, does that mean the other player is 'out'? I saw clips where they just catch it and don't throw it back but people were celebrating so idk abt that. How many hitters doees the pitcher need to strike out to win? Like how many hitters do they put in in each inning? What are 'pop-flys' and stuff? What do they mean? Why do batters do bunts ??(is that a correct term??) Is there no time limit? How many times can a pitcher 'pick off' a runner? (I finally understand how pitchers pick off works because of this actually yayyy) Qhat if thee pitcher catch the baall after the batter hits it? What would that mean for the guy? Is the ball aallowes to touch the ground? Or do you need to catch it before it does like volleyball? What if it (the ball) gets stuck in a wall or something? Is that a foul? What is RBI btw? (I've only heard of it idk) Also whats the difference between AL and NL? Do they go to olympic games? Whats your favorite position? Who's your current favorite player?

I had many questions alas :(

Lol that sounds like most sports fan I've ever met. Also, 20 years since last win?? Insane. Which team won recently then? I usually only watch basketball so this is a new one. Getting into baseball was not on my 2025 bingo card and idk what kind of character development this is. There's really nothing better than getting answers from someone obsessed with the topic. This is more fruitful and enjoyable than any video explaination i'll ever watch. Very much thanks for taking the time to explain these stuff to me. I could feel your enthusiasm from here ( ˶′ᗜ′˵ )!! (˵´▽`˵)♡

I need someone who's obsessed with baseball to explain baseball to me. I NEED someone to infodump baseball 101 to me right now. I just watched a few clips of games and I thought 'oh hey this is actually really cool' but I just don't know wtf is happening :/ i NEED to know

How does a team win? How many members in each team? What are the positions? What are their roles? What's the coolest/ your favorite position? What's your favorite team?

[ruporas]

need to exist in your warmth (id in alt)

[christophernolan]

Kizil Goncalar | Season 1 | Episode 19

[whattheskyknows]

Was toying with the idea of planning a despair disease fic and it's turned into an entire chapter 3 rewrite,,, I don't know how this happened??

[1-800-i-ship-it]

- VICTOR ASKS YURI IF HE WANTS HIM TO BE A BOYFRIEND TO HIM??? THIS IS CANON?????

- VICTOR GIVES YURI A BOYFRIEND HUG BEFORE HE PERFORMS???? THE PRESS EATS IT UP???

- YURI GETS MOTIVATJON DURING HIS PERFORMANCE FROM TRYNA SEDUCE VICTOR???

- VICTOR APPLIES CHAPSTICK DIRECTLY TO YURI’S LIPS WITH HIS FINGER???? VICTOR THINKS TO HIMSELF THAT YURI IS BEAUTIFUL????

- YURI BASICALLY CONFESSES THAT VICTOR IS THE MAIN INSPIRATION FOR HIS THEME OF LOVE???

is this reality holy shit…im literally not even halfway through the show

[quirinah]

i! ro! ha! (six years edition)

[forbiddentaako]

more monochrome practice I suppose