#mans can talk but at least it's not as annoying when it's not a sales pitch kJHSDJKLFHKDS

[breezy-cheezy]

Sometimes, someone will reach out to help you, someone you’d least expect...

First of these is a sketch my friend @forwantofacalling did after a mutual brain rot....I lined and colored and screamed at it, and here we are :> Jamil and Azul are friends ok it’s rocky but they are-

Annnnd second one is inspired by my friend @insertsomthinawesome ‘s art, specifically this piece! Vil was the third character in her training camp so I raised my little hand like “what if” so!! (Also did you know cats purr to help healing? Comfort?? Leona caught purring to help a cub Riddle, Vil’s not sure what to do with that info LMAO)

Please don’t tag with any pairing tags, all of these pieces are platonic in intent. Thanks!

[lilacgaby]

𝟎𝟏 | serenity

~2.3k

chapter select!

katsuki bakugo had a secret.

a secret that'd undo everything he did in his power to build. his reputation would be gone,

his ego destroyed, his life ruined.

at least in his mind.

and that was his obsession with 'serenity.'

serenity was the top manga of the year, surprisingly dominating the shoujo category along with the overall for its recent release. even beating longtime shounen manga with pure sales.

and he was a die hard fan since its creation.

he had randomly scrolled upon it on a piracy manga website, clicking on it becausethe art style was pretty, and the protagonist was even prettier.

it had spiraled from one thing to another, and before he knew it he had become such a longtime supporter, that he and the creator themselves were mutuals on twitter, with katsuki's account being among the biggest fan accounts for [name].

in his room where nobody was allowed, he had a shelf directly under allmights dedicated to the manga, and a corner just for the protagonist,

[name].

small trinkets, shitty attempts at fanart, official figures, and stickers littered the corner, with the biggest piece being a rare limited-edition figure that he was sent for being a longtime fan.

[name] was loved in both her manga and in his japan. she was written to be oblivious to just how many people at her school were enamored with her, and was even being pursued by two guys in a love triangle.

the manga was still ongoing, though talks of an anime adaptation were in place, a possible stage play (though katsuki doubted they could find a gorgeous enough actor), and lines of merch were all in the near future.

every sunday, a new volume would be released.

he shouldn't have to waste precious hours that he could spend training on walking down to the store to buy it, but he'd mistakenly made the mistake to wait for the next week and double up on manga volumes once. the entire twist was spoiled by dunce-face and racoon eyes during lunch. he had told them to shut up and avoided hearing any more spoilers from word of mouth but..

he got spoiled on twitter anyways.

so from then on, he opted to take the half-hour trip into town and get it himself.

with a black hoodie covering his face and sunglasses for his eyes, he looked suspicious. not like bakugo katsuki though so, it was good enough.

because he was going out on his own, he knew someone would be tailing him. a security measure.

he took several odd turns and confusing routes to lose them, and lose them he did.

he let out a satisfied laugh, before disappearing into a crowd.

his favorite manga store that always had every issue out on time was pretty busy, thankfully he only noticed people crowding the shounen sections.

he went up and grabbed one of the only latest issues left on the shelf. he smiled at the pretty cover art, though it just looked intimidating due to his strange appearance.

he also grabbed a blind bag, feeling around to try and make sure it wasn't the annoying love interest that he hated, who luckily had a character design with distinguishable hair.

after he was satisfied, he also grabbed a 'serenity' themed pen that had a small chibi figure of [name] on it.

he purchased it, noting how the popularity of the manga was starting to make everything more expensive.

he grumbled angrily to himself as he took a turn into an alley, the fastest way back to the main path to U-A.

a mugger jumped out from behind the trash can. "give me everything you've got kid."

bakugo's face scrunched up distastefully. "no way loser."

he clutched his manga in his hands, the blind bag and pen safely in his pocket.

he instinctually chucked the manga at the guy when the mugger suddenly jerked forward.

the man shot a ray of energy at the book, making

an almost comedic 'poof' sound came out, accompanied by a puff of smoke.

"what the-"

a girl.. not just any girl.

[name] was sitting there in the flesh, looking scared and confused as she took in the scenery around her. her eyes darted between his assaulter and him, perplexity evident in her glassy eyes.

the book was splayed out on the other side of her, the pages now fully blank.

katsuki was shocked, so shocked that he didn't even notice that his sunglasses had fallen, and that his hair was now exposed.

"oh, no shit! you're that crazy U-A kid! i'm out."

the mugger ran away as katsuki was left alone with [name].

"no way.. just-- no way."

"it can't be you!"

she slowly got up, still observing the world around them.

"where am i?"

"um.. you're. you're not in your world anymore [name]."

her face twisted in confusion. "what? what do you mean my world, and-- how do you know my name?"

"this is gonna sound crazy so, ugh..

come with me."

he held his hand out towards her, still not fully believing that this was happening right now.

as she took it, and he felt the solidity of her skin, the physicality of her body, it all set in.

the fact that her beauty was unmatched, the fact that was here, alive, speaking and--

scared.

he guided her to a bench, along the main path so they wouldn't be too far from U-A.

they were holding hands until she let go, he was glad though, because his hands were getting extremely sweaty.

he decided to just rip off the bandaid.

"this is going to be hard to hear, but you're not.. real."

"what?!" tears popped into her eyes, she was already on edge, and that was definitely not the right thing to say.

okay bad start.

"well, you are real, just not in this world. in this world you're an anime character."

"...you're not funny."

"im not joking around." he sighed and took out his phone.

he opened it to his fanpage dedicated to her, '[name]thinker.'

he clicked on the media tab and let her scroll through.

her eyes were wide as she saw scenes of her life drawn out in comic form, her friends, family, and even enemies were depicted so beautifully, and it captured all of her core memories.

"so.. you were serious."

"i am."

".. what do i do?" tears finally spilled over as she sunk into the park bench, her hands were gripping the skirt of her school uniform tightly as the fabric began to soak her tears.

"how'd i even get here?"

bakugo awkwardly stood by as she fought her tears.

"uh.. i can um- explain if you want."

she sniffled, and wiped away her tears before nodding, not trusting her voice at the moment.

"so, in this world, there are like-- superpowers. we call them quirks."

she honestly found it hard to believe, but there really would be no other explanation for her existence right now so, she nodded along.

"like, i have the ability to made explosions from my hands because i sweat nitroglycerin. see?"

he set off tiny explosions from his hands, smirking at the way her eyes go wide.

"that's really cool.. um?"

"bakugo. katsuki bakugo."

"oh okay i'm [name], but i guess you already know that."

so, since you all have superpowers, you think that guys had a power to bring me here?"

"that's the only thing it could've been, really. unless something odd happened to you?"

"no, i was just walking to school when i passed out suddenly."

"[name], i think you should come with me."

"okay. where to?"

"my school."

"why would we go to school?"

he gently grabbed her hand and internally fanboyed as they started walking towards U-A.

"we have dorms there, i need to talk to my teacher in the morning, so you can stay with me tonight."

"why would your teacher be able to help? is this a superhero school or something?" she joked.

"yes, it is."

"oh...

your world is kinda weird."

"yeah."

he resisted the urge to question her thoughts about scenes that he thought were very impactful, and instead explained the simplicities of his world to her. things like the hero system, quirk prejudice, rankings, and specialty schools like U-A.

"so, are you any good then?" she asked, genuinely.

if it was anyone else he would've flipped out, but instead he just answered. "yeah, i know so. some may say im the next number one."

"who's some?"

"me."

"oh? i'll have to see you fight then."

they finally made it to U-A, but now came the issue of sneaking [name] in.

"this is a pretty fancy school."

"it's the number one hero school in the country."

"seriously? wow, cool."

"yeah but, we're not really supposed to bring anyone in so..

stay here for a second."

"um, okay."

bakugo went inside, it was still early afternoon, so everyone was out.

more importantly, iida was out. nobody else would snitch if they saw her so.

"coast is clear, come on." he yelled at her.

"got it!"

he shielded her from view as he walked her up to his dorm. before she could go in, he covered the corner of her memorabilia with a random box he had laying around.

"um.. make yourself comfortable [name]."

"thanks bakugo." she said, sitting down on his bed.

once he got over the surrealness of her actually being in his room, he choked out

"katsuki."

"what?"

"call me katsuki, it's only fair."

"hm. okay, thank you katsuki."

his heart did somersaults, she didn't have an official voice actor because none of the characters from her anime were confirmed yet,

but her voice was better than the one he had in his head.

"yeah um.. no problem. by the way, uh.. my teacher is off duty today so we'll have to wait for tomorrow to see what's up."

"oh, i see.

so, if im really an anime character, how am i supposed to like-- even walk out this room?"

"what do you mean?"

"unless im super unpopular, aren't people gonna notice?"

oh, she was right. she looked like she was pulled right out of the papers, because she was, and people would have to question her about it eventually.

"well, you are like really popular. your manga is literally fucking number one everywhere right now."

"really? yes!" she fist-pumped in happiness. hey, if she was gonna be an anime character she might as well be a popular one.

"so, i guess you'd have to say you're a cosplayer, that the author based the character of you, or something. if people knew you were the actual [name].."

"they just wouldn't believe it right?"

"well i mean.. in this world everything is pretty plausible."

"i guess."

she laid back in his bed, staring around his room. there were a couple of posters hanging around of a strange man with a pearly white smile. there was figures and even.. a book about him on the shelf.

"uh.. who's that?" she said, as she pointed to the largest photo with the strange man posing in the middle, 'I AM HERE' in bold, bright yellow letters as he stood proudly.

"oh him? that's all might. he's the best hero in existence, the world will never have another hero like him.

at least until i graduate." he said, nonchalantly leaning into the back of his chair.

"ah, that's really cool katsuki! so even in this hero school you're unmatched? are other quirks significantly weaker than yours?"

"it's not that i'm unmatched, it's that im destined to be at the top. even if someone managed to have a stronger quirk than me, id still be the best."

she let out a soft 'oh' as she got up. "you have anything fun to do?"

he thought about it for a second. in the manga she really liked puzzles so..

"got it, i'll be right back."

he darted out the room, leaving her alone.

he knocked on midoriya's door before barging in, midoriya taking notes at his desk.

"ah- kacchan? what do you need--"

"borrowing this." katsuki walked straight into the room, grabbed a five-hundred piece allmight puzzle, and turned to walk out.

"be careful with that! it's gold edition!"

"got it, deku."

he stormed back to his room, closed the door behind him, and handed [name] the puzzle.

"this should keep you busy. it's double-sided. also don't fuck it up, it's important to some idiot."

"uh, okay. thanks katsuki."

she spent the day completing one side of the puzzle, katsuki helping a bit occasionally as he viewed the manga leaks on twitter, since his version of the new issue of the manga was now fully blank.

he handed her clothes to sleep in, after changing she came out in his signature skull t-shirt and basketball shorts that did not fit her style

at all.

he stifled a laugh at the sight.

"what are you laughing at?"

"nothing, just go to bed loser."

"whatever." she laid on the far side of the bed, closest to the wall.

"uh.. there's no other place to sleep so, i'll just stay over here."

"okay."

he shoved a blanket down the middle of the bed, laying down right after.

"g'night katsuki." she said, already half-asleep.

"good night [name]."

he couldn't fall asleep for a little while. the character that plagued his dreams was now physically next to him, in his own bed.

the feeling of her body flipping around and grabbing at him pulled him out of his thoughts completely, leaving him speechless.

still not believing this was real, he held her closely, not wanting his 'dream' to end.

| next!

[marlynnofmany]

Clues

Even though it was mid-afternoon on our spaceship, the local time for this part of the planet was early morning. Zhee and I strolled over from the spaceport to the store where a package was waiting for pickup, expecting to arrive right when it opened, but nope: we were early. Most of the stores on this city street were still closed and dark, lit by the vivid pink sunrise and ignored by passing hovercars. Window cleaners soaped up the big front windows of our destination: a good-sized jewelry/accessory store.

The cleaners were a pair of Strongarms, which made this a fascinating career choice. I’d seen Mimi climb all over the engine parts on our ship. I knew his tentacles had good enough suction for this sort of thing. But these two were small and particularly athletic, and they had climbed to the top of the window, cleaning from the top down, erasing their suction cup marks as they went. If their cleaning tools had been the messy old-fashioned kind, there probably would have been too much dripping to make that possible, but these professionals were cleaning fast with nary a slip.

Zhee didn’t care. “How inconsiderate of the proprietor to not be here early to meet us,” he said with an irritated click of his pincher arms. The pink sunrise reflected off his purple exoskeleton, making him more colorful than usual. He probably would have been proud of that if he wasn’t busy being annoyed. “Waiting here is boring. Let’s see if that shop has anything worth looking at.” He flicked an antenna at the storefront two doors over, which had just turned on its light.

“Sure,” I agreed, “We can at least look through the window if they’re not open yet.”

Zhee grumbled something that made me suspect he might badger them into letting us in even if they weren’t.

Luckily I didn’t have to talk him out of being rude; the store was open after all. It was a little shop full of miscellaneous knickknacks and multi-species food items. Plenty of things to look at. The Frillian shopkeep was delighted to sell us both snacks: gummy intestine candy for Zhee (ew) and mixed nuts for me. I’d had that brand before, and was sure that it didn’t hold anything alien that would give me unexpected allergies.

(I haven’t been allergic to any food yet that was rated for human consumption, but I wasn’t about to take chances.)

I also picked up a packet of the heat stickers that Paint and the others liked, since they were on sale and the shopkeep was excited about this new item.

“Do you get a lot of Heatseekers here?” I asked.

“Oh no, but these have many uses,” she told me, typing in the price. “Other species like to be warm as well, especially if they are headed in a cold direction. And my cousin uses them to warm food! I expect these will be very popular.”

“I expect so,” I agreed.

Zhee was at the door, looking toward the other shop, and he made a little “aha” noise. I finished my purchase, thanked the shopkeep, then joined him in heading back toward the place we’d meant to visit.

I carried my purchases in a nifty Waterwill bag; the shopkeep hadn’t been as excited about that as the heat stickers, so maybe they were old hat here. But I still found the concept of hard water fascinating. It occurred to me that the waterbag and the heat stickers could probably make an awful lot of steam together, especially if handled improperly. I’d be back on the ship soon, though, and the bag could melt into regular water safely in the sink.

The window cleaners were just packing up as we arrived, and the angle of the sun made their work shine. Not a suction cup mark to be seen. I gave them a polite nod while Zhee tried the doors. Still locked, but lights were on inside, as well as the morning sun. Someone moved near the counter. When Zhee rapped on the door and waved a pincher, they hurried forward. It looked like another Mesmer.

The door opened. “Are you the couriers?” snapped a blue-white bug man who was slightly shorter than Zhee. I was a terrible judge of Mesmer ages, but he sounded older. He spoke directly to Zhee.

“Yes,” Zhee said. “From the good ship Slap the Stars.”

“Great. Come with me.” He ushered us inside and re-locked the door, not so much as batting an antenna at our excellent ship name. No sense of fun, this guy.

As we walked between the aisles of shiny merchandise — bracelets and bangles and exoskeleton accents — distant shouting filtered through the closed door in the back. Somebody sounded mad.

“Wait here,” said the Mesmer, gesturing toward the front counter. Then he disappeared into the back room.

Somebody was definitely mad. When the door opened, I caught something about professionalism, in a tone that suggested this was a boss dressing down employees.

A glance at Zhee told me he had no idea either.

When the Mesmer came back — who never did introduce himself, I realized — he was carrying a high-end stasis case for shipping, and he walked quickly. I still caught a few words that sounded like a demand for someone to fess up.

“Everything okay back there?” I asked.

He ignored me. “This must arrive in pristine condition,” he told Zhee, setting the case on the counter.

“Of course,” Zhee said.

I had the tablet for him to sign for the pickup, and I held it out wordlessly. The guy snatched it out of my hands, holding it with one pincher arm and typing with the little wrist fingers on his other. His antennae were scowling.

Zhee gestured to the back room. “Is someone being disappointing?”

“Yes!” he snapped. “One of the night workers has been coming out to the storefront, and leaving display items on the floor! And they refuse to admit who!” He shove the tablet back at me, waving at one of the aisles. Now that he mentioned it, there was an empty display case at the top, with the glass door swung wide.

“Foolish thing to do,” Zhee said.

“Extremely! There is no reason for it, and we are going to find out who!”

Since he was ranting at Zhee and not me, I stepped over to where I could see better. A half-dozen glittery arm cuffs were arranged in a circle on the floor. Weird.

He kept going. “I’m sure it was a human, because of those filthy little marks they leave on everything they touch. The only reason we employ them in the crafting sector is because all the items are cleaned before they’re presented to paying customers. The only one who works up front is under strict orders to wear gloves at all times. But now one of them is sneaking out here and fondling the merchandise! And leaving it on the floor!”

I took a closer look at the door to the display case. Yeah, those looked like human fingerprints, lit up guiltily by the morning sun.

Zhee asked, “Any clues about which human it is?”

“No. I’m not even ruling out the one with the gloves, because this behavior makes no sense, and gloves can be taken off. I swear, I’m this close to firing the lot of them.”

I walked back over to join them. “You know every human’s fingerprint is different, right?”

They both looked at me in silence, which was answer enough.

I said, “If you have your employees all leave prints on something else, you should be able to just match them up.”

The shopkeep’s antennae and mandibles flared into a complicated shape. “WHAT.”

“Sure.” I looked at my own fingers. “Mine are a kind of oval loop, though some people have perfect spirals or a gentle wave.”

He clacked both pinchers. “And you would be able to say which one matches those marks?”

“I should be,” I said, hurrying back over for a closer look. “At the very least, I can narrow it down for you. These are nice and clear. We just need to get a clean set from everybody else that’s not smudged.”

“Yes.” He looked around the storefront full of shiny, valuable things. He frowned. “We’ll have to let them touch something.”

I looked too. “Oh! What about the window?”

He stared at it for a moment. “Acceptable.”

Zhee was skeptical. “Will the culprit deliberately smear their marks?”

“Then that will be a sign of guilt,” the shopkeep hissed.

“What if there are multiple smudges from clumsiness? You might want to prepare for more than one round of dirtying your window.”

He hissed again. “I will make them do it right the first time.”

I had an idea. “What if you told them they were touching the window for a different reason?”

Both sets of bug eye turned toward me. “Such as?”

I fished the pack of heat stickers out of my bag. “Do you think they know what these are?”

The shopkeep leaned his head forward. “What are they?”

“Heat stickers. But! We could pretend they’re lie detectors.”

We could, and we did. It was a silly way to get fingerprints, but I’d read about fictional detectives who’d gone to more elaborate lengths to solve a mystery than this. And it might even work.

The big front windows had a row of shelves under them that meant our suspects would have to lean forward slightly in order to whisper their statements of innocence. They would need to press their hands against the window for balance.

I let Zhee pretend to be the visiting expert while I stuck heat stickers to the window. He did a good job of acting mysterious and aloof while he explained things to the gaggle of employees that the other Mesmer herded out.

As promised, only some were humans. The others were Strongarms with a couple Waterwills. No Heatseekers ready to ask awkward questions about the suspiciously familiar looking “lie detectors made for banks.”

(They had to be mounted somewhere stable, you see, and the suspect had to be close enough to breathe on them. They were normally warm, and would change colors and turn cold when they detected lies. Totally believable.)

Really, it didn’t matter if they believed it or not. They all lined up, looking baffled, and did as their two hissing bosses commanded. The Mesmer from the back room, a large green-and-brown lady who would have been great at hide and seek in the forests of my home, told the humans to go first.

Then when they had all left prints on the window, she told the rest not to bother. While they looked even more confused, she waved me forward with the door to the display case. It had detached neatly, perfect for carrying around and comparing fingerprints.

I held it by the corners and took a close look at the first set. “Not this one,” I announced. “Too triangular.”

Behind me, a human woman asked incredulously, “Are you checking fingerprints?”

“Yup!” I told her, moving on to the next.

The other humans had a variety of reactions to that. An older guy laughed, a younger woman was worried that her hands might be dirty with crafting materials, and others made indistinct noises. Some of the non-human employees asked for an explanation of what was happening.

I kept up my sleuthing, hoping that the prints were all as different as the first couple. I didn’t want to look like I didn’t actually know what I was doing.

“OH MY GOD,” a guy burst out. “It was a marriage proposal, okay? I thought Sierra would be the one to find it.”

I turned around at that, and found one of the humans spilling the beans.

“I’m sorry I didn’t just ask you,” he said to the woman next to him. “I wanted it to be special, like the rock circles we used to leave each other under the tree. I put a note at the top of the earring display, because it looks like a tree.”

I looked at the display he pointed at. I couldn’t see a note from here, but it was distinctly tree-shaped.

The two Mesmer bosses loomed over the guy. “This was courtship?” asked the tall one. “Not a deliberate effort to let our valuables get stepped on or stolen?”

“No!” the guy said. “I’d never do that! I really thought she’d be the only one to see it in the morning, and she’d just put them back and find my note.”

The woman, Sierra, shook her head. “I got moved to the adhesives section. I haven’t been over here all week.”

The man put his hands over his face while the bosses conferred.

“If you promise to never tamper with the displays again, you may keep your job,” the tall one told him.

“I’ll never do it again,” he said. “I don’t have to — I think?” That last was aimed at Sierra.

Her answer was a dramatic kiss that made the rest of the humans applaud and the Mesmers step back in distaste.

“If you are quite done eating each other’s faces,” said the smaller Mesmer, “You are both assigned to cleaning the window and the display of all traces of human filth. Do not leave more.”

“Yes sir,” they chorused.

The other humans gave them congratulatory pats on the back, and exclamations of relief that the whole mess was over. The non-humans seemed mostly relieved. A couple still looked confused, but clearly didn’t want to ask for details.

I handed over the display case door, then peeled a heat sticker off the window. “Guess we won’t need these anymore.”

Everybody went back to what they were supposed to be doing. The night shift got their things together to go home, while the day shift took over the crafting section and opened the store for business. More lights came on. Someone unlocked the front door. Zhee convinced the bosses to reimburse us for the heat stickers. That was nice; I still had more in the pack. And these would be warm for a while still.

I peeled off the last one and decided against putting them in the waterbag. No good making the thing evaporate on the way back to the ship. Instead, I stuck a finger between each and got a fistful of stickers held by their edges. My hand was only a little hot, and it would be a short walk. Speaking of which…

“Let’s go,” Zhee said, pincher arms full of the shipping case.

I opened the door and held it while he passed. Taking up my position at the window was the happy couple, equipped with their own window-cleaning supplies. Luckily they wouldn’t have to reach as far up as the Strongarms had.

They were talking quietly about finding new jobs where they could have the same sleep schedule. And hopefully bosses that didn’t mind a fingerprint or two.

I smiled and let the door shut, leaving fingerprints only on the handle.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[one-idea]

Let’s keep going with Wado Ichimonji’s point of view.

When they arrive at Lodgetown the whole place is weird. Wado was already annoyed because Zoro insisted on getting two new swords. She can already tell that this is NOT the place to get quality swords. She going to get stuck once again with two blades not worthy of Zoro’s skill and it will just be a matter of time until they can’t take his strength anymore and break. (If he has to use other blades can he at least wait until they find high quality blades like her)

Then on top of it they run into Tashigi. The kiuna look a like makes Wado physically rattle in her scabbard. How dare this look a like come here and mock her old masters memory! How dare she mess with her boys head!

Eventually they get away from her and Zoro finds his way to the swords shop. And Wado hears it. This incessant whining. And she realizes two things. There is at least ONE grade blade in this store. This normally would fill her with hope. Finally a companion she could talk to. Obviously they aren’t one of the 21 great blades like she is, but it’s a definite improvement. Except for the second thing she realizes. This blade is cursed. And she won’t shut up! Whining for a new master so that she can kill again (until she kills her master again)

She’s just so annoying.

And she’s currently in a barrel of regular swords. This sales man is an idiot. All she can hope is that Zoro doesn’t hear her calls.

The shop owner then tries to BUY her from Zoro. He’s not just an idiot he’s a greedy imbecilic. Luckily that annoying look alike arrived and recognized her. And off course the Kuina look alike would know her name (sigh) but at least Zoro know it now! Her boy is calling her by name! He knows just how incredible she is now, one of the 21 great grade blades! Maybe she can forgive this look alike.

Except she leads Zoro right to that cursed blade.

No! Death for look a like! Wado will never forgive her for this.

Except Zoro already knows this blade was cursed. He had heard her calls the moment he walked into the store. Because of course he did. Her boy is the best. He can hear their (the swords) voices so well. But why Her.

Sandai Kitetsu is this new blades name.

As soon as Zoro touches her she starts begging. Begging for blood. Begging for battle. And Wado knows Zoro’s heart. Knows him to be a loyal and honorable man.

She also knows he’s feral and bloodthirsty in his own way. Has been since he was a child.

Sandai Kitetsu is calling for the right person. And of course her idiot son hears this curse blade voice, and is warned by two people not to use her. And what does he decide? To test his luck against the swords curse by throwing it in the air and seeing if it will chop of his arm. Wado is furious.

Wado already knows the end result.

Sandai Kitetsu spins right past his arm. Not just past it but the back of her blade faced Zoro’s arm the whole time. She never would have cut him.

Wado can hear her clearly now when Zoro picks her up again.

“New master! Strong master! Won’t hurt master! You’re like me, you’re hungry to fight like me. Please let me fight!”

Her whining is incessant. It won’t stop! Wado already hates her. She not worried about Zoro falling to the curse, he’s to strong and two stubborn for that. And she can tell Sandai Kitetsu won’t hurt him as long as he brings her to battle. But does she have to be so annoying!

The swords sales man has been talking this whole time but Wado hadn’t been paying attention. To focused on her future roommate and annoyance to care for this human. Until she hears another voice

Yubashiri, a skillful grade blade. Far superior to this whining grade blade but not as great as she. It will do for a companion.

Yubashiri is quieter than Sandai Kitetsu, but that’s not hard. A hurricane is quieter than Sandai Kitetsu. But Yubashiri only talks when necessary. Wado is grateful for that.

Now Zoro has two high level blade plus her one of the 21 great blades. They will take Zoro farther in his journey. All the way to the top.

(Is it wrong of her to hope that he breaks Sandai Kitetsu?)

Regardless they leave the shop. And find their way back to their King. Only that stupid clown is back. And he’s trying to kill their King! How dare he!

So much happens. They almost lose their king, something Wado will not except, for Zoro won’t except it. Zoro needs his captain, they need their king. But he is saved by what the cook calls a miracle. Wado calls it to close and will never let it get that close again. Then they have to fight look a like. And Wado was right. The girl may look like Kuina, but she doesn’t fight like her. Zoro wins quickly and without any true struggle. THAT’S HER BOY!

Now they are on their way to the grand line.

The swords take the time to get accustomed to each other. Yubashiri is quick to accept their role in the ship, Luffy is captain and king, the rest of the crew is namaka. They protect the crew.

Sandai Kitsune is not as impressed. Why are they following the rubber boy? I mean as long as he brings her to a good fight then he’s alright in her book, but why protect him? Or the others? Swords are made to fight. If they attack we fight them.

Wado gets tried of trying to explain to a curse blade why she needs to care. It’s because Zoro cares! But it’s fine. She didn’t like their King at first either. Sandai Kitsune will understand soon.

Or Zoro won’t keep her around.

Maybe it’s best if Sandai Kitsune never understand why Luffy is King!

(She will. Once they get to the grandline. Once she sees Luffy and Zoro in action together. Once she see what it means to fight Luffy in Wiskey peaks)

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Five

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

A surprise early drop of part five! I didn't want this gentleman to be lost among the Christmas cheer on Sunday night so please enjoy him a couple of days early.

This man was the one that most intimidated me to write, and I think that's true for most of us. Luckily my dear friend @morallyinept is an expert on the subject of this particular Pedro boy, and beta read it. Thank you so much Jett, your encouragement makes this a lot less scary!

Please say hello to Pedro boy number five...

Series Master List

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in your bakery. Sometimes, when you have your extra staffer in over the weekend to handle the crowds, you’ve seen him waiting in line. Somehow he always comes in when you’re not at the counter, or dealing with another customer, but when you glance out through the open kitchen door, you spot him. More than once. And he’s always watching you, dark brown eyes, curious, intelligent, carefully watching. It intrigues you, and it scares you. 

He’s easy to recognise, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead makes him memorable, if nothing else. But the way he stands, the weight of his body on one leg, leaning forward onto it while he tilts his head and observes you through the open door with a wry smirk. It makes you think of a trickster, a smooth talker who will smile and charm you with his words while he tries to sell you real estate on the moon. Your eyes meet and he grins, holding up his hand in a nonchalant greeting. You let your eyes glide over him, ignoring his wave as if you didn’t see him, busy looking for a pan or a bowl. 

He comes in the next day again, you catch him from the corner of your eye as he steps up to the counter, just as you come out of the fridge. He doesn’t see you this time you think, so you hurry out of sight and go back to measuring flour into the large mixer. Through the door you can hear him talk to the high schooler you’ve got handling the Saturday afternoon rush. 

“Afternoon, may I ask after the proprietor of this fine bakery?” the man says, and his southern accent is eloquent in a way that reminds you of old films, theatrical and exaggerated, you can hear the smirk in his tone. In your mind he sweeps an old fashioned hat off his head and bows like the ringmaster at the circus. It puts your teeth on edge and you hope to escape his attention. 

“She’s busy right now but I’ll see if she has time,” your highschooler says and you sigh, waving your hand no when they come into the kitchen 

“I’m sorry, she’s right in the middle of something, can I take a message?” 

“No bother, I’ll stop by later, I have a proposal to the lady that’s best delivered in person.” 

You hear him say goodbye and then the door jingles and the hum of the afternoon rush continues as you turn on the big dough mixer, drowning out all else. You wonder what kind of proposal the man could have for you, his response was almost as if he was preparing a sale. The thought calms you and annoys you a little, dealing with insistent sales people was your least favorite activity as a business owner. There was always someone trying to sell you a new mixer or a new oven. You hope he doesn’t come back, but at least you know how to brush off a sales person if needed. 

He doesn’t come back until Tuesday, when you’re alone in the bakery, just before closing. The door jingles and you look up, seeing his smile as he steps across the threshold. 

“Afternoon,” he says, coming up to the counter, giving you a gallant nod in greeting, “I was hoping to catch you at a more quiet time, seeing as the end of the day draws near. I hope my interference doesn’t disrupt your day too greatly and cause you disturbance.” 

His smile sits fixed on his face, as if rehearsed to look polite and genuine, to sell you something. 

It’s hard to press back your customer service persona, so you give him a polite smile, internally you’re gearing up to be courteous but dismissive. 

“How can I help you?” you ask, and his smile widens into a grin as he tilts his head to the side and looks at you. 

“I’m in the market for a special type of treat, one which I hope you’ll indulge me in making,” he holds out his left hand to you, “I’m Ezra, and I really hope you can help me, miss…?” 

You take his hand and awkwardly shake it, ignoring his question, but your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You’d been so certain he’d try to sell you something, you hadn’t considered that he’d be the one asking you to sell him something special even though special requests weren’t a rare thing. 

“If it’s doable and I know how to make it, I’m sure we can come up with something,” you reply and he nods his head.

“Oh, I’ll pay, handsomely, of course,” 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, and his smile stretches even further, making his teeth show, and you balk, a tinge of unease shooting up your spine. In the back of your mind you’re reminded of the poem; ‘Will you walk into my parlour, said a spider to a fly.’ There’s a layer of something underneath that smile that unnerves you.

“A sentimental old favorite of mine, chocolate soufflé,” he says, his eyes suddenly slipping into softness as he seems to look past you, “Light, airy, rich and velvety.” 

He waves his hand as if he’s conjuring the dessert out of thin air, a dreamy look on his face that’s quickly replaced by his grin as he turns his attention back to you. 

“It’s an arduous dessert to master, only the most skilled bakers can create it. Are you skilled, sugar?” 

You give him a scowl, you’ve heard every pet name in the book vaguely related to baking by now and none of them sit well with you. 

He catches on to your scowl and chuckles, “Not ‘sugar’ then,” he grins as you put your smallest customer service smile back on. 

“I can make soufflé but I won’t be able to sell them here,” you explain, shaking your head. “They’re too delicate and need to be served and eaten straight out of the oven. But I’m sure there’s restaurants who have soufflé on the menu.”

Ezra shakes his head with a rueful look,”I’m afraid I’ve tried that route, but none of the restaurants in town have exactly what I desire on the menu, and they won’t make it as a special order. So my hope lies with you, cookie.” 

He chuckles again when he sees the flash of annoyance at the pet name, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his smile suddenly looking genuine, “If you’d told me your name when I introduced myself I would gladly use that instead of causing an umbridge with my embarrassing choices of guesses.” 

You ignore his comment about your name, feeling even less inclined to give it to him, and instead you begin wiping down the counter for the end of the day. 

“I’m sorry none of the restaurants have it, but I’m afraid I can’t help you, I can’t make the soufflé and then wait for you to come in, it would be flat and dull and I couldn’t sell you that.” 

“I’m sure you observed, because I’ve observed you in turn, several times, that I’ve been studying you,” Ezra says, his eyes narrowing as he gives you a charming smile, cocking his head to the side and leaning against the counter on his left side, watching you run the cloth over the display cases. 

“You’re the most talented baker I’ve seen in all my travels, all you sell here, you make with your own gifted hands,” he waves his hand around the bakery, “And I’ve sampled many of your delectable delights, nothing rivals what you can bake, cupcake.” 

His words make your cheeks heat up against your will as you glare at the pet name and he smiles back at you. . 

“It won’t change the physics of the soufflé though,” you point out, “it will still fall flat if it’s out of the oven waiting for the customer.” 

“Well, crumpet, I have a remedy for that, I have thought of it all. You make it for me while I wait, right here, after hours,” he says, leaning forward when he sees your doubtful face. He takes the cloth from your hand, stilling your movement as he wraps his fingers around yours, just tight enough for you not to be able to just yank them away. His eyes closer to yours now, imploring you to hear him out, and you don’t fail to note that his expression shifts into something more innocent, his brown eyes wide open, forehead pulled up as he pleads with you

“Please, truly, it may only be a soufflé to you, but it really does mean an awful lot to me, to be able to have this dessert again, to remind me of better days, happier times.” 

His fingers squeeze yours gently while he talks, “I lost my arm, a while back now, in a mining accident,” he says, looking down to his right hand side where you only now notice that his jacket sleeve hangs limp, “I used to love to bake, but I can’t anymore, on account of my…condition.”  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you reply politely and Ezra nods again.

“It’s been a while now, I’m getting used to navigating life without it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “But I can’t bake, not like I used to, not something that requires two stable hands.”

He lets go of you and stands up, grabbing the empty sleeve of his jacket and lifts it up, “Imagine if this happened to you,” he says, giving the sleeve a frustrated tug as his voice gains an edge of annoyance, “Imagine if you, from one cursed day to the next, not only lost your ability to do your job, but also your ability to perform the most entertaining of tasks.” 

You feel your resolve slipping, he’s turned his eyes back on yours and falls silent, for what feels like for the first time since he stepped into the shop. His hand is on the counter between you, open, like he’s waiting for you to take it and shake on your agreement, and his eyes are imploring, his eyebrows raised. 

Like this he looks less like a trickster, the facade has slipped a bit, or maybe he’s pulled a new one up, you feel like you can’t be sure. You glance down at his empty sleeve and make up your mind, you’d be devastated if you couldn’t bake again. 

“Ok, I’ll make your soufflé, any way you want it,” you say, taking his hand, and Ezra’s face breaks into a wide smile. 

“Thank you, bon bon! Your kind gesture makes me most hopeful for the future, there are still good people in this world, prepared to help a poor, armless, man.” 

“Enough with the names,” you give him a small scowl, but you can’t help but smile at the same time, his own smiling, face seems genuine, honestly happy for your service. 

“Such a sweet baker lady has to have a name that matches the sweetness of her produce, jelly pie,” he chuckles, “I’ll keep trying them out until I find the one that sticks.” 

“If I hear one I like I’ll let you know, just don’t hold your breath,” you reply, but you’re smiling at him now and he seems less wiley with the change of his demeanor, more straightforward, as he runs his hand through his hair and grins at you. 

“So when do you want to do this? And what kind of chocolate soufflé do you want?” you ask, pulling out your notebook. 

“I once went to a small restaurant in France, a tiny little village, somewhere in the mountains north of Cannes,” he says, “and the chef would cover the bottom of the ramekin with caramel, sprinkle it with sal de mer before he poured in the chocolate and then finish with a little bit more just on top.” His hand makes a sprinkling movement over the top of the imaginary soufflé ramekin. “It was inspired, divine,” Ezra smiles at you, an excited gleam in his eyes, that you recognise all too well. “I asked him for the recipe and he was benevolent enough to make a gift of it to me, a small souvenir of a joyous visit and happier times.” 

Something in the way he says the last words, a slight slip in the excitement, a flash of something darker across his face, makes you open your mouth. But you close it again as his eyes brighten, the smile comes back up in place and he looks at you. 

“I had to translate the recipe into English of course, and now I have it memorized, from all the times I made it myself.” 

“Let me make a list then, and I’ll get the ingredients for next week, how about next Tuesday night? Does that work for you?” you ask and Ezra nods. 

“Any day would suit me, shortcake,” he grins and you roll your eyes, “But if it’s not too much trouble, I would prefer an earlier day? Maybe tomorrow even? And I’ll help you make it, as long as you have the ingredients?” 

You glance over at your calendar, you have nothing planned for tomorrow night and you’ll have time to get the ingredients into your usual weekly order tonight.

“It’ll be tight, but I think I can make it work, if I place the order straight away. Unless there’s something special in the recipe I should have all the ingredients already, eggs, cocoa and chocolate,” you list the items on your fingers, thinking out loud, “oh, I should get some extra cream.”  

“This chef used milk instead of cream,” Ezra interjects, “he said it made for a lighter soufflé.” 

“Ok, that’s fine, I’ve made them with milk in the past,” you nod, tapping your pen as you think and Ezra studies you, you can feel his eyes on you as his mouth quirks up in a small smile. 

“I do enjoy seeing you entranced by baking,” he says, “your attention to detail in the kitchen has kept me captivated while watching you work.” 

“I saw you, and I’ve got to say, kinda creepy to be watching people like that,” you reply and his eyebrows immediately pull together in an apologetic frown. 

“My apologies, sweet cannoli, but I was truly enwrapped by your work, your skill, I didn’t mean to be unsettling.” He reaches out and puts his hand on yours again, giving it a light squeeze as he leans forward, finding your eyes and searching them to make sure you accept his apology, “I truly am very sorry.” 

“It’s fine, just come in and say hello next time,” you reply, “and never call me ‘cannoli’ again.” The last thing you say with a roll of your eyes and Ezra laughs. 

“I didn’t think that one would stick, didn’t have much of a ring to it.” 

He gives your hand a last squeeze and lets go of it, raising his own in a wave. 

“Until tomorrow then, jelly,” he says and you give him a mock scowl that makes him grin wide, “Not ‘jelly’ either then,” he chuckles, “I’ll think of some new ones for tomorrow.” 

“No pet names necessary, Ezra,” you tell him, but he shakes his head. 

“No, no, you won’t tell me your name, now I make up my own, I will find the perfect one before we’re done. Until tomorrow, muffin.” 

“Absolutely not,” you call after him, “But I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Ezra gives you a final grin before he exits and you see him walk off down the street. 

He appears again the next day, just before closing like the last time, giving you a polite nod and waiting by the door as you serve your last customer of the day. As the woman leaves, he steps forwards and gives you what feels like a genuine smile, unlike the rehearsed one he’d greeted you with yesterday.

“My sweet cream puff, I have been looking forward to this all day, I’ve been dreaming about finally eating this chocolate soufflé again,” he says, putting his hand on your arm and giving it a light squeeze. His hair looks freshly washed and cut, as does his patchy beard, and he brings a faint smell of cologne into the bakery. With his warm smile and neater appearance, he doesn’t look at all like the unnerving man you’d observed watching you the past few days, and you feel yourself relaxing. 

“Cream puff?” you laugh, “Better, but still not acceptable, Ezra.” 

“I have all evening to get it right,” he grins and holds up a take out bag, “I thought we could perhaps have dinner and not sustain ourselves only on soufflé, delectable as it may be. If that’s not too forward of me?” He says the last thing with his eyebrows raised in question and you shake your head. 

“Not at all, dinner would be nice, I’m getting a little bit hungry already.” 

“Then may I suggest dinner first, and then I get to enjoy the evening’s entertainment; watching you make the soufflé?” 

“Sounds like a plan, let me get some cutlery and glasses and we can eat out here,” you say. As you walk back into the kitchen, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This strange man is growing on you, his smooth southern drawl makes his flowery language work, and you have to admit, he scrubs up well, with his curls and his bright blonde patch. 

When you return with plates and cutlery, Ezra has set the take out on one of the café tables and is struggling with the knot on the plastic bag. You see the annoyance in his face as he tugs at the tight knot, digging his nails into it to get a grip, but failing as the plastic moves under his one hand. The sight fills you with empathy and you’re suddenly very glad you agreed to make him the soufflé. 

He hears your footsteps as you approach and he looks up, “It would seem the plastic bag has me beat,” he sighs, “I wanted to have it all laid out for you as you returned, after all, you’re doing all the baking later, the least I could do is lay the table. But not even that is something I can manage these days with…” He jerks his head in annoyance at the empty sleeve of his jacket and sighs. 

“It’s no bother,” you say, giving him a warm smile to put him at ease, and it seems to work. He smiles back at you, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners and you notice the dimple in his cheek under the patchy beard as he takes a step to the side, letting you put down the plates and cutlery.

“It’s why I agreed to bake the soufflé for you, I’m more than happy to help.” You untie the bag and lift out the containers as Ezra lays the table, taking meticulous care to line up the plates and the cutlery on either side, finding a few napkins and arranging them too. You go behind the counter to get rid of the bag and when you come back, Ezra has pulled out your chair for you and is waiting behind it with a smile. 

“I know this is purely a business transaction, but I have to confess, I’m very happy for the chance to spend an evening in the company of someone who shares my passion for baking”, he says.

“Thank you, Ezra,” you smile as you sit down and he slides the chair in, “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what you wanted when I first noticed you looking, but this has turned out a lot nicer than just trying to tell another sales rep that I’m not interested in a new oven.” 

Ezra has sat down across from you and now he chuckles, “You thought I was going to sell you a new oven?” 

“A new oven, a new fridge, new baking pans,” you sigh, “you name it, the sales reps have been in here trying to convince me to throw out my working equipment and spend money I don’t have, on their new shiny product.” 

“Well, I’m glad I could surprise you then,” he replies as he begins to open the take out containers, “But I have another confession, I came into your bakery because what you displayed looked incredible, but….” he trails off, glancing up at you with a small smile before he begins scoop rice onto his plate, “I stayed because the woman who runs the bakery is captivating.” 

You feel your cheeks heat up as Ezra looks up at you again and he smiles as he sees your reaction. 

“And I don’t just mean that you’re beautiful, although that is certainly no exaggeration. But your talent…your talent….” he chuckles as you give him a bashful grin, “Sweet twinkie, you kept me captivated with your skill as I watched you through the kitchen door. You have such passion for this,” he waves his hand towards the bakery’s display cases, “so much creative talent and skill, I just…” he gives a small laugh, his hand rubbing his cheek as he drops his eyes down to his plate again, his usual confident manner suddenly replaced by an uncharacteristic shyness, “I wanted a chance to talk to you, if you’d let me.” 

“You’re very sweet, Ezra,” you smile, trying to contain the wide smile that’s threatening to take over your face at his praise. 

“It’s only what you deserve,” he says, smiling back at you and handing you one of the take out boxes, “Please, before it gets cold, I’m letting my mouth run away from me as usual.” 

It turns out Ezra had chosen a number of dishes from a local Indian restaurant down the street and you both groan as you pick your way through the selection. 

“I have to remember this place,” you moan around a mouthful of korma, “it’s incredible.” 

Ezra’s mouth is stuffed full with bhaji and he just nods as he chews, a look of bliss on his face as he swallows. 

“The man who runs it, I spoke with him, was most courteous. He recommended his favorites from the menu and I must say, he sure does know how to make people want to return.” 

“And there will be leftovers for days,” you say, leaning back in your chair, your belly full but there’s still so much food on the table. 

“You keep it, my fridge is out of commission at the moment unfortunately,” Ezra says, “you’ll have the most delicious lunch for the next few days.” 

“I can’t take all this food from you,” you protest but Ezra just shakes his head. 

“I have nowhere to keep it.”

“Then keep it here, and come by and have lunch with me,” you suggest, “we can keep talking about baking and you can spend more time in the bakery, maybe we can figure out some things you can still bake.” 

During the course of the meal Ezra had asked you about every aspect of your baking, your process behind the recipes, the techniques you used, the ingredients and where you sourced them. It had been a rare deep dive into your favorite subject with someone who shared your passion for the trade. You felt your attraction for him steadily grow while he leaned his head into his hand and kept his eyes on you as you went into the details of how to grow and maintain a healthy sourdough starter. 

“You won’t grow bored of my company, moon pie?” he smiled, “And my increasingly desperate names for you?” 

“No, I don’t think I’ll grow bored of you,” you smile back at him, “and your names are getting better.” 

He laughs at that and pushes back his chair, “Then let me be a useful guest and clear this for us, and then we can get to the highlight of the evening perhaps?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

You lead him back into the kitchen and the plates and cutlery are soon in your industrial sized dishwasher in the back room. You get the ingredients out onto the workbench as Ezra wanders around the kitchen, looking at your equipment and making approving noises. 

“I was never a professional baker like you, but I’m glad to see you favor the same brands for your pans as I do,” he chuckles, “Makes me feel less like a fraud.” 

“I’m sure you’re just as good as I am,” you reply, “your skill didn’t disappear with your arm.” 

He comes up to stand next to you, and as you look up at him, you see his smile fade as he shakes his head. 

“No, but it might as well have, I held my skill in my right hand, my left just isn’t as steady and sometimes you need two hands.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, “I didn’t mean that it would be as easy as before, just that your knowledge of baking is still intact.” 

He gives you a small smile, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder for a brief moment, the warmth of his hand seeping through your t-shirt.

“I know, I just get frustrated as I’m reminded of what I used to be able to do.” 

You lightly bump your hip against his and give him a smile, “Well, we’ve got three hands now, and a lot of skill between us, so this will be the best chocolate soufflé ever made.” 

Ezra chuckles and smiles too, his hand slipping from your shoulder. But he doesn’t lift it, instead it drifts down to the small of your back and he leaves it there, as you lean over the notes you’ve made for the recipe. It sits comfortably against the cotton, a small, intimate touch that signals something else building between you, or at least you hope it does. Ezra is a lot more fun to have around than what you thought when you first saw him, and you’re glad he’s proving you wrong. 

“Alright, I’m putting you on butter duty, I know you can do that one handed,” you say, giving him a wink as you look up at him, you want to involve him in this as much as possible, to make him feel good about baking again.”The ramekins are up on that shelf and the saucepan over there, you know what to do.” 

Ezra grins back at you and gives you a sloppy, left handed, salute, “Yes, ma’am, I’m on it.”  

While he gets started you set up the double boiler on your stove and start whisking the ingredients together. Ezra comes over with the saucepan and stands next to you while he melts the butter and you set up a third saucepan for the caramel. 

“The whisking is the really hard part,” he says as you begin to combine the ingredients, “And even if I use a stand mixer for most things, whisking while it’s over the double boiler proved too hard, the saucepan just slid all over the place.” 

“I wonder if there’s a way to maybe keep the saucepan stable?” you think out loud as you continue to stream the cream into the bowl, “Maybe a non-conductive ring, a silicone mold maybe? It wouldn’t heat up on an induction stove, would it?.” 

“Maybe, that’s not a bad idea actually…” he says thoughtfully and you smile up at him. 

“I can hear the cogs in your head turning, Ezra,” you laugh and he laughs with you. 

“Yeah, you got me thinking there, I’ve got silicone oven mitts at home, I need to try with them first and then figure out where to get a ring shaped piece of silicone. But it’s a really good idea, thank you!” 

He leans down and gives you a quick kiss on your cheek and it catches you by surprise, looking up at him and he smiles back. 

“I apologize, a good deed deserves a nice gesture in return, and your cheeks look very kissable, sweet cheeks.” 

He laughs at your exaggerated sigh and eye roll, bumping your hip in return as you’d done to him, “C’mon now, sweet cheeks, as far as pet names go, that one’s pretty good from my perspective.” 

“Keep trying, Ezra,” you laugh, you can’t maintain your fake look of exasperation when he’s smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and looking at you with such a mischievous grin. 

“Oh I’ll keep trying, biscuit,” he winks, “I’ll win you over soon enough.” 

He steps away to grab a pastry brush, and as you whisk the batter you watch him coat the inside of the ramekins with melted butter. He struggles a bit at first when the first ramekin starts sliding across the workbench, but you quickly grab a kitchen towel, wetting it under the tap before spreading it out on the counter for him to put the ramekins on. 

“You’re just full of bright ideas, pumpkin,” he smiles gratefully as you go back to the double boiler. 

“I have my moments,” you chuckle and you feel his eyes on you as you continue to whisk the batter. 

“You have more than a few moments, I think you have everything,” he says after a little while, his voice low and sincere. It’s ladened with something deeper and it makes you take your eyes off the batter and look up at him. He’s looking back at you, smiling, but there’s another layer to his eyes, like he’s smiling through a memory. A strange mix of regret and sadness flashes across his face, gone, as quickly as it appeared, and his smile grows wider, you realize it’s not reaching his eyes this time. But as you open your mouth to say something, he speaks first, turning back to the ramekins. 

“What’s the next step, boss?” he asks, his voice back to the same cheerful tone he had just a few moments ago, and you’re certain you can see the mask come up this time. But you don’t challenge him, he’s hiding something, or at least there’s something he doesn’t want to share. So you consult your notes and point him to the egg whites. 

“Use the Husqvarna and make the meringue while I chop the chocolate.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies and gets to work, the whisking made easy this time with the help of the mixer. 

You continue preparing the chocolate batter and when Ezra is done with the meringue, you fold it into the airy egg whites, bringing them together into a light fluffy mixture. Ezra watches you as you drizzle a layer of caramel into the ramekins he’s prepared, leaving him to sprinkle a few flakes of sea salt before you scoop the soufflé batter on top, finishing with him sprinkling another few flakes on the chocolate. 

“Done,” you say, "we make a good team, Ezra.” 

“We do, and you’ve made this one handed fool very happy, letting him finally get to taste these soufflés again,” he says as you laugh and shake your head. 

“No early victories, please! We still have to bake them and you know how fickle soufflés are.” You take the oven tray you’ve placed the ramekins on and carefully move them into the oven, turning down the heat. 

“With this team?” Ezra chuckles, “I have all the faith in the world, cherry pie.” 

“Better,” you smile at him as you watch him wipe down the workbench and then turn to jump up to sit on it. 

“Better?” His eyebrows quirk up as he grins and holds out his hand for you, “Am I getting warm with my names?” 

You jump up on the workbench and sit next to him, shaking your head, “No, I just find the man using them more agreeable.” 

Ezra smiles, his dark eyes glinting as he turns to you, “You didn’t find me agreeable when I first arrived at your bakery?” 

“Not…un-agreeable,” you say, thinking out loud and studying his face, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead curling with the heat in the kitchen, as are the unruly strands of hair around his neck, patchy beard over his jaw and cheeks, his mouth twitching up in a smile as he waits for you to continue. 

“Just…hard for me to place? What you wanted. And why you were always looking at me,” you say and Ezra’s smile softens. 

“I looked, because you’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, no flourish, no fanfare or exaggeration. Just a statement as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, no smile, no grin, just his face, quietly scanning yours for a reaction. 

You lift your hand and lightly touch his cheek, fingertips tracing his jaw, the short hairs of his beard, tickling under your caress as he slowly exhales. 

He leans his face into your palm, your thumb soothing over the lines at the corners of his eyes as they close, and he lets a small sigh slip out, his warm breath tickling your wrist. Your thumb caresses his cheek while you study his face, the dark eyelashes casting shadows and his features soft, relaxed in a way you haven’t seen since he first showed up. He looks younger as you gently explore his lines with your fingertips and let them melt into softness under your touch. 

A quiet hum escapes him as he tilts his head and lets your hand slip over his jaw and back to his neck. The curls are soft, wayward, and wrap easily around your fingers as you lean forward. The plush swell of his bottom lip is irresistible and you press your mouth carefully against it. 

Ezra’s eyes fly open as your lips meet, his eyes dark and smiling. His hand comes up and gently mirrors your own, cupping your cheek as he presses his lips against yours in return. As you close your eyes, you feel his warm palm hold you steady and you part your lips, the tip of his tongue meeting yours, tasting him. His touch is soft, both his hand and his lips, making warmth spread through your body as he pulls you closer.  

He kisses you like he’s trying to learn how to read you, studying your reaction to how his lips mold against yours as he tastes your tongue under his. Each moan he pulls from you makes him come back to pull it from you again, running his tongue over the same spot, nipping on your bottom lip with a gentle tug. You realize you started the kissing, but Ezra quickly takes control, his hand cupping your cheek, keeping you steady as your own hands caress his back, feeling the bunched muscles under his thin shirt, the warmth of his body heating your palms. You can feel his heartbeat against you, your own pulse thrumming under his fingertips as he pulls another moan from you when his hand slips into your hair.  

He groans into your mouth and scoots off the workbench, pulling you with him so that he gains extra height on you. The change in angle lets him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you in closer, pressing his lips to yours as your hands slide down his back, dipping into the waistband of his pants, finding the warm skin just under the edge.

With a groan, he pulls back, his hand still curled around the back of your neck, your arms still around his waist. You look up at him but his eyes are closed and he leans down, letting his nose run along yours, caressing your cheek, down your jaw, breathing hot over your skin, while he nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“Like chocolate,” he mutters, “and caramel. What I wouldn’t give…” 

He falls silent, his lips pressing against your neck in a searing kiss that makes heat rush through your body, before he pulls back and stands up. 

“I’d tell you your kisses are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted in this bakery, but I don’t think even I could get away with that comment,” he smiles and you roll your eyes with a giggle. 

“Not even you, Ezra,” you say, “although I’d say it’s a nice effort and that your kisses are just as sweet.” 

“We make a good team,” he smiles, letting his thumb caress your cheek again as you nod. His eyes are still on you and you feel him studying you again, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time, just…breathtaking. Your breath hitches as his eyes slip over your lips, his thoughts clear on his face as the tip of his tongue peaks out. He’s the one who leans in this time, watching you close your eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his thumb and finger catching your chin. When he pulls away a fraction, you open your eyes again and he’s smiling at you. The oven timer is beeping in the background and you hadn’t even noticed, his soft lips distracting you both from the insistent sound. 

“I’ll get the timer, you get the soufflés,” he whispers and you nod slowly as he smiles and presses another soft kiss to your lips. 

“Now, my sweet cherry pie, or we’ll have a very flat dessert.” 

You smile back at him and grab the oven mitts and follow him to the oven. 

This next step is crucial, carefully you open the door and slide out the tray. They’ve risen perfectly but as soon as they’re out of the oven they start cooling down and soon they’ll sink. You set the tray down on the workbench and Ezra brings over two dessert spoons. His face is beaming at the sight of the soufflés, sniffing as the warm chocolate scent fills the kitchen. 

“They smell even better than the ones I made,” he grins as you slide a ramekin over to him. 

“A team effort, Ezra,” you smile, “your recipe, our skill.” 

“Your hands, luckily,” he replies, holding up his first spoonful of soufflé as if he’s toasting you, and you clink your spoon against his before you both have your first taste. 

The flavor is rich in your mouth but the texture is light and airy, a small hint of sal de mer hitting your tongue as you hum around the taste. Ezra’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back as he sucks on the spoon, a low rumble coming from his chest as he savors the chocolate. 

“My sweet soufflé,” he smiles, looking down at you through half closed eyelids, “this…this…is heaven.” 

He digs his spoon in, and gets some of the caramel too, taking another mouthful as he groans again. You copy him and make sure to get both caramel and soufflé on your spoon for your next bite, and Ezra was right, the combination is flawless. You sigh around your spoon, slowly sucking the caramel off it as the chocolate melts in your mouth. Ezra is watching you with dark eyes and a small smile, his own spoon forgotten in his hand. 

“I’d bake for you every day, no matter how much I’d struggle, if I could hear you make that sound again,” he says and it makes you laugh, giggling as he grins. He takes another spoonful of soufflé, smiling as he eats it, some of it catching on his mustache and you point at it. 

“You got some chocolate on your beard there.”

Ezra removes the spoon from his mouth and gives you a sly smirk, “I’m sure I won’t be able to reach it with my tongue, why don’t you help me?”. 

The tone of his voice, the mischief it promises, makes hot energy shoot through your nerves, your skin tingling as you put down your spoon and step closer to him. He’s looking down at you, his eyes full of mirth as you take his chin between your thumb and finger, tilting his head down towards you. He comes willingly, a small smile still lingering, and he’s so close, his hand finding its way to your waist. 

“Can you reach it,” he asks in a low voice and you nod, locking eyes with him. They’re the same rich brown as the soufflé, just as warm and soft right now, as you lean in and run your tongue over the corner of his mouth, finding the errant smudge of chocolate. Catching the edge of his mouth between your lips, you lap at the sweet taste. His hand bunches up your shirt and as you run your tongue over the seam of his mouth, he parts it easily, letting you in. He tastes of the dessert and you know he can taste the same on you. 

“I think you got it,” he mumbles, grinning, against your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. 

“I need to make absolutely sure, can’t let you leave with chocolate all over your mouth,” you smile between kisses. 

“You take such good care of me, honey.” 

“That one’s a winner, Ezra,” you mumble, I’ll keep that one.” 

He chuckles, his lips pulling up in a grin under yours as he kisses you again, “But it’s too ordinary, for such an extraordinary woman.” 

“I like it, especially when it comes from you, you’re extraordinary enough for the both of us.” 

Ezra tugs you closer, making you sigh into him as he buries his face against your neck, pressing a kiss against the soft skin before he rests his head on your shoulder. 

“What am I going to do with you,” he says, more a statement than a question, his hand caressing your back, sliding up into your hair, cupping around your neck, “What am I going to do with myself.”

He slowly begins to sway, moving you back and forth in a slow dance without music. 

“I need to leave soon, but I don’t want to,” he mumbles, gently spinning you around as you let your hand rest on his shoulder, the one missing his arm, “I have to leave this warm kitchen, your tender kisses, this sweet nest you’ve built for us.” 

He spins you again, moving your body slowly with his own. 

“This home you’ve created for someone like me.” 

Before you can ask what he means he steps back, taking your hand in his, and with a flourish and bow, he kisses the back of it, making you smile.  

“I am afraid, my sweet baker girl, that it is time for my departure, I will steal no more hours from you,” he says, letting go of your hand and taking his coat from the hook by the kitchen door, shrugging it back on, the empty sleeve hanging limp by his side. The other arm he hooks around your waist and leads you back out to the shop, towards the door. 

“Ezra, it’s pouring outside,” you say, seeing the rain slick street outside, the asphalt shining black under the streetlights, “Let me at least give you a lift home, you’ll get soaked. Where do you live?” 

“No, it’s no trouble, honey pie, my car is parked just a block away. And unlike you, my sweet thing, I am not made of sugar, a little rain won’t melt me,” he grins. 

A twinge of regret hits your heart as you see the mask so clearly come up over his face again, the dark eyes shifting into something less open, the softness fading away even as he smiles at you.

“Do you have to leave?” you ask as he opens the door, and he turns, resting his back against the frame of the door. 

“The illusion has to break,” he says softly, raising his hand and running the back of it over your cheek, giving you a small wink, but the mischief doesn’t reach his eyes this time. 

“What does that mean, Ezra?” you ask but he just shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. 

“Take care of my soufflé recipe, sweet girl,” he mumbles, pulling back and giving you a crooked smile. Then he turns and hurries across the street, the rain splashing around his shoes as he pulls his collar up and disappears into the darkness between the streetlights. 

…

The bell of the front door jingles just as you’re sweeping the floor, and as you look up, you spot Barbara from the dry cleaner across the street stepping into the shop. 

“Hi, you’re still open this late?” she asks, shaking out her platinum blonde box dye curls and you internally sigh, Barbara is the neighborhood chatterbox and you just want to go home, it’s been a long day. But you put on a smile and continue sweeping.

“I’m just getting ready to leave, what’s up?” 

“I meant to come earlier but I’ve been so busy. I just wanted to warn you in case he comes by here too,” she says, eyes scanning your bakery as if she’s looking for someone.

“Who?” you ask and she turns back to you. 

“There’s a man, you’ve probably seen him, shifty looking guy, he only has one arm, and a weird blonde patch in his hair. He’s been around to all the shops in this neighborhood. I saw him outside your place earlier today.”  

“What about him?” you ask, keeping your voice neutral as you duck down and wipe a shelf that’s already been cleaned, hiding your face. 

“He’s been conning business into giving him free stuff all week, food, clothes, shoes,” Barbara says, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the very nerve of asking for something for free. “Mr. Mason even gave him a haircut and trimmed his beard, how he dared to do that I don’t even know. I wouldn’t even let him into the dry cleaners, you can’t trust people like that.” 

You’re listening, your hand cleaning the same spot over and over as lead settles in your stomach. 

“H-how do you know that?” you ask, moving to the coffee machine, rubbing it down with your back to her. 

“Mrs. Levinson told me that Fanny, you know Fanny, in the flower shop?”

“Yeah, I know here, what did she say?” you ask impatiently, yanking at the milk nozzle, and you hear Barbara scoff behind you. 

“Well, apparently, this man, he told Mr. Olson at the hardware store, that he lost his arm in a construction accident, but Mrs.Saqib’s husband works at the hospital and he said this guy came in last year with a gunshot wound, all infected and nasty. And that’s how he lost his arm,” she snorts, cackling to herself. 

You continue to clean the machine, the heavy weight in your stomach turning to nausea, trying to keep your breathing steady as Ezra’s warm smile floats up inside your mind. 

“He told the police he got shot at a poker game and it was an accident but I reckon he’s lying,” Barbara continues, “men like that, you never know what they get up to, a real nasty piece of work I think.” 

“Thanks Barbara,” you snap, “I really need to close up and get home, thanks for telling me, I’ll be careful if I see him.” 

You usher her to the door as she huffs at the abrupt interruption to her gossip session but you can’t get her out fast enough, slamming the door harder than necessary and giving her a strained smile through the window as she waves. 

You hurry back to the kitchen, the ramekins still on the workbench and Ezra’s spoon next to them, just where he’d put it before he kissed you no more than a little while ago. You can’t even look at it, pulling your coat off the hook, you rush out through the back door and into the rain. 

Early next morning, long before the rest of the world is awake, you’re back at the bakery after a sleepless night. No matter how little rest you got, the bakery has to open, and for it to open, you need to bake. Familiar motions of the early hours, a chance to stop your mind from spinning, it feels like a small relief today. The thoughts of Ezra in your tired mind won’t let your head relax and as you walk up to the back steps you almost miss the envelope pushed under the door. 

You unlock the door and slip out the note inside while you step inside. The piece of paper is folded in an uneven line and as you smooth it out you see the unsteady handwriting of someone who’s writing with the wrong hand. 

I know what they say about me, the gossip, the rumors, and I confess, most of it is true. I’m sorry. I wish I was a different man, I wish I could offer you something, anything, but I have nothing to give to anyone.  

I did tell you the truth in the end though. You captivate me. You will always be my most cherished memory. That will always be true. 

Always yours, 

Ezra 

Part Six

Two links this time, one to the NYT recipe and one to the wonderful Claire Saffitz's making the souffles if you want to attempt them yourselves. I've added the caramel and sea salt though, as an extra layer of Ezra ☺

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

[lesbianloml]

the beginning

my babysitter au

type of piece(s): imagine, oneshot, drabble, series

type(s) of writing: smut, angst, fluff, dark (the story will contain all of the above)

pairing(s): milf!dom!dark!wanda maximoff x innocent!sub!immune!witch!fem!reader

warning(s): legal age gap (wanda is 33, reader is 21), perverted men, mentions of sex, this is just where they meet so nothing big

summary: when wanda hires a new babysitter, she is shocked to find that there are some things she doesn't know about her town. the biggest shock is you, you are immune to wanda's powers. an even bigger shock comes when wanda finds out you have powers of your own.

a/n: this series is going to be LOOSLY based on my wandavision dr. if anyone has anything they would like to see or something, let me know. and if anyone wants to talk about shifting, hit me up. i kinda imagined reader as a soft and quiet girl. also, you're kinda a whore. and you love to read and bake. in this series, wanda doesn't really do a tv show or different eras, it's all just normal. but the agents and stuff outside the hex have a big part. reader works at the local café that she owns and spends most of her free time in the library. anyways, enjoy part one!

1.8k words

(not my pics)

(pretend she had billy and tommy before the hex)

"what's the name for your order?" you asked, a little annoyed. you loved your job, but the older man standing in front of you made you want to throw your apron down and quit. "cohen, babe. don't forget next time" cohen shoots you a wink. you hold back a gag as you try to smile politely, writing the name on the side of the cup and turning your back to begin making the drink. grabbing a bag from behind you, you set the cinnamon pastry you made a few hours prior into a container and set it in the bag. as quick as you can, you mix up his drink and slap a lid on it while rolling up the top of the bag, wanting him to leave as soon as possible. "here you go" you say, spinning around and handing the bag and the drink to him. he gives you a look and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, you tap the counter three times swiftly. your work best friend, sophie comes around from the back. "hey babe! is he causing you trouble?" cohen glares harshly at sophie, but one thing you love about her is the way she doesn't back down. sophie gives him a look that immediately has cohen scurrying out the door, tail between his legs. "thanks soph" "anytime love. we get off in fifteen, where you going tonight? your apartment or your mom's house?" you look around to see an empty café, emptier than usual. usually, the shop is packed full of starved or thirsty customers. but it's dark outside, and who would come get caffeine and food at 9:45 at night?

"I'll just stop by the library real quick before it closes and then head home and watch a movie or something." you say, smiling as you think about the old library downtown. it was your favorite place to be whenever you had free time or just needed some quiet. you turn and stacked some more cups and filled up the napkin container while waiting for your shift to end or another customer to walk in. you hear soph come out from the back room, where she was restocking supplies. "hey girl, can i ask a favor?" "yeah i'll stay and lock up so you can go fuck shawn" you say with a smirk and a giggle. sophie gasps dramatically. "how'd you know what i was gonna ask?" "because you ask me at least once a week. and the fact that you're a year older than me and supposed to be more mature makes it even funnier" "thank you! i'll see you tomorrow. don't forget, on sunday night we're baking treats for the elementary school bake sale on monday." "got it. i love you. see you sunday. enjoy shawn!" you sing as sophie laughs. "i will. love you too." "today is friday so on sunday, i need to be here by 5:00am so i can set up the tables and stuff to be ready to open at 6:00am. then i'll work until 10:00pm, close up, and help sophie bake some treats for monday's bake sale at the elementary school" you plan your day tomorrow in your head. glancing at the clock, you see it reads 9:55pm. 5 more minutes until you can lock up and leave. you work on monday, wednesday, friday, and sunday from 5:00am to 10:30pm. you usually open at 6:00am and close at 10:00pm 4/7 days a week. you love your job but hate the hours. your job at the coffee shop payed extremely well, so no matter how much you hated waking up before the sun, you weren't going to quit. you grab a rag and wipe the counters down. 3 minutes until you lock up and leave.

you spin around when you hear the little bell above the shop door ding, signaling someone came in. you almost drop the damp rag you're holding when you see her, a women, maybe in her early thirties. she had beautiful red hair and striking green eyes. her clothes were casual and relaxed, but you were sure she was some sort of powerful figure from the way she walked and held herself. you had never seen her in westview before, you were sure you'd remember her, and you'd lived in westview since you were eighteen, so three years now. you shake your head before walking around the counter to greet the women. she's even prettier up close. "you came in at the perfect time. i was just about to lock up." you tell the women with a smile. "oh, i can leave if you're closed-" before the women starts apologizing, you cut her off. "oh no, it's ok. i don't mind, i was getting lonely in here anyways. what can i get for you tonight?" "just a coffee and a piece of apple pie, please" you nod and turn to make her order. you don't ask her name, too shy to do so. it's a good thing that this women isn't. "i'm wanda." "y/n. i don't remember seeing you around westview. did you just move here?" you ask, sliding her drink and bag with the pie in the container to her over the counter. "no, we haven't moved here yet. i was just looking around, getting ready to move in with my boys" "oh, you have kids? how old?" "i have twin boys. they're ten" wanda's face lights up when she talks about them. "cute! i guess i'll be seeing you around more if you're going to move here" "you sure will, sweetheart." you wonder what that's supposed to mean as wanda smiles at you before paying and exiting the café, leaving a trail of perfume in her wake.

wanda turns the wheel to the left, not really knowing what she's looking for, but knows she's looking for something. wanda reminds herself that she needs to head back to the hotel and rest up for tomorrow when she and her boys were going to move into their new home. ever since vision kicked them out, they've been staying in a hotel but then wanda remembered the house that she owned in westview. the perfect place for her and her boys to start over. as wanda is thinking, her head droops and stomach grumbles. she hasn't drank or eaten anything all day. wanda continues driving around the streets, looking for a restaurant or something that she could get a bite to eat at. wanda slows the car when she sees a little café on the corner, letting out a sigh of relief as she sees movement and light from inside. she wouldn't have made it the forty five minutes back to the hotel without eating something. she quickly climbs out of her car and enters the café, not really paying attention to who's there with her. wanda just wants to get back as soon as she can. "you came in at the perfect time. i was just about to lock up" wanda almost falls over at the sound of the other female's voice. it was so relaxing and quiet. so beautiful. she glances up to look and sees you. wanda swears she stops breathing for a moment. you were the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen. with the prettiest smile, even at the disturbance, and the softest voice, wanda swore she just met an angel. you had to be an angel. you're smiling. at her. "oh, i can leave if you're closed-" "oh no. it's ok. i don't mind, i was getting lonely in here anyways. what can i get for you tonight?" you were so sweet, so kind. "just a coffee and a slice of apple pie, please" wanda smirks to herself when she sees the tint of blush on your cheeks. you were so cute, too shy to talk to her or ask her name. "i'm wanda" "y/n. i don't remember seeing you around westview. did you just move here?" wanda watches you slide the bag and coffee across the counter towards her. "no, we haven't moved here yet. i was just looking around, getting ready to move in with my boys" wanda states. "oh, you have kids? how old?" "i have twin boys. they're ten" she smiles at the thought of her boys. "cute! i guess i'll be seeing you around more if you're going to move here" "you sure will, sweetheart."

as wanda clambers into her car to begin the drive home, she thinks about the girl at the counter. "y/n" wanda thinks to herself, smiling at the name. she thinks it suits you. and as wanda is turning onto the freeway, she thinks to herself, "that girl will be mine"

as you lock up the café and slide into your car, you think about the women you saw. she was very pretty, and you hope that her and her kids move in ok. as you turn you car on and pull out of the parking lot, you rest your hands on the wheel as you begin driving home. your mind is pleasantly empty on the drive back to your apartment.

the first time wanda ever met you, wanda thought about you the entire drive back to the hotel. you were the most angelic person she'd ever met, and she was enchanted by you. the first time that you met wanda, you thought about her once before driving home. she was just another customer to you. but little did you know, you were becoming so much more to her.

little do you know, this is just the beginning

[nicxl333]

MEINE LIEBE, MEINE SCHÖNHEIT, MEINE LIEBE— MICHAEL KAISER X READER

warnings: suggestive content, fluff, implied sex

cross posted on wattpad

i actually don’t know why it’s taken me this long to write about kaiser, i fucking love this man *moans*

love was a concept kaiser could not understand nor wished to get involved with. he believed love clashed with his ideals to escape from noel noa's shadow therefore dissociating from the norm that he is second best where noa is concerned. in other words;

love would only hold him back.

well, at least that's what he thought before you came along.

—

it all started when he was out shopping with ness, picking out over expensive items he did not necessarily need but bought anyways to feed into his swelling ego as well as affirming within himself that if 'he can he will'.

he had chanced upon a clothing shop with a shirt that caught his eye, wanting to look at it briefly at a closer angle. while the shirt wasn't over appealing to him, he had no reason to not buy it, considering how rich he is. he started filtering through, selecting the right size, giving it to ness to hold and heading towards the counter. just as they was approaching the queue, he lightly clashed into something in front of him, looking down with increasing displeasure at whoever weren't looking at where the fuck they were going, seeing an extremely beautiful woman rubbing her shoulder. he didn't speak at first, allowing his anger to simmer. he didn't need to anyways, not when ness was present and apparently feeling more offended than kaiser himself who was actually hit.

"oi, watch where you're going you idiot. you just hit the Michael Kaiser!"

what they didn't anticipate however was you having the ability to stand up for yourself.

you took an airpod out of your ear, giving the most aggravated side eye both football players had ever seen.

"first off, i would watch who the fuck you're talking to. i don't care if his name is michael or fucking joey, i will not be disrespected by a pair of strangers when i clearly bumped into you by accident. you didn't even give me time to breathe, let alone apologise, which i won't be doing now for the record."

although stunned, kaiser was somewhat intrigued at your reaction. although he likes annoying people and baiting reactions, this was truly one of the few times he had actually been knocked down a peg in retaliation. he wanted to know more about you.

"damn. feisty."

"i'll show you fucking feisty if you want."

ness stood there, solemnly humbled and out of commission to spout any other bullshit from his mouth, while kaiser was stunned into temporal silence.

"whatever, leave me alone you freaks."

you turned to walk up to the cashier desk, letting the sales assistant scan your clothes items. they gave you the price and you reached into your purse to take your card. a hand beat you to it however, a beep resounding from the card machine. you looked up to see a tattooed hand retracing back to the owner's side, holding a black card. he looked to you with a sly grin.

"what, am i supposed to be impressed?" you quizzed with a raised brow.

well damn.

it was clear to kaiser that you were different from other women, who were always easily impressed by money.

"just an apology for how my friend acted towards you, meine liebe."

you ignored him and took the now bagged clothes from the sales assistant, muttering a word of thanks while turning back to the duo, opening your wallet.

"i don't wanna owe you anything, so how much was it? i didn't see the price."

"aht, aht, that's between me and my bank account now. although if you truly must repay me, how about dinner tonight?"

ness' eyes nearly popped out of his head with seething jealousy that kaiser was diverting his attention elsewhere. he wouldn't say that to him though, he valued his life and would prefer to not be embarrassingly degraded in public again.

you gave a calculated stare at kaiser in slight shock, not expecting the once hostile environment to transition towards one of romance.

you pinched the bridge of your nose, slowly inhaling before opening your eyes.

"if it'll get you to leave me alone then fine."

you held your hand out for his phone, which he placed in your palm, quickly typing in your number and saving a name. you promptly returned it back to him, to which he looked at the details.

hot girl from store

he looked back up, only seeing where you previously stood, now vacated. he smirked to himself in amusement.

• six months later •

it's safe to say in the time he had gotten to know you, he swiftly became enamoured. although you protested countless of times, he would make sure to take you to upscale restaurants, don you with high end clothing. jewels, diamonds, shoes, dresses, you name it, he bought it. you only had to be remotely interested in the item you were looking at to find it at your doorstep the next day. and don't get you started on the way he loved you during the night. he always made sure you were satisfied before he was.

it's safe to say you had him wrapped around your finger. don't think that's it's a bad thing, but what really had kaiser keening for you was the interest you had for him as a person, not for who he was. you were probably the only person who treated him as a human being and not just a notorious football player. you allowed him to be himself around you. and he valued you immensely for that.

in the six months you had been dating each of you treated the other equally as well. although you requested for the relationship to stay secret for the meantime, he never gave you less of his love. it got to the stage where he couldn't imagine doing anything without you.

it just so happened that one night while watching a movie on his couch he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

you head was laid on his lap, stroking his thigh while he stroked your hip. your face was illuminated by the soft glow emanating from the tv and you just looked so damn beautiful.

he didn't intend for it to happen, but he couldn't stop the words from slipping out.

"i love you."

your head rose slightly, making sure you weren't tweaking and he actually professed his love to you.

his face was alarmingly red and he was looking anywhere but you in the moment, having grown shy. you sat up from his lap opting to sit on him instead, wrapping your legs and arms around him, placing your head in the crook of his neck and giving a light peck, moving to whisper in his ear.

"i love you too handsome."

he turned his head catching your lips in a heated passionate kiss, quickly incorporating his tongue into the mix, tasting the salt from the chips you were eating during the movie. it quickly escalated, your hands threading into his blonde and blue locks, gripping them and pulling slightly, to which he moaned into your mouth.

he reached his limit, and so did you . he lifted your body and lay you down on the couch, taking off his shirt and caging you in with his arms.

"i'm about to show you how much i love you meine schönheit."

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Round 1

Propaganda why Robin is insufferable:

"Annoying control freak"

"his mere existence is a vile mockery of the real Robin. Why do they always have to ruin everything by reducing the characters by the jokes they can make against them?"

"Not even because it’s a far cry from how Robin is actually characterized in the comics or the OG cartoon, but his exaggerated impulsive and controlling personality is really hard to watch most of the time.

If you do compare it to his original iteration, it’s just insulting, but not even taking that into account, I don’t understand why anyone can stand to watch a show for fun with a main character like that? Lol"

Propaganda why Stuart Little is insufferable:

"Bad vibes"

"Even from his first ever appearance he was insufferable. I remember when I was a child my mum took me to a carboot sale, trinkets, clothes, games, dvds galore. It was a lovely day. On one stall we stopped and decided to take a closer look at their goods.. My mum decided to buy the stuart little box set containing the entire trilogy inside. this would change my life forever. Now, you may thinking ‘what is so bad about Stuart little?’ Well I’m just about to tell you. First of all his appearance. He’s got that little submissive twinky build with a stupid smug little smirk on his stupid little mouse face (ALSO WHY IS HE A MOUSE AND NOT A RAT? RATS ARE SO MUCH BETTER) I can’t even sexualise him or call him a tumblr sexy man bc he’s a minor and an orphan minor at that (embarrassing) which brings me into my next point. The whole adoption scene??? Just screams??? Entitled??? Like imagine you are an orphan and you are super excited to get adopted you put on your best orphan outfit and orphan smile and then the family come in (eccentric but also very nice) and they take a look at you and you smile and think ‘wow this is my moment to be adopted!’. Then they say to the head of the orphanage ‘yeah I’ll take the rat.’ I DONT KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT THAT WOULD PISS ME THE HELL OFF AND GIVE ME TRUST ISSUES AND RELATIONSHIP ISSUES AND SELF ESTEEM USSUES AND ISSUES WITH ISSUES. Then this smug little twink rat just walks out with a family??? My mind would say??? This bitch??? Anyways now that that is outta the way can we talk abt the gay little saying the family has. ‘Little high little hey little low’ so so gay like I’ve had lesbian sex and that is probably gayer than that. Infect you know what?? Maybe the littles adopting stuart did the poor orphans a favour. Like it’s kinda like if two sexual deviants dated bc at least it keeps them off the streets. You know what this now a little family hate account. They also have another saying that ‘anyone can find the little house if they are a little from anywhere’ I think they should find a gun and let it go off but ig uts not as cool. I wanna go on for longer bc idk id this is too cringe"

"he got stuck in a washing machine once and also i imagine they would smell pretty badly irl and also im racist towards white mice and also i dont like him. He should have died and drowned in the washing machine."

"stupid fucking rodent he can actually go die i hate his stupid voice i just wanna step on him"

"hate this stupid mouse want to put him in a mouse trap"

[beautifulpersonpeach]

He put crack in this song.

Does anyone else sit with the fact that, besides the choir, every voice heard on Set Me Free Pt 2 belongs to Jimin?

(Jimin, the man you are...)

You know, I used to wonder why Yoongi chose Tony Montana as the song to have Jimin rap on. This was way back, when I didn't really pay attention to Jimin, and I felt Jimin should be the last person to feature on a track like that. Tony Montana is one of the most disgusting songs in Yoongi's discography. It's so nasty. I'm talking gutter trap, filthy distortion... not even Yankie (the original featuring artist) could do that beat justice, and that's the song Yoongi gave Jimin.

Yoongi knew...

(He's an animal)

Yoongi knew that Jimin would work magic on a track like Tony Montana, and be fully in his element. Jimin is very similar to Yoongi in that way, and this is even more clear after SMF Pt 2. Yoonmin both use autotune to represent the voices in their heads, to colour whole personalities, to exhibit their alter-egos, both benevolent and malicious. Yoongi's mastery of that tool has only enhanced his credibility as an MC, and if there's any member who can one day match Yoongi's proficiency in using that stylistic tool, it's Jimin. Because already, with his first ever song as a solo artist, Jimin has painted such an arresting picture using that tool.

When SMF Pt 2 first dropped, I thought there were only two voices in the song: the autotuned voice saying Jimin's inner thoughts, and the normal voice singing the topline of the song. Now, I hear four distinct voices:

The voice representing reckless ambition - “I never stop, I never stop / Ah yeah, ah yeah”

The voice representing impatience and anger - "Hey fool, just get out of my way / Shut up, fuck off / I’m on my way"

The voice representing the exponent - "Enemy / Better be"

The voice representing clarity, acceptance, and triumph - "날 비웃어도 멈추지 않아"

Even with the autotune, Jimin uses it in three very different ways to express three different voices in his head - all of which are wholly Jimin, but he closes off the whole affair in his own voice, the one that's least processed on the song, the voice that represents his triumph and determination to forge his own path.

(Called it)

It's been weeks and I'm still obsessed with Jimin's delivery of those voices. His voice is addicting. No member in BTS can sing "Fuck all your opps" the way Jimin does.

Speaking of opps...

I've seen your asks about our old friend, William, and I haven't responded because a big part of me doesn't care. I don't want to be dismissive of the people who are angry that William excluded ~100k units in sales for Jimin (and Jimin only, going by the placements of other k-artists on the chart) in the second week of tracking. I agree with you that it's annoying because as it always is with BTS, the rules have been selectively applied, Jimin's work and achievement has been made to look less legitimate, and this is happening while the same organization highlights and celebrates other k-artists who haven't just fallen off the chart, but also performed poorly in critics reviews, so a.k.a. mediaplay.

I feel the frustration too but at the same time, when has the playing field ever been equal for BTS? It feels like a rite of passage for new fans to experience at least one 'what the fuck just happened?' moment when it comes to how blatant the subversion is for BTS.

But I don't care to harp on about it because (1) It's unproductive, (2) I'm neck-deep in FACE, (3) I just kinda believe Jimin.

He's not stopping. He plans to continue making music even if it hurts and even if people mock him. And I plan to keep listening to him for as long as he feels he has something to say. Jimin has already made his mark, and like everything else he does, he's done it in record time in spite of all the handicaps. He knows his fans love his work, he knows he's gotten critical acclaim for his efforts, and he knows the industry has never been a friend - he's not new to William's antics. Jimin is fine.

(...more than fine. Just look at that man. God. He was born to own the stage)

The fandom is another matter lol. ARMYs will need to figure out how to adapt, the way the fandom has always found ways to adapt, but I don't know if this will happen before the implosion or afterwards.

Either way it's only a matter of time before Jimin comes back with another project that ends k-pop and wins hearts, saves souls, and makes babies. The world can decide whether or not to make room for him to settle at the top and it wouldn't matter, because Jimin means it when he says he makes his own way. And I intend to support him as an artist his entire career. It's me and him. The rest of you can choose to join in or not.

(A performer)

Everything about Set Me Free Pt 2 feels extreme. Every single thing about it. The brass. The haunting, wailing, choral chants. The autotune... There are so many choices Jimin could have made on that song: he could've tempered the aggression with an intermission of his feather-light vocals the way he does on Face Off, he could have emphasized his points by having the instrumentals bottom out the way it does on Alone, he could have gone about SMF Pt 2 in a million other ways, but he chose the most audacious sound to declare that from here on out, he's playing by his own rules, making art on his own terms, and everyone else is just going to have to get used to the idea.

(*The performer)

*

For the Anon surprised that Jimin knows about Rilke, but went on to diss Joon in the same ask... what did you think Jimin was doing with Namjoon all those times they'd hang out and talk about life? Namjoon is the bonafide Rilke fanboy in BTS, has been sharing Rilke's works and poems with fans and the members for at least six years now, but it's suddenly surprising Jimin looked up poems to fit the theme of his song and went with Rilke? Y'all need to start paying attention to how your biases interact with every other member in BTS, not just the members you like.

[gongustheawsome01]

Some cannon relationships for Vicky and stuff ( Pretty much just what she thinks of each character )

More info on Vicky here! ( Backstory )

Vicky Backstory

Peppino -

The first introduction she had to this man was him breaking into her house thinking it was another one of pizzaheads plans and almost beating HER up before he realize she wasn't pizzahead and was indeed a vampire ready to rock his face in.

He was so pathetic and sad though that it would just be absolutely miserable to kill him so she let him go.

So yeah she doesn't really like him all too well! She often pranks him a lot not like water bucket but in a spooky way like jump scarring or putting one million trillion spiders in his room. She still however isn't as annoying as the noise

Gustavo -

Oh they're sworn enemies. He hates her because of her constantly pranking Peppino and making his life more miserable than it already is. Vicky however sees Gustavo as a total joykill and that it's just some silly fun.

He often sends brick to scare her off he is pretty bad at being scary though so she just runs off most of the time or fly's off if she decides to transform into a bat.

Mr.Sticks -

She ALMOST killed him when they first met because she thought he was just another annoying door to door sales man that was gonna be her next meal ( I mean she WAS right on one of those parts ) but due to the pairs GOD AWFUL taste in fashion she actually really liked his outfit and asked about it.

They then talked for hours about a lot of things until Sticks realized like after one whole hour he was talking to a vampire and bolted out of the door screaming like a girl.

They then kept running into another until Sticks accepted she wasn't going to suck his blood out. They are now best friends because of the power of being failures, bad fashion taste, and being annoying!

Burton -

She met him when she was hanging out at Sticks insane apartment and they both heard a knock at the door sticks went up to get it and Burton was there! Paying a visit because he realized he was passing by.

He then looked over to see Vicky just kinda standing there like a statue because she didn't know this guy so hypothetically he COULD be a vampire slayer but he was also a friend of Sticks so was he chill?

Burton then turned over to Sticks and asked him. "..Scott is that a vampire?"

She then stopped overthinking for a moment to say. "YOUR NAME IS SCOTT??" Anyways now they're pretty content with another I feel as if they talked to each other more than they would become friends.

Brick -

he's working with Gustavo and y'know sometimes DOES bite her. So like I'd say they probablyyyy don't like each other..

Noisette -

She found her cafe one afternoon when she was just wandering about. She wasn't looking for anything to eat or drink but just thought she'd have a quick look.

Noisette herself seemed pretty nice of a gal. She insisted that she at least try one of her foods but just looking at the menu said she'd already ate. They talked for a bit well Noisette mainly did the talking..

But she was alright in Vicky's terms at least. Vicky actually ended up becoming a regular there mainly to pass the time though and Noisette can be entertaining. So in the end... Good friends! ( Also yes they do gossip sometimes. )

Noise -

NOISETTE IS TOO GOOD FOR HIM AND HE DESERVES THE GUILLOTINE!!! In her humble opinion..

Pepperman-

While she does actually fancy his artistic talent and owns maybe one or two of his paintings. Holy hell is he INSUFFERABLE to her.

When it comes to Noisette the appeal with her is that while she doesn't mean to sound rude Noisette is a little.. empty headed and kinda just goes on tangents of whatever! Which can be really entertaining.

BUT THIS GUYYY MAN!!! She spends five seconds around him and all of a sudden it's "himself", or "something pretentious here", OR EVEN "so like why do you wear red anyways? For the vampire look or is it a sort of metaphor for-" before he could even finish that one though she hit him over the head with a wooden chair.

Vigilante-

She can't interact with this guy. He reminds her too much of her sister.

Fake peppeino-

She met this THING ONCE and she decided never again and doesn't even bring it up you mention even the slightest bit of it and she just goes "SHSHSHHSHSSHHHHHHHSHSHSHHHHHH"

Aka she may or may not have actually felt fear for the first time in forever for her thousands of years alive.

(NOTE: SOME OF THIS CAN AND MOST LIKELY WILL CHANGE IN THE FUTURE. )

[georgefairbrother]

On February 3rd, 1960, British (Conservative) Prime Minister Harold Macmillan addressed the South African parliament in Cape Town, using the iconic phrase ‘wind of change’, that was blowing through the African continent as majority black nations moved toward decolonialisation and independence. He described this ‘growth of national consciousness’ as a political fact, whether welcome or not, and talked about the creation of a society which respects the rights of individuals;

"…A society in which individual merit, and individual merit alone, is the criterion for a man’s advancement, whether political or economic…"

Given the regime of Apartheid in South Africa at that time, it’s unsurprising that the speech received a frosty reception, although the South African Prime Minister, Hendrik Verwoerd, at least remained courteous, but argued;

"…We are the people who brought civilisation to Africa. To do justice in Africa means not only being just to the black man of Africa, but also to the white man of Africa…"

The BBC reported;

"…Mr Macmillan’s speech is the first time a senior international figure has given voice to the growing protest against South Africa’s laws of strict racial segregation. The speech was widely anticipated throughout the country, as Mr Macmillan had already said he would take the chance to say what he thought about the situation in South Africa. Even so, the plain-speaking nature of the speech took many in Cape Town by surprise…"

Harold Macmillan’s courageous speech was widely credited in expediting independence across Africa. It was also influential toward encouraging a more vocal opposition to Apartheid internationally, and by 1962, the UN had passed a non-binding resolution calling for an international trade and cultural boycott of South Africa.

The British government's resolve in terms of isolating South Africa proved to be a little fluid - at the inaugural Commonwealth Heads of Government meeting in 1971, the Heath government mightily annoyed African member states over proposed arms sales to South Africa in defiance of a voluntary UN embargo.

The sporting boycott was credited as being a major factor driving reform in South Africa, however this was lost on a number of professional cricketers who participated in highly lucrative rebel tours over several years. This is how long time anti Apartheid activist (Lord) Peter Hain described what would be a disastrous tour by a rebel England side, in early 1990, with Apartheid in its very last days;

"…This was on the cusp of a historic change in South Africa. So for Gatting and his ­tourists to go, clodhoppers and all, into this transformative moment was ­grotesque beyond belief. It was not surprising it caused such offence. The rebel tours were a doomed attempt to shore up the ­tottering apartheid system, when it needed to be isolated…"

More on rebel tours by Australia and England;

Literature circulating in South Africa during an earlier Australian rebel tour, stated;

"...The 8 million Rand that will be paid to 15 well nourished but greedy cricketers can buy bread for each and every day of an entire year for 250 000 South Africans – enough to save a quarter million from dying..."

[thepuppeterproject]

Part 1 - The old tales

CHAPTER ONE 

For the longest time now, a house has been lying vacant, a white and blue FOR SALE sign plastered in the large front window. Nothing was wrong with this home, brand new plumbing, gorgeous interior, and unbelievably cheap compared to other house prices in the area.  

It was the neiborhood that was the problem. Tales of spooks, monsters, and paranormal activity floated around the workspace, newspapers, and school gossip. Tales of werewolves in the forests, witches living in old cabins, and people claiming to have seen the dead moving on their own – much like a puppet. 

So there the house lies on Fortcress Drive. However, one day when a group of high school students pass by the old house, there it is. A big, red, SOLD sign sitting in front of the torn old sign.  

Who in their right mind would move here? The town of Roseview, Michigan has just been getting smaller and smaller sense the . . . incidents. The talk of paranormal activity only began 20 years ago, when a home burned down out of nowhere, and other house fires began unexpectedly. 

Some say it’s all superstitions, old stories passed around for no other reason besides gossip to fill boredom. Others say they’re all nonsense, just fiction, as if anything hidden from the eye is not real. But others . . . others have been part of it.  

* * * 

“Maria, darling, get your nose out of that book and help us unload the car!” Harlie Malicent, Maria’s mom said. Ah Harlie, the living embodiment of ‘Live, Laugh, Love, Family’. Sometimes I wonder how she ever tricked a man into marriage. An attractive one too – not my cup of tea, but I can see how he’s fuckable.  

“Mom, I-” Maria went to protest, but Harlie isn’t one to take no for an answer. “Nonono, no backtalk. Book down.” With a groan, Maria put down her book on the windowsill of the porch. Almost hitting her head on the hanging potted cherry tree. Vines sprawl out, pouring out of the sides. The way the vines are hanging . . . something is drawing Maria towards it - “Mama!” whined a little girl. Annoying as ever, she’ll probably grow up to be a pick-me cheerleader. 

Liela Malicent. Just turned ten years of age – still as childish as a toddler. “Mama, where’s bubbles?” She asked. Ah, Bubbles. I almost forgot about him. The poor abused goldfish – well one of them at least. They have gone through seven in the past year, these stupid adults too stuck up to tell their daughter that her fish died.  

“Oh, your father took him to the vet, he got sick.” Harlie said. Liela huffed and muttered, more like yelled, “I want to see him!” as she stormed inside. Just as the little brat went inside, Maria walked back out. “Bubbles?” She asked her mom and closed the door.  

Harlie nodded, “Yeah sadly. I just can’t tell her that her fish died, you know how emotional she is!” Before Maria had a chance to answer, a car pulled up into the driveway. Liela ran back out squealing, “Papa’s home, Papa’s home!” 

Then there he was, in all his glory! Jessie Malicent! Jessie is an attractive man with a fit shape. He’s what you’d think of as your typical attractive man. Fit body, great smile, and not bad on the eyes.  

Jessie gets out of the car holding a pizza box, and a smaller box that sits up top with breadsticks. Liela doesn’t care that brat not caring if the pizza falls- and runs right up to Jessie and hugs him. “Hi, Papa!” She said happily.  

“Hey there, Kiddo!” Jessie said and handed the pizza to Maria, “Can you set that inside dear?” He asked. Maria just nodded and grabbed the food, her book, and walked inside. She was close with her father, but after the day she had she wasn’t in the mood to chit-chat.  

There was barely anywhere to set the pizza box. There were two folding chairs, both surrounded by boxes. Maria groaned under her breath and stumbled her way outside, and called out from the porch, “Hey Mama, Papa, could we eat outside?” It’s not like they had a choice – there was no room inside to even walk. 

“Of course, dear, great idea!” Harlie agreed. Then before they knew it, the family was sitting on the stone porch and eating pizza, using gas station napkins as plates.  

Maria had been mostly spaced-out reading, though when her mom said her name, it caught her attention quite well. “Oh, Maria! We know how you like reading and tend to be – antisocial – at times, but we signed you up to the school nearby!” Maria was shocked. She was social, but only with those she was close with. She had a tough time making friends but was rather enthusiastic when she had friends back at their old home.  

“Mama-” Maria went to say but Harlie carried on. “And it is biking distance from here! Now listen, I know the school year has already started, but it was just a week or two! Just think, being a first-year high school student!” Jessie added, “New school, new home, new start!” “I think it’s-” Maria couldn’t get a single sentence in before her mom cut her off again. “This will be great, darling!” 

Maria stood up, “I’m going to bed.” She said and walked inside without another word to her family. Maria shuffled around the boxes, grabbed her sleeping bag and went upstairs. Maria opened the vacant room which would soon be hers.  

Laying out the sleeping bag, she spoke to herself. “I wanna go home...” Instead of laying down, she walked to the window. Maria was looking outside, her bedroom window having a full view of a forest. She could almost see what looked like the roof of a house . . . but there was no way that there would be a house all the way out there-right? It was darkening outside, so she wasn’t sure.  

Sighing, Maria sat down on top of her sleeping bag. Despite trying, Maria suffered a restless night tossing and turning. And then before she knew it, it was Monday morning.  

* * * 

Ah, Autumn mornings in Michigan. It could be anywhere from 80°F to a literal blizzard. Though this morning was a special one, crisp air, leaves of orange and yellow dancing in the wind, absolutely gorgeous.  

Maria hopped onto her bike and set off for school. Her mother texted her the address and she had Google Maps pulled up on her phone. Maria rode her bike through a quick shortcut. It looked like other people also used this, as there was a trail of tire marks from bikes indented in the ground of a forest. Though something caught her eye . . . 

Looking to her left, Maria sees just what she thought she had seen yesterday. That old cabin . . . so it was there! Maria stared at it for a moment, gazing at little beams of light floating around it – she's just seeing things. Tiny light beams flying isn’t real.  

Shaking her head, Maria put her hands back to her bike handles and continued back off towards school hell. 

Maria stopped by the office and picked up her schedule. Looking at her electives, she wasn’t the happiest. Drama and Spanish. Maria knew Spanish before this, so why did she need to take classes on it?  

Either way, it was better to get Drama than something crappy like ‘creative writing.’ Was Maria excited – no. Was she wanting to walk out of those doors and go home – yes. But she did the only thing people can do – suck it up and deal with it. 

A few weeks went by, and Maria was slowly adjusting to her new life. She wasn’t happy about it, but she accepted it. Her life now was quite boring until one day she met some new friends – little did she know they would be the reason for her torture. 

So, there she sat, bored as could be. Maria was in English, studying for math. Hey, gotta study sometime, right? Never mind, she was on her phone behind her textbook. Who really studies anymore? 

“Hey there, new kid! Maria, right?” a boy asked suddenly. Maria was startled, jumping in her chair a little. Maria blankly stared at the boy for a moment before eventually saying, “Can I help you?” 

  The boy passed her a smile. He was . . . interesting . . . to say the least. He wore more casual clothing, with brightly colored pins flowing down his school lanyard. Pins of anime, music, and pride pins. Anymore and he would have sold out Hot Topic. 

The boy said, “I’m Mark,” as he knelt beside her. “You don’t talk a lot, and I haven’t seen you hang around anyone, so I thought I'd come and say hello!” 

Ah, the gay theatre kid – just the light of every classroom. Look – even if this kid didn’t look like a unicorn died on him, you could still tell he’s gay “What lunch period do you have?” 

Maria shuffled through some papers and found her schedule, “I have A.” She spoke. “No way, so do I! I eat lunch with my friends, you should join us!”  

Maria asked, “Why?” “Because, you look alone, and why not? I like to meet new people!” Mark answered. “So, is that a deal?” Maria let out a small sigh, “Alright.” She spoke. Aria now started to smile. No harm in making friends, right? Wrong. 

Just a moment later, the bell had rung. Mark walked back over to his desk while Maria gathered her things and got her bag on. When Mark walked back over, he asked, “Ready?” With a nod from Maria, they were out. 

 The hallways were like your average high school hallway. A fight the next hall to their left, a straight couple about to fuck on the water fountain, and a teacher dress coding girls that look like they’re cosplaying clowns in lingerie.  

Walking into the cafeteria was just as bad. The table of ‘straight’ guys jerking each other off under the table, the kids off to the side mixing chocolate milk with fruit cups, the ‘couple table’ - which the whole table is just the assortment of couples; you know – the ones that only last for a day? The ‘popular kids’ relationships! 

Mark led Maria to a table of 3 others. Two girls and a guy – Maria recognized them from other classes she had. The girls were leaning against each other – clearly dating; no doubt. Though they didn’t over-do it like some people (AKA straight people). 

The boy looked chilled out, casually reading. He was reading, ‘May the Best Man Win” by Zr Ellor. Maria recognized the book from the library in her old town but had never read it. 

The boy looked up, his face had a small touch of pink as his eyes met Mark’s, “Oh, hey!” He spoke. “Hey! I brought someone, y’all mind if she hangs out?” “Go right ahead!” One of the girls said. 

Taking a seat, Maria said, “I’m Maria.” With a slight smile. “I’m Jill!” The boy said, then looked to the girls, “That’s Caroline and Sara!” Caroline waved, followed by Sara. “It’s nice to meet you!” Caroline said. After a while of talking and eating, Jill said, “Hey, Maria! We planned on a sleepover tonight! What do you say? I can give you my address!”  

Maria looked up from her food, “Sure!” she said, “That sounds great!” 

[ahmementos]

Bedside Manner Nonexistent

Febuwhump Day 12 : "Can You Hear Me?"

“I don’t know if you can hear me.”  The IVs and the beeping machines were annoying but they let him know Chris was still alive in there somewhere.  “They said to talk to you… but I’m not sure the one liners are going to be a great sales pitch.”

Leon had long ago pulled up a chair to sit next to him.  It had been at least a half hour before he could come up with words to say.  Only seconds before he spoke did he even reach out to grasp Chris' limp hand and realized just how fragile he seemed lying there.  This was the living, breathing semi-truck that ran roughshod on bioterror cells across the world.  To see him reduced to a comatose state in a hospital bed was more sobering than the resident alcoholic cared for.

“I don’t even know why they think I’ve got some power to drag your ass back to the land of conscious thought.”  Leon couldn’t look at the tubes running through Chris’ mouth so he focused on the hand in his grasp instead.  “Like I, of all people, can magically come up with the right phrase to bring you back.  I suck at hallmark shit.”

His thumb rubbed along the battered knuckles and he tried to be careful.  He wasn’t sure what all damage was there or how long he still needed to heal.  Claire told him it had been a cave in at the detonation site, a carefully laid trap.  

“You got all the men out this time,” he finally decided to say.  “No one died on your watch.”

It felt so empty to say to a man who may not come back to him.  

“I’m not saying that so you can rest easy or something equally selfish, okay?”  It felt like the thing to clarify.  “Can you give me a clue here?  Can you even hear me?”

Chris’ hand didn’t flex and there was no movement on his body.  Leon hadn’t come up with the right words yet.  He felt like he’d been given a test he couldn’t pass.  

“I can’t do this without you.”  It was said in a rush of breath, a secret that escaped when he exhaled.  “I don’t know what anyone else said to try and motivate you but I’m telling you I can’t do any of this without you and if you die on me right now I’m going to lose my shit.”

It might have been a trick his mind decided to play on him, but Leon swore Chris’ finger twitched.  Leon’s eyes widened as he stared down at Chris’ hand and willed it to move again, just to prove he wasn’t crazy.  When nothing happened, he nodded solemnly.  

“So you just got in my life and now it’s time to check out, huh?”  He nodded again but he could feel his vision blurring and it pissed him off.  “You made me give a shit about something.  After all this time, you made me open up to someone and now you’re just gonna nope right out without a fight.”

There was no mistaking the curling of Chris’ index finger around his hand.  It was weak and barely there, but he saw it that time.  Leon tightened his grip on Chris’ fingers and drew in a ragged breath.  

“Now you fucked up because I know you’re in there.”  The sob might have had a laugh mixed in.  “Now, you can’t die on me because…”

The words fell short.  This was the part where he’d come up with a deflecting one-liner and he found his database of such things empty.  All he had were tears as his hand held onto Chris’ like it was a lifeline.  

“Don’t die on me.”  It was a broken statement and his head falling on top of Chris’ hand muffled out the sobs that came as soon as it was out of his mouth.

[taigastyle]

I've been in fandom a Long time, so it shouldn't surprise me that people act like they have to defend people they don't know as if they've been personally attacked but Man...wrestling fandom really drags it back to those 2012 tumblr days lmao.

All I care about it getting fun weekly TV, good stories and PPVs worth the money. I promise the millionaire does not need people on tumblr being miserable and angry to 'defend' them.

and as someone who works in the entertainment business if I see one more person talking about ratings, tickets sales and 'being a draw' when they have 0 knowledge of how these things actually work I'm gonna become the joker

tldr being a "draw" or "ratings killer" doesn't exist!! all tv shows follow a pattern of where there quarterly numbers lie and very rarely deviate from that - overall ratings fluctuate 100,000 either side, which is why aew is always in the 800-900-1 million mark - that's normal, be worried when they drop into the 700s - say someone is a draw when they get close to 1.75 - advertisers care way more about a steady and high demo than overall numbers because those are the people likely to spend money

ticket sales are dependent on a huge number of factors, that yes, can sometimes be down to one person (see famous actors on stage shows) but vary hugely when considering sporting events as those tend not to have a fixed location like the Westend or broadway so timing, location etc play much more into it than just 1 singular person.

and now I'm annoyed that I even thought about this so much!! honestly I should just watch njpw exclusively because at least the discourse there is either in a language I can't read or so boring no one wants to talk about it.

genuinely this is a great ask and i agree with all of it 10000%

ratings/tickets/money discourse makes me want to rip my hair out because it is every week the same thing gasp the rating dips drastically after the people who watch the lead in change the channel! gasp people change the channel after commercial breaks! gasp (insert a thousand repeated things that people act like is reflected by whoever is in whatever time slot that we're discussing) aew walk ups/day of ticket sales have been really solid lately, but you wouldn't know that because people act like the sky is falling and they're no tickets.

i went to a show *last week* in a new market, that was far from sold out, but i saw the line of people buying tickets and it was about as long as the line of people already waiting with them. so they sold more tickets and it was a nothing show without that much star power.

additionally, every time i hear "there's so much money to be made" i want to sit people down and ask them who is making that money - tk. of course he wants his workers (and i'll be neutral here, both sides have been negatively affected. punk feels as if his character was smeared and the bucks+ken were physically assaulted/feel this is a black mark on their characters too) to make him money by putting on their get along shirt. for all the "workers rights" crowd that isn't workers rights. that's a billionaire wanting to make money. there's back and forth about punk's contract, but again i'll be fair and assume no benefits either, but the evps contracts don't give them any ppv points, they aren't making any extra money off of this. only tk would, only the brand of aew as a whole could potentially maybe make more money potentially for A ppv cycle.

okay? and that's worth it. that's worth a whole slew of people on both sides being miserable, being forced to work with people they don't like and shouldn't have to work with. you can point blame at whoever, but we don't work there and i personally am only basing my opinion off of what i have seen in public and what both sides have agreed upon as a narrative. which is hangman said one thing in a promo nobody blinked about for months (AND HE WAS PUNISHED FOR! there was a meeting about this right away, he was kept off of the LA show, he still jobbed to Punk, but people act like he just got a free one on Punk when that's not what happened) until punk got his receipt which was cowardly because at least hangman said his piece to punk's face. phil had to embarrass and devalue a fellow coworker to get his back.

then there was the press conference, and anyone who watched that and tries to defend it idk i watched it live and i was shocked at what he was allowed to say. and it was out of line.

and then there was a fight and both sides have agreed punk threw the first punch. the elite brought legal (and the head of talent relations) with them to the place they had publicly just been invited to have a conversation with (either a fellow executive, an employee of aew, or someone who worked beneath them depending on what narrative is out there, i don't know so i don't care)

everything else is hearsay, everything else i don't work there i don't care. this is what i saw, this is what i have been told by punk/dax/whoever from the elite side has talked (which a lot of reporters have repeatedly said no one from that side has talked beyond confirming questions here and there early on, but they haven't talked in months) from what i saw as a viewer i don't want this guy back. i've watched a bunch of other sports things, you don't just put your get along shirt on you get traded, you get suspended. that is life.

punk has been harmed in this, the elite have been harmed in this, i do not understand why anyone is pushing the false narrative about tickets/ratings/making money. i don't know why they want (beyond they like these people as fans) everyone to come back together. it's not good. there was an investigation!!! it concluded with the elite being back to work and punk not. there you go.

tk has the final say at the end of the day and i think it is gross as a boss who was negligent and let this fester in his workplace to now profit off of it. but what do i know.

[calypso-finale]

Thirty Eight.

Today is very much my last day in LA and I feel bittersweet because I have pushed this for so long, I have stayed longer then I should have. Oakley been wanting to go home and I pushed it for an extra few days because of the home sale to go through, which it did but we had paperwork and then my accountant questioning my sale and then his money, it was just a lot of going back and forth. Oakley doesn’t have an accountant, he then ran in trouble getting his own money out, he has a business account which then as a holder in that bank which then put a hold on the transfer, it was a mess so then I ended up just paying through my accountant and then his bank got a hold of my accountant and put it back in, let’s just say I will be fixing his account when we go back, his independent living thing has to stop but we are proud owners of a cute little three bedroom west Hollywood home, I am happy but I know Oakley wants to go home. He is bored and had enough, he has turned into a chauffeur for me, he literally just drives me around most part of the time “I have never seen someone pack the way you do” I said to him “I am ready to go” he smiled “right?” I said “well I am going to see my family one last time before we go home, and catch that flight tonight” he is so miserable “Oakley come on” I said to him “the thing is, you ain’t ever bored with me in London, least you can rock up to my family home, my mom may be dense but the door is always open but anyways, I am glad to be going back home” nodding my head slowly “Oakley, if I could have you in the house I would. Just last time and it won’t be a while until we do come back, what has pissed you off the most, being bored or my mom?” he just shrugged, didn’t answer “maybe your mom, maybe being here. I don’t know, what can I say. I just think it’s fake, the whole situation, the whole thing that happened” he walked off, my mom is wrong because she didn’t need to say to Oakley you can’t protect my daughter, I don’t know what she wanted him to do, commit murder for me but it’s annoyed him to the point he told me I can’t go Barbados, I just don’t understand why my mom likes to randomly cause shit for me, like these words she says. She comes to the hotel to see Aziel without me being here and pisses off my man “I will speak to her” I said aloud, rolling my eyes as I do because it’s just drama for nothing.

Looking over at Oakley as the car stopped “I really hate when you’re grumpy, you know I do” he refuses to cheer up either “but I don’t get why she had to say that, would it make me a better person if I killed a guy? Is that what you’re parents want from me?” I chuckled “no, Oakley. Stop it, you are being so sensitive now, my mom just said it in passing, I can imagine she didn’t think it would upset you. What upset you the most? Talk to me, come on” he looked over at me “that people think I can’t when I can, I take care of you all the time and it seems like it ain’t enough. I have never asked you for anything, I never once asked you for money, for anything in life right now yeah. But it’s like people are checking for you, like I got it. I don’t need you to be minding me. Just annoys me” nodding my head “Oakley, I know from the bottom of my heart you take care of me, that is what I love about you. You have never asked anything of me, from the very start. You barely knew me, and you got me that Cartier bracelet, like you do. I see it, you’re a good man to me and the only opinion that should matter is mine, and I know you care for me. So who cares about anyone else, nobody is with us or lives with us. You get so mad at things” touching the side of his face, he turned his head into my hand more “I know, and at some point you will be invited to come to the home, just give it time. I know it’s boring for you when we go” he looked to me “yep” he cleared his throat “I think with the whole Barbados thing, my mom is more protecting you then not asking for you to come, my dad” I paused “he still gets shit going there, she can’t even protect my dad against them so how can she do it for you” I admitted and it’s the truth “but we will see what happen ok?” he nodded his head, my mom is a pain right now.

Herb gasped in shock “I ain’t ever had a child cry on me like this, what you been saying to him?” I chuckled; he isn’t wrong. All the kids love him “I don’t know uncle, it’s you” my dad took Aziel from him “you made him cry! And for what goofy” shaking my head, I know Herb is offended “Essie, you coming with me. Let’s leave these people” Herb picked his baby up from the floor and walked off “I am taking him outside” my dad said “sure, I don’t mind” Imani came out of nowhere and sat on my lap “I am so sad you’re going back Rylee!” she whined out “same, I am going to miss LA. I have enjoyed it a lot, just seeing everyone and then my friends” I gasped “P and North! You came” North leaned down to me so I didn’t need to get up “love you bitch” she kissed my forehead “so good seeing you both, I am shocked at the turn out, I mean I wasn’t doing a goodbye leaving party” I chuckled “well, to us. You mean a lot and you’re going to London and we don’t know when you will be back” P hugged me “I am sad you’re going” I cooed out “I leave with a sore arm still so yeah” I laughed “what a night, hi Miss Fenty” North waved “wow full house” looking to the door and Tianna is back up “you’re home, I am so proud of you” my mom shot up and went over, I looked away from her because it’s fuck her “I heard you got a house! I was thinking I could stay there” I laughed at Imani saying that “no” I pointed “you need to have a house sitter, we was discussing erm, with your mom about it all and she said that you’re going to be gone for a while so I know a few people, your mom said she will look over it for you” nodding my head “she did, I appreciate it that she is doing that for me. But Imani wants to move out already?” Mel laughed “she is trying to escape, now why is that? I heard that you told your mom you don’t want another sibling” Imani groaned out “because Raihan is already annoying and also we don’t need it” Mel cooed out “I felt like that when all of you wee bit, but you will love it” Imani pulled a face “you didn’t agree to it when mom said” I chuckled “then I woke up and realised I won’t be here” I grinned, Imani scoffed.

I need to catch my mom alone and she is “I love it, I love having a full house. My kids home, my family, friends. My grandchild. I am happy” I smiled “I am glad you’re happy mom, I want Aziel to know this side too. The way the boys are with him, everyone is so attentive with him, he is so spoilt with love from either side because erm, Oakley family adore him too and he is blessed. I am happy too” my mom is laughing “but” she said, I breathed “but, there is a but and I can sense you already know why there is?” I said “I do, but I just said it. I feel like Oakley you know, he should be the tough guy” shaking my head “mom” I paused “I don’t need you to tell him what to do, I really don’t. He already has this nonsense of gang culture from where he came from, where we live in Kensington is just a block away from where he is from. I don’t want it, he does fine yeah. I don’t need you to say that to him again, because really the only person I needed and wanted was him, I know he got me. And also he seems to be very affected by me being here, because he is alone and he doesn’t know anybody” my mom cleared her throat “then maybe leave him at home, he doesn’t need to come” squinting my eyes “how did you feel when momo said that to you” my mom looked away from me “not nice is it, he is here because I asked him to be. I want you to be mindful mom, you don’t need to say these things” my mom is quiet because she knows she is wrong “ok” she just said “I wasn’t trying to be rude, but ok” looking at Tianna as she made her way into the kitchen “are you two still not going to speak?” my mom said “I have nothing in common with a baby mother” I laughed “and I have nothing in common with a bitch that rides dick for a living” she looked at me “I think you’re jealous, you’re actually so jealous of what I have, I may be a baby mother but I have a stable home. I guess you saw that we got a home here too. Still riding mommy and daddy wave” I said laughing “you riding commercial like the local you are” I laughed out “is that all you have? Tianna you’re literally the whore of LA” feeling a tap on my shoulder “now, let’s be nice” Tianna is livid “have you seen the bitch next to you, she snorts lines” North laughed “isn’t there nudes floating of you with Melo? Mhmmm imagine that Tianna, fucking Melo and he is currently catching a case for your sister” I am trying not to laugh, North screamed out as Tianna threw the knife that was in her hand at her “right! Enough!” my mom shouted.

It is very much Tianna looking unhinged, I am going to just sit here and be with my friends “what happened though?” my dad asked as he made his way over “what happened was Tianna threw a knife at me sir” my dad crouched down to us “right, thanks North but how and what happened? She is going crazy in there and is very upset” of course she is “dad she started it, she spoke on me being a baby mother, how about she let the hurt go. Listen dad, I just want Tianna to let it go. I am not her enemy like she thinks, if she wants to fight me then so be it too” my dad shook his head “no, I don’t think so. I just think right now you both don’t speak to each other. I want you to mind your business, she will too” nodding my head “and don’t look at my son!” I spat, she come outside of course “I can do what I like in my home” getting up “no, you don’t look at my son, you don’t go near him. You’re a shit person, starting all this shit for what!? You always let a fucking man do this! All the time Tianna” Imani is just staring at us “fuck off Rylee, like seriously. It’s always the Rylee show, if I want to look at the child you had at that ripe age then I will” she isn’t going to look at my son as she think she can” stepping to her and she just laughed “you on some drug, I just know it Tianna. You bad but not this bad, let me help you” Tianna pushed me “fuck you Rylee! You never been a sister to me, you was the golden child, always will be! Always will be! I am fucking over it, I hate the fact you are around still” of course she does “Ti, that is mean. Stop it” Imani said “not mean, are you blind to it or something. Mom and dad love this bitch more then any of us put together” I rolled my eyes walking over to Aziel “come here” picking my son out of Imani arms “so lame” I breathed out “what is lame is you, you got pregnant and had a baby and still came out smelling of roses” she barked “what about it Ti? Huh, what a mother fucking about it? You a lame fucking bitch I give you that, I tried to be nice to you and keep your name clean” I got in her face “Melo fucked you and thought of me, how about that bitch, don’t like it do you?” I have had enough of her, I moved back “with my son? You swinging? You dumb bitch” my dad get in my way “sssshhhh it’s ok, your auntie is a cunt” rocking Aziel as I walked off, she can holler all she wants.

I called Oakley to pick us up, I don’t want to be here when she is still kicking off in this house “you can come if you want” I said to North “I have my car so it’s fine, she won’t stop either. Like isn’t she ashamed of herself” I shrugged “maybe my parents need to put her in counselling, upset my son too. Look at him now, he is miserable” he is just in Ps arms staring at me “I will be coming to London soon” I gasped “please do, I have my assignments to do when I get back. I just want to get this shit over with, I want to drive in London too because, I was discussing it with Oakley. I can get a ferry to Europe to do my fashion business and come back, like I can drive there so I need to sort that out that for me” that is on my list “you not going to take care of Fenty over there or doing your own thing?” I paused thinking “my own thing right now, I just want to do it for myself and also with Tianna getting involved with it I don’t want to bother, she can have it. I have my riches, I have my own family but she needs to get over herself and quick” seeing Oakley has messaged me “he is here, I guess that is me” getting up, I would have stayed a little longer but Tianna is draining me, clearly she has taken over my parents because they haven’t come to me at all “boys! I am going now” Raihan and Junior looked at me “you not staying longer?” shaking my head “no, I am going home now” they both came over to me “oh is that London” nodding my head, wrapping my arms around both of them “hopefully see you for Aziel birthday, I think it will be that long anyways” I can imagine it will be “I guess” Junior mumbled.

I think Oakley is so used to my family coming out, he doesn’t even get out of the car but Raihan has made himself comfortable in the front seat “whatever issue she got then I think she needs counselling for it” my dad sighed out “probably got what I got” I frowned “well dad you’re the best teacher right, I just don’t want to stay here and Aziel is you know. He is upset and it’s too much drama. But yeah, I was saying to the boys, probably see you all on Aziel birthday, it will end up being that long” my mom is thinking hard but then realised “yeah, you’re right. He is six months so it’s about right, well we got that group chat now so you have to upset us all, I mean Tianna took herself out of the group but please, send all the pictures and we will keep you updated on our side” nodding my head “I will do, and mom please, or auntie. Sort that house sitter for me, you have all the codes. Please” I said “your dad will, he said it. Don’t worry about it” hugging my mom “thanks and thank you, even if there was drama, and drama with me” I appreciate it, stepping back from the hug “dad, I leave here on a better note. I have my family in my heart” my dad grinned “you made my heart lighter too” he said hugging me tight “I love you Rylee” closing my eyes “I love you too dad, and I believe you can sort out Ti. I think she just wants attention” which she does “and you’re the best” he laughed “I try” he is the best, moving back from the hug “take care Rylee, all three of you” my mom said “thanks, Imani! I want updates from you” she smiled at me, I worry about my little sister a lot.

[woppetry]

Another thing that salespeople will do (at least in the UK) is try to pressure you into making a decision then and there.

Since my partner and I bought our house (which needs MAJOR renovation but thankfully came with a cabin we could move into until the house has things like ✨toilets✨ and ✨non-lethal electrics✨) we have been bombarded with targeted ads about funding for new windows and heating systems and insulation etc. And since we do need windows we contacted one of these companies to see what they were like.

The first thing they did was spam my partner with calls (during the work day which is annoying as a teacher) confirming that there just happened to be a consultant in the area who would come to our house that evening BUT we absolutely both needed to be there to speak to him. Two things here: we live very rural, 2 and a bit hours away from the nearest city, so the fact that the company happened to be visiting houses in our area the very same day we enquired seemed a stretch. The second thing: while it seems innocuous enough that they would want both of us there for this consultation, we had been through this exact scenario with a different company, at our previous house which my partner owned but I had no involvement in- they company refused to meet with him alone about his own house, his partner had to be there too. Whether this is because they think they can appeal more to women about spending x amount of money on a warm home, they don't want people to be able to use "I'll have to discuss it with the wife first" as a reason to not agree straight away, or they just don't want third parties misrepresenting their pitch, I don't now, but it's interesting that most of these companies will insist on this before meeting you.

Flash forward to that evening, its Scotland, its March, its dark and we're wearing headtorches and massive jackets. We meet the salesman at our house, and walk inside, expecting him to have a look at the windows we've got, but he takes out a slightly damp folder with a printed out PowerPoint and starts talking us through why most well known window brands are terrible and not to be trusted. My partner asks him a question about the u-value of the windows and he has no idea what a u-value is. We mention skylights and he umms and ahs, telling us that builders won't fit them anymore, it's not worth their time, it's too hard (completely untrue).

At the end of his pitch, which took the best part of an hour, he gives us a (very high) price for replacing our windows, but isn't able to give us any technical information about the windows. When we say we would have to discuss the offer and get back to him he knocks 20% off straight away. We tell him we appreciate that but we will still need to sleep on it and he rings his boss in front of us, describing our situation. The boss offers to take another 50% off the quote. We once again decline and say we would need to sleep on it first. The man starts to get agitated, going over his talking points again about why the windows are such a great deal. He makes no move to leave and it's now past 9pm.

Throughout this exchange the air around us in the house which has not been heated since 2019 gets colder and colder. Myself and my partner came prepared in our big jackets but the man in his cashmere sweather is starting to shiver (it turns out he had driven 3 and a half hours up to the Highlands from the Central belt- not in our area at all. We did offer him tea-he declined). Having taken a quote and been firm with the man that we would not be making a decision that night, the exchange turned into a spectacle of "how cold will this guy have to get before he leaves?"

Eventually, with blue lips, he makes a call to his boss telling him about the poor state of our house and how we wouldnt be at the point of needing windows for months. It doesn't look like there's going to be a sale here today. The boss makes a final offer to us and we tell him, once again, to put it in an email and we'll discuss it and get back to them.

We never receive this email.

And it's alright for us who are stubborn to begin with and can wait out a pushy man until he's so cold he has to leave, but it makes you wonder what the product quality is on something they have to market so aggressively, why they couldn't let us sleep on their offer, and what people who don't have a cold house and a puffy jacket would have to do in that situation.

So yeah, if a quote is good one day, it should also be good the next day. Always sleep on it and be wary of time sensitive offers.

Ive said this before but swear the biggest skill to learn as an adult is how to resist high-pressure sales tactics. You do NOT have to answer questions with anything other than "Sorry I'm not interested." No matter how nice they are or no matter how many follow up questions they ask or even how agitated they get when you stand your ground. Just keep saying I'm not interested. Don't answer their questions. Don't give them an opening to try to push back on your reasons. Be a fucking brick wall of I'm not interested.