#mr love black swan

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC’s Lucien - Strategy Game Date - English Translation (2/2)

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

My fingers inadvertently brush against his earlobe as I slowly drape my necklace on his face.

Like marking him as my guaranteed prize in advance, I grasp the chain and gently tug it, pulling him half a step closer to me.

The dazzling light settles back into my eyes, as if he has always meant to be mine.

Translation under the cut!

Previous: Part 1 & 2-> [Here]

=[Part 3]=

After I mention wanting to learn chess, Lucien unexpectedly takes me straight to the exhibition hall next to the banquet room.

Seven black and white checkered platforms of varying sizes divide the space vertically, connected by steps and reaching almost to the ceiling.

Towering above me, the black and white chess pieces are nearly life-sized. Like the legions of a mighty emperor arrayed for battle, they cast a majestic gaze down upon me, making me suddenly realize something.

MC: This... could this be a giant, three-dimensional chessboard?

Lucien: Hm, when the organizers created this exhibition hall, they probably wanted people to directly experience the spatial sense of three-dimensional chess.

Lucien picks up a remote control from the entrance and brightens the lights.

MC: So, if we're thinking like chess players, shouldn't we head up to the top level?

Lucien: [chuckles] Sometimes I wonder if this student has secretly seen my courseware.

He smiles and takes my hand, leading me up the steps. We weave between oversized chess pieces, finally reaching the top of the chessboard.

Lucien: Actually, looking from directly above, the rules for moving the pieces are generally similar to international classic chess.

Lucien: You've had some 'hands-on' experience with me before, so you should pick this up pretty quickly.

Lucien: The pieces in three-dimensional international chess can move vertically between adjacent boards. In addition to this, these small boards can rotate under corresponding rules.

He presses the remote, and a small chessboard begins to rotate horizontally until its black squares once again align with those of the adjacent larger board.

MC: Wow...! That's so interesting!

Lucien: [chuckles] Might as well give it a try.

I take the remote and, after a few shifts, gradually start to figure out the pattern.

MC: The smaller boards can only rotate if they're empty or have just one piece on them.

MC: But it seems like it can only move on the same side of the big chessboard and to the adjacent corners?

Lucien: [chuckles] As expected of a clever girl.

MC: Well, it's all thanks to the patient and guiding Teacher Lucien.

Lucien: Now then, rather than boring you with the rules, why don't we learn and gradually reinforce them through hands-on practice?

MC: So, are we going to jump right in and play a chess game?

Lucien: Mm, in an interesting way.

Lucien takes my hand and leads me to the level where the white chess pieces are arrayed.

Lucien: By entering the game personally, perhaps you'll be more immersed in it.

He smiles calmly and walks over to a white Queen piece. He extends his hand and pushes it aside, creating an empty space.

Lucien: Come on, give it a try.

Only at this moment do I belatedly understand the meaning of ‘entering the game personally'.

Gazing at each of the chess pieces solemnly arrayed around me, I take a deep breath and step into the center.

Like a coronation, the light crowns me. And amidst my nervousness, I also feel a thrill of excitement.

MC: Lucien, I'm ready.

Lucien: [chuckles] Okay, but you'll need to be cautious from now on.

Lucien: In chess, the Queen is the most powerful piece, and also the one most easily captured.

A voice that feels strangely familiar traverses the depths of distant memories, falling clearly upon my ears. I freeze for a moment, then a smile spreads on my face.

MC: Of course I know, especially since this is my first time on the 'battlefield’.

MC: However... I will do my best to fight a good battle.

Lucien: [chuckles] I'm honored to be your opponent.

With Lucien stepping onto the position of the black king, the instructional match begins.

To gain a more intuitive understanding, I open up the chessboard simulation that Lucien gave me.

Lucien: In three-dimensional chess, occupying and controlling the center layer is very important.

I suddenly recall the knight's jump in Carl's opening and skillfully push the white knight forward, seizing the initiative to start the game.

A flicker of surprise momentarily crosses Lucien's face, but he quickly smiles and moves to occupy the White Knight's most likely next landing spot.

After a few rounds, we soon converge on the strategic focal point—the center of the chessboard.

Lucien: The Queen piece can move along any horizontal row, vertical column, and diagonal line.

MC: Then I won't hold back.

Seeing my chance to capture Lucien's freshly placed pawn by moving between levels, I don’t hesitate. I walk over and gently push it.

A spotlight immediately illuminates this small victory of mine.

The display stand is already waiting nearby, and I proudly push the captured pawn onto it.

As Lucien explains the rules, the beams of light repeatedly light up, and I capture several more black pieces in succession.

MC: This feeling is just too addictive!

Lucien: Looks like this classmate is gradually discovering the joy of chess.

A subtle smile plays on Lucien’s lips, his expression brimming with lively interest as he appears engrossed in this entertaining and educational game.

At this moment, I notice Lucien standing diagonally across from me, just a step away.

According to the rules, I can checkmate this enemy king in just one step.

Suppressing my wildly beating heart, I casually start to speak as if it’s unintentional.

MC: What do chess players do at the moment of victory?

Lucien: They usually call out 'Checkmate' to tell the opponent, 'You've been ‘eaten’ by me'.*

MC: Ohhh~ Checkmate!~

Looking at him with his smiling eyes, seemingly unaware of his situation, I feel a bit giddy and rise slightly on my tiptoes.

Suddenly, tiny flecks of light glimmer across Lucien's face. Following his slightly narrowed gaze, I realize it's the light reflecting off my necklace.

The flecks of light dance just perfectly on his face, inexplicably arousing a desire within me.

I want to triumph over this genius, to have him celebrate for me, to have him witness my coronation.

Driven by this thought, I gently set the chessboard aside and take off my necklace.

My fingers inadvertently brush against his earlobe as I slowly drape the necklace on his face.

Like marking him as my guaranteed prize in advance, I grasp the chain and gently tug it, pulling him half a step closer to me.**

The dazzling light settles back into my eyes, as if he has always meant to be mine.

MC: Checkmate.

I look into his eyes and speak softly.

MC: Lucien, it seems like you're about to be ‘eaten’ by me now.

Lucien: Is that so?

Lucien: But... it seems my turn to make a move now

MC: …?

He raises an eyebrow, pushes the black Bishop aside, and moves along the line towards the King chess piece behind me.

Because I was focused on capturing pieces earlier, I didn't set up any defenses around my king. Now, I can only watch as Lucien advances towards it unimpeded-

As if in response to his words, the white king collapses in defeat.

Everything is happening so suddenly. A blinding beam of light abruptly shines just a few steps away, making me squint.

The chessboard, which just moments ago rested on the ground, now lies askew without me noticing, its tilted surface like a declaration of my defeat.

A golden chess piece rolls dejectedly towards the light until a large hand with defined knuckles picks it up.

Within the spotlight, Lucien holds the chess piece between his fingers and casually glances up.

Lucien: [the way his CN VA said this in english🤧] Game Over.

Lucien: Did this Miss Player enjoy the game to her heart's content?

The translucent colored glass refracts the cold light into his eyes, making him look like a proud and indifferent figure of high status.

It's as if, should he desire a win, the golden fruit of victory will naturally fall into his hand; and should I relish the challenge, he would be quite happy to help me experience that same joy.

Lucien has always been a good teacher.

Although the frustration of failure lingers in my heart, there is still a hidden sense of thrill that draws me toward him.

MC: Winning would make it even more enjoyable for me.

MC: However, losing might not be a bad thing either.

MC: That way, I can see how far I still have to go before I can beat you.

Lucien: [chuckles] That's very good.

Lucien: ‘Desire to win’ is the first step towards victory.

He gently caresses the chess piece in his hand, stretches his arms out even more languidly, and makes no attempt to hide his overflowing eagerness and anticipation.

Lucien: MC, do you still want to play?

MC: Of course.

He smiles ambiguously, his narrow eyes taking me in completely.

Lucien: Then, go ahead and beat me quickly.***

✂———————–

[T/N]

p.s. Did you catch all the references to S1 chapter 23 👀 Very interesting to see him saying essentially the same thing as Winter World Lucien/Ares, but more in casual tone and wording🤧 Also, as for the plot,… For now, I can only say that he's truly a black-bellied ‘beauty bait’ 😂 I will talk more about the plot at the end of the date~

*: In Chinese, 'capture' in chess is expressed as 吃掉 (chī diào), which literally means 'to eat up' or 'devour.' This creates an interesting double meaning in the MC's line, if you know what I mean🥴

**: The phrase used here is 囊中之物 (náng zhōng zhī wù), which literally translates to "something in the bag". It implies that something is already securely in one's possession, entirely under one's control, or easily obtainable—like something that's already been caught and placed in a bag or like a prize of a secured victory. By using this phrase, besides being overconfident she also expresses a desire to assert her “sovereignty” on him~

Also as for the line right after that (仿佛他本就是我的), a more literal translation would be that “as if he inherently/naturally/fundamentally belongs to me.”. like, him belonging to her just feel natural and inherent 🤧. That sounds awkward in EN so I use a more natural-sounding phrase sksksksks

***: Alternative translation: “Then, go ahead and win me quickly.” . 赢我 (literally, “win me”)can either be interpreted as him urging her to beat him in the game or literally ‘win’ him, with him still wearing her necklace a.k.a her stake on him, like a prize yet to be claimed… both can be true imo-

✂———————–

=[Part 4]=

Throughout our trip, Lucien's chess lessons continue to progress step by step.

Soon, it's the last day, and we're heading back to the guesthouse after completing our itinerary.

I rest boredly on Lucien's lap, thinking about how to properly wrap up the vacation.

Suddenly, an idea pops into my mind.

MC: Lucien.

Lucien: MC.

Our voices ring out at the same time, and then we both laugh together.

Lucien: [chuckles] You go first.

MC: I've been learning chess for a week. Shouldn't the teacher check the results?

Seeing me glance meaningfully at the chessboard on the desk, he catches my meaning with a knowing smile.

Lucien: It seems a chess match is inevitable then.

MC: Hee hee~ But since Professor Lucien often has a habit of going easy on me, I must give you a serious reminder…

MC: If you don't give it your all, then I won't play with you anymore.

Seeing my eager expression, Lucien smiles and winks.

Lucien: In that case, I'll probably give it my all even more than I would for the championship.

✂———————–

MC: Woo hoo, you're too amazing!

Lucien innocently arranges the chessboard, as if he wasn't the one who checkmated me three times in five minutes.

Lucien: Do you want to play another round?

MC: No, no, no more. If we keep playing, I might develop some psychological scars…

Lucien: [chuckles] In that case, why don't we go have some fun?

MC: Hm?

As Lucien draws open the floor-to-ceiling curtains, a bright orange-pink view suddenly floods my retinas.

Flamingo floaties, heart-shaped balloons, and red lip-shaped water balloons are arranged around the pool, creating a lively party atmosphere.

Lucien: We agreed to have a pool party on the first day we arrived here.

Lucien: It's just that a certain classmate was so engrossed in learning chess that she seems to have completely forgotten about this.

Hearing the pretend grievance in his tone, I laugh and pinch his nose.

MC: Could it be that a certain professor was playing such a fast game of chess just to get me to go have fun sooner?

Lucien doesn't say anything, but a smile plays on his lips as if in confirmation.

Lucien: You always keep your head down when we play chess. It seems like I haven't seen your eyes in a long time.*

✂———————–

A party should naturally have the vibe of a party.

By the time I arrive in the garden, having changed into my pink dress, Lucien is already waiting for me.

The beige suit hugs his elegant form, accentuating his sharp lines, while the light green tie adds a touch of freshness.

MC: This trip is totally worth it!~ I unexpectedly got to see so many different styles of Professor Lucien.

Lucien: Initially, I didn't quite understand why you didn't want to wear a swimsuit to the party, but now—

Lucien: Seeing such a lovely picture, I think I understand.

The summer breeze gently tousles his bangs, and I suddenly realize that his hair has grown longer without me noticing.**

I can’t help but reach up to fiddle with his hair a couple of times, but it doesn't feel like enough. So I take off my hair clip and stand on tiptoe toward him.

My fingertips twirl a strand of his hair. He seems to realize what I'm doing and gently leans down. His warm breath falls steadily on the corner of my lips, like a phantom of a kiss.

His naturally exquisite brows and eyes are now fully unveiled, making me smile with satisfaction.

MC: It's better this way~ I can see your eyes all the time now.

Those dark eyes freezes for a fleeting second, then the world held within his gaze curves into the faintest of smiles. For a moment, I'm completely spellbound by the sight.

"Pop!" The balloon bursts with a bang, and we both blink in surprise, then burst into laughter together.

Sunlight casts dappled light and shadow on the water's surface, and a giant flamingo float drifts towards us, like an invitation of some sort. So, I reach out my hand to Lucien.

MC: Are you ready?

Lucien: Although I don't know what MC is referring to, I think I'd be more than happy to entrust myself to you.

He places his hand on my palm, and I immediately hold it tightly.

MC: [laughs] Then I won't hold back-

I raise our intertwined hands high above our heads and take a big step forward, jumping towards the flamingo with all my might.

As we float in midair, the warm sunlight, woven with dappled shadows cast by the trees, rushes toward me, and a joyful exclamation escapes my lips.

His familiar gentle voice sounds by my ear as his strong arm pulls me close and protects me firmly in his embrace.

Bam-!

We feel a soft, bouncy sensation on our backs as we sink before being bounced back up.

Colorful balloons float in mid-air, while polka-dotted water balloons bobbing along with the waves, like a pop art canvas unfolding before one's eyes.

The splashing water droplets glint like the world’s own flash, capturing all the joy in that moment.

The flamingo drifts leisurely until the waves finally calm down, and I turn to look at the person beside me.

MC: Once you board my “pirate ship”, there's no easy escape!

Lucien: [chuckles] If you're using yourself as bait to lure me onto your pirate ship…

Lucien: Then it seems this pirate miss has ensnared herself in her own trap. After all, we're in the same boat now... [whispers] you can't escape either.

With a soft laugh, he deliberately tightens his arms around me.

MC: Hahaha! Don't underestimate me!

I feign a struggle to break free but discover something tangled around my arm—

Several bright red lipstick decorations each trailing a long red thread, winding messily and mischievously around our bodies.

I'm just about to take it off, but then an idea strikes me, and with a smile, I tilt my chin up.

MC: Shall we play a little game?

Under his noncommittal gaze, I loop a red thread around his fingertips, pressing one red lip against his chest. The other, I keep in my hand.

MC: Let's see who can snatch away the other's 'red lips' first. I may not be able to beat you at chess, but I'm still quite confident in this kind of little game—

Before I even finish speaking, I feel a sudden tug on my fingertip.

I turn my head in surprise and find that Lucien has already firmly grasped the “red lips” in my hand.

MC: ….

Isn't this too fast?!

I laugh in spite of myself as I turn my head back, meeting that gaze filled with a hint of smugness and mischief.

MC: [pouts] So you really have such a high desire to win.

Lucien: Of course.

He gives a subtle, almost imperceptible smile, and purposefully tightens his grip on the red lips, but doesn't take it away.

Lucien: But compared to winning, I find myself savoring this moment even more.

Lucien: A well-matched opponent... makes the competition itself more enjoyable.***

Gazing deeply into his calm, smiling eyes, I can't help but hook my finger around his tie, pulling myself closer to drown in their depths.

MC: But... when I really think about it…

MC: Lucien, have I ever won against you?

Lucien: [chuckles] What do you think?

His dark, ink-like eyes glimmer with interest, yet remain extraordinarily serious as they're waiting for my answer.

MC: I don't know.

MC: Sometimes I feel like I've never won, because it seems that even when I use all my strength, I'm only just engaging in a match with you, still a distance away from victory.

MC:  Sometimes I feel like I've won, but those instances don't seem to count as ‘winning or losing’.

The shimmering light of the waves drowns in the depths of his tender gaze, making me fall into those eyes just by looking at them.

Lucien: [sincerely] You've won against me many times.

Lucien: Sometimes, even when I fight back with everything I have, I still can't overcome you.

He smiles, a little helplessly, yet with a hint of willing surrender in his expression.

MC: Am I really that powerful?

Lucien: [chuckles] Mm. Besides, whenever I'm playing with MC, the rules, the strategies, winning or losing… none of it holds any significance anymore.

Lucien: I think, maybe you're just naturally talented at turning everything into the world's most fun game, making people want to keep playing…

Before I know it, he has silently wound a red thread around us, like the unbreakable red thread of fate. Greedily, I wind it tighter, until my fingertips touch his.****

MC: So, can I take that to mean that Professor Lucien enjoys playing with me the most?

Lucien: [chuckles] If I said yes…

Lucien: [whispers hoarsely] Would you be willing to play with me forever, MC?

✂———————–

[T/N]

*: “You always keep your head down when we play chess. It seems like I haven't seen your eyes in a long time.”- By seeing her eyes, he confirms that she’s also ‘looking’ at him, paying attention to him. He's basically saying that she's so absorbed in chess that she seems to haven't looked at him for so long🥺 Although he's saying this in a lighthearted way, it also hints at his longing for her attention 🤧

**: This highlight how MC hasn't paid much attention that now his hair has grown longer without her noticing u.u

***: 旗鼓相当 (qí gǔ xiāng dāng) - "Evenly matched" or "well-matched." This idiom literally translates to battle flags and drums being of equal strength, symbolizing that both sides in a competition are equally capable or have the same chance of winning. It also implies mutual respect for the opponent, recognizing them as a worthy rival.

****: The red string/thread of fate! In the East, it conveys a sense of destined love. Lucien being the one who silently wounds it around them, he takes the initiative to establish the bond between them, but it is loosely at first, as if inviting her to be the one who tightens it. He’s not just forcing a bond; he’s creating an opportunity for her to choose how close they want to be. And longingly and greedily, she tightens the bond because she wants them to be as close as possible 🥺 Love is always a two-way street that requires active participation from two sides 🤧. Along with his “childish” proposal, you could also interpret it as a “trap” that he weaves for the two of them, but it’s one that neither of them wants to escape from 😂

✂———————–

[Moments- Emotional Expression]

Lucien's post: Sometimes, showing childishness can be seen as a way of expressing emotions.

MC: Do you also feel this way?

Lucien: Of course. In front of you, I often can't help but want to act a little spoiled.

[Reply 2]

Lucien's post: Sometimes, showing a ‘childish’ side can be seen as a way of expressing emotions.

MC: Does Professor Lucien like this way of expressing emotions?

Lucien: Mm, if lovers can freely show their childishness, it might mean their relationship has entered a new stage.

[Reply 3]

Lucien's post: Sometimes, showing a ‘childish’ side can be seen as a way of expressing emotions.

MC: I agree! Sometimes I want to act like a little kid in front of you~

Lucien: You have always been my little friend.

[T/N]

While "childishness" has a negative connotation in English, it carries a more neutral and sometimes even endearing connotation in Chinese. In this context, it conveys a sense of playfulness and innocence rather than pure immaturity👀

✂———————–

[Lux's Afterwords]

Not gonna lie, when I first read it, I felt a bit disappointed because this date seems to emphasize Lucien's victories despite being promoted as an "evenly matched game." 😂 However, after reading it a second time, I think I understand what the writers are trying to convey with this date (Also thank God at least they show this ‘evenly matched’ aspect in his Halloween date LOL).

I think this date is really trying to showcase Lucien's mischievous and “childish” side, reminiscent of his childhood before everything changed after the car accident 🤧 As we know from the R&S (that I shared before the beginning of the date- go read it if you haven't ahah), he was a gentle and quiet kid, yet there’s also that little “bad” streak in him. As a child, he loved teasing Fan Zihang (Zack in EN localization), and now he’s shifted that teasing to his girlfriend🤣 although there's still an obvious double standard like him still willing to go easy on her from time to time~

Just like what his reply in the moments said, a partner showing ‘childishness’ might mean that the relationship is entering a new stage. The fact that he can show this side of himself means he feels comfortable enough with MC to let his guard down. It’s like he’s letting her see a glimpse of the genuine him, the one who can be mischievous and has a high desire to win, just like he was as a kid. Perhaps…this is the kind of person he would have become if his parents were still alive. From being indifferent and distant, the snow is melting and he's entering a new spring in his life🤧

Then, reflecting on how the date mostly highlights his victories, I think Lucien���s not letting her win easily isn’t just about his mischief or his strong desire to win. He also hopes to challenge her with, make her understand, and eventually surpass his true capabilities 🥺. What MC says (“That way, I can see how far I still have to go before I can beat you.”) emphasizes this point. His display of true strength is meant to motivate her, not discourage her. He’s willing to give her a taste of victory, making the game more enjoyable regardless of winning or losing, and is even willing to teach her how to beat him. After all... an evenly matched opponent makes competition all the more enjoyable.

Furthermore, Lucien sincerely acknowledges that there are times when he can't win against her even when he fights with all of his might. Although it feels hollow if we only based it on the date alone, there are many, many instances of him ‘losing’ to her in previous dates and main stories- one instance that I can think of is this line from The Sea No Longer Distant MQ:

He feels as if she has left him far behind, as if she knows more things that he cannot comprehend.

He’s helpless to such outcomes, yet willing to surrender (coming from someone with such a strong desire to win... if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is). The result doesn’t matter as much as just enjoying the moment together🥺 Lastly, let's talk about his last line.

MC愿意永远和我一起玩下去吗? (Would you be willing to play with me forever, MC?)

With this date revolving around games and his ‘childishness’, the closing line is perfect ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡ 永远 (forever) is a heavy word, and it turns this seemingly playful line into something like an earnest yet almost childlike proposal 🥺. Through this, he’s expressing a wish for her lifelong companionship and commitment. There’s also an underlying vulnerability here—by asking for "forever”, Lucien hints at a deeper hope that she’ll stay by his side, to keep ‘playing’ with him until the end of life and more🤧

[wanderingmeme]

star rail 2.6 quest spoilers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Played a little bit of the hsr quest yesterday and now am thinking about something after rewatching that one Mr. Reca cutscene... Memokeeper have such horror potention is crazzzyyyy. Thank you Fuli for feeding me like that 😋

[vasiktomis]

The nominations are in and the champions have been chosen!

From war crimes and stalking to being natural blondes, this bracket represents the dregs of Smeyer's society............... but only one can take home the poo crown of ultimate stinker.............

Who will be crowned Twilight's worst?

[hotandfunnywomen]

Natalie Portman Acts Out Her Film Career In 7 Minutes

[stacys-mom-has-got-it-goin-on]

It's like The Graduate but with vampires and werewolves

[piedinthepiper]

Prima Ballerina ˖ ⊹

Yandere!Jimin x ballerina!reader

Summary: What’s the difference between a great ballerina and the greatest ballerina? The answer is Park Jimin. And he had his eyes on you in more than a professional way.

Warnings: heavy dubcon, Jimin is super cocky and thinks he knows everything (misogyny?), cursing, corruption, Jimin is also a creep, age gap (reader is of legal age), stalking (non descriptive), smut

Wc: 4.3k

A/n: Written for this request. I love black swan and ballet so I had to do this! Hope you enjoy! Don’t be a silent reader! Like, repost and comment!

Disclaimer: This is 100% fiction. I am in no way saying that this is how any member of bts would act. Nor do I condone the actions detailed in the story. This is purely for entertainment purposes only. If any of the warnings trigger you, or you’re under 18 ¡do not read! I’m not your mother, and I don’t take any accountability for what you decide to read online!

Another disclaimer: I know nothing about ballet except for whatever ballet they show in the Barbie movies. Everything is off Google, so some technical terms and such might be incorrect.

You did a final jump before the dramatic music came to an end. His eyes were piercing through you. Watching your every movement, your every step, your every breath. But he watched you all, you thought to yourself. Everybody had to be perfect for the premiere of Swan lake. The hardest and most demanding ballet you had ever danced in your career. The choreography was almost impossible. So Mr. Park had yet again kept you there for hours overtime, and all of you were exhausted.

“Agh, my feet hurt. I hope this was the last round.”

Your friend, Maria, whispered to you. You smiled at her and was about to answer, when a loud clap was heard throughout the room. It silenced everyone.

“Ms. Sanderson, do you have something to tell the company?”

Mr. Park locked eyes with her. Staring her down from across the room like a predator. She looked a bit tongue tied for a second.

“Ehm- no. No, Mr. Park.”

He nodded at her answer.

“I do think I heard complaining back there, are you sure you didn’t say anything?”

She looked down to the floor and carefully shook her head.

“I don’t believe you, you’re pathetic. Out of my studio!”

He yelled at her and pointed a sharp finger towards the exit. Her eyes continued to stay on the floor. Accepting her fate.

“I said it!”

You yelled back and raised your hand. His eyes turned back to you.

“Bold of you, Ms. y/l/n. Thanks to you all the swans have to practice for another hour. The rest are dismissed.”

The room was filled with sighs and groans.

“Ok, let’s make that two.”

No one uttered a single word, afraid that the time would get longer.

“That’s what I thought. You, come with me.”

He briefly pointed at you, before he started to walk out of the practice room.

“The rest of you can take a 10 minute break.”

Maria looked at you with a apologetic look.

“Thank you, y/n.”

She said and grabbed your hand. You gave her a small smile. Of course you would stand up for her. She was your best friend in the company.

“Yeah, thanks a lot y/n.”

One of the other girls said sarcastically. You didn’t pay it any mind, you would also be furious if someone made you stay two hours overtime when you already were on overtime. You grabbed your leg warmers.

“No worries, you know I got you.”

You comforted Maria, before you started walking towards the exit. You knew Mr. Park went to his office. It wasn’t your first time being scolded.

“Sit down.”

He said once you entered. He was already sitting behind his desk. You sat down opposite of him, leaning down to slide into your leg warmers.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Park.”

You started off with. Trying to sound as apologetic as possible. He sighed.

“Do you think I do this for fun, y/n?”

You got up from your crouched position and looked him in the eyes.

“No I don’t.”

He was one of the best ballet teachers and directors in the whole world. It was obviously an honour just to be able to dance for him. But you knew he had a soft spot for you for some reason. That’s why you were comfortable taking Maria’s place.

“I would much rather be at home as well, relaxing and eating a good meal. But there would be no Swan lake, and there would be no good ballerinas without me.”

He pulled his hand through his black hair in stress. It was slicked back like usual, but throughout the day a few strands had loosened.

“If everyone stopped practicing at five o’clock like scheduled, the premiere would be nothing but chaos. Do you understand that, y/n?”

You nodded. He looked you up and down for a second. Taking in your form. He slowly got up and walked towards you. He grabbed your chin harshly, making you look back up at him.

“I’ve been observing you for the last days, you truly are far too beautiful and talented to be just a swan.”

You raised your eyebrows at his sudden compliment.

“You’re prima ballerina material, for sure.”

His hand slid to the side of your face, cupping your jaw.

“Too bad I have to fire you.”

“What?!”

Your eyebrows crossed as you shook your head out of his grip. His hand went into his pocket, making him look surprisingly relaxed.

“The two of us, let alone the entire company, knows that this isn’t your first time being sent to my office.”

You looked at him in shock. You couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“If I don’t give you the consequences, it’s going to look suspicious.”

You shook your head. He was going to fire you just because something as simple as complaining?

“You can’t do that.”

“I’ll do whatever I want with my ballerinas.”

He smirked again, before walking to stand right in front of you. You looked up and down his long body. Before looking back at him with your most innocent, but still sultry eyes.

“Please don’t fire me, Mr. Park. You wouldn’t do that to me would you?”

He cocked his head at your plea. Scanning you up and down yet again. He had a puzzled look on his face.

“Don’t test me.”

You grabbed his hand as you fell down to your knees. You knew he liked it when you begged. And since this was a life or death situation for your career, you didn’t mind being a little extra.

“I’ll do anything. Please just let me continue to dance for you. I’m nothing without you. I can’t- you can’t-”

You knew what buttons to push. His ego was too big to not take the bait.

“You’re right. It would be a shame to waste your potential.”

He lifted your head up again by your chin. A sudden sexual tension hit you, once you saw the outline of his bulge. You knew your actions had an effect on him, but not to that extent.

“It would be a shame to waste such a pretty face.”

You tried your best to look him in the eyes. It was hard to not shy away at a situation like that, even for you.

“Please, Mr. Park.”

He inhaled sharply, before he broke out in a smile.

“I forgive you, y/n. I can’t live with myself if I don’t give you another chance.”

You smiled up at him as well, preceding to get back up on your feet. But his arm found your shoulder and stopped you in your ascend.

“Wait.”

He warned you, and you quickly sat back down on your knees.

“I like seeing you like this, it’s not often you look so- submissive.”

Chills ran down your spine at his words. You definitely did not take that as a compliment. You were quite fiery, yes. And in any normal situation you would never let a man speak to you like he did. But the fear of losing your job, combined with the reverence you felt towards him, made you defy yourself.

“After this season I want you to take private lessons with me. Every Tuesday and Thursday.”

You nodded carefully, not looking up at him.

“Don’t look so down, darling. I’ll make you my next prima ballerina.”

“He said what?”

Maria half whispered in shock.

“Ms. Sanderson.”

Mrs. Petrova, your instructor, who was so old she probably was alive when swan lake was composed, hushed her. Maria looked at her before looking down at her moving feet. The company was warming up, standing in clean lines against the railing, moving to the rhythm of the slow classical music.

“Not only did he not fire you.”

She whispered once Mrs. Petrova was at the other end of the room.

“But he also said he would make you a prima ballerina?”

You nodded.

“Switch to third position!”

The two of you switched.

“Wow, you are so lucky. Mr. Park hasn’t had a prima ballerina in years.”

You smiled at her, and lifted you head higher when Mrs. Petrova walked by. You remained silent until you knew she was far enough away.

“I’m happy of course, it’s just- I don’t know. There’s something weird about him.”

“Yeah he’s like really cocky.”

She answered and held back a laugh.

“That too, but he’s just eerie. Like I don’t know if I want to spend so much time with him alone.”

“Ms. y/l/n! Would you like to share something with the company? Or do I have to send the two of you to Mr. Parks office?”

Mrs. Petrova suddenly bursted out. You locked eyes with Maria. Not knowing what to answer the old hag.

“We were just talking about-“

“Boys, just boys.”

You interrupted Maria. Not wanting her to say anything about you or Mr. Park. Mrs. Petrova gave the two of you a strict look, before the music started playing again.

“Please focus on your movements, not the opposite gender.”

She scolded before walking away from the two of you.

“And fourth position!”

“He just kept looking at me weirdly, and telling me that I’m beautiful and shit.”

You said as the two of you were walking down towards the cafeteria for lunch.

“Oh my god! He probably has a crush on you or something!”

Maria said a little bit too loud. You poked her in her side with your elbow.

“Please, keep it down.”

She started laughing, and you quickly followed. As you turned a corner you crashed into something. Or rather someone. A hand snuck around you waist, keeping you from falling. You looked up, finding the familiar brown eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Park. I didn’t see where I was going.”

He looked at you for a second, before smiling. He didn’t let go of your waist, and when you became aware of that you awkwardly stepped away from him.

“No harm done.”

He simply said and walked away. You looked over at Maria.

“I get it.”

She simply said as you started walking again.

“Right?”

You asked, looking back at her as she tried to keep up with you.

“What ever look he just gave you was not the look you give to someone you have a crush on.”

The season had ended, for a minute you felt relief. Knowing you had time off now to just relax before the next season. But as you read the message on your phone, you felt that relief fade away.

“Studio 5, next Thursday at 07.00 am. Don’t be late.”

You sighed, was this really what you wanted? Of course it was a dream come true to potential become Mr. Parks new prima ballerina. But you couldn’t help but feel weird about that time in his office. It seemed like he had other intentions in mind. Mr. Park was an attractive man yes, but he was way older than you and you didn’t want his attention in that way. He was your teacher, your mentor. Not a potential hook up. You didn’t see him in that way, and you hoped against all odds that he didn’t see you like that either.

What you didn’t know was that in that moment, outside on the dark street. He was there. Looking at you through your window. Watching your puzzled look at his text. He didn’t know his intentions fully yet either. But he did know they were not good.

“Higher.”

He simply said as he watch you dance to the music. It was your fifth lesson together, and everything was going well. You hadn’t seen the side of him that you saw when he proposed this idea. And you were enjoying yourself, getting these private lessons had really helped you improve. In the next second arabesque, you lifted your leg even higher. Showing him that you listened. But he still shut the music off. You stepped down from your tips, looking at him as he walked up to you.

“Turn around.”

He said once he reached you. And you did as instructed. You looked at him through the big mirrors.

“Do your second arabesque.”

You stood back up on your toes, and gracefully bent into a second arabesque.

“Look at yourself in the mirror.”

He said, and you did. You instinctively pushed your leg even further up, once you saw your own reflection.

“Now back to full position.”

You moved your face upwards again, looking away from the mirror. You felt his hands touch your waist. He straightened your back, before one of his hands went to your lifted leg.

“Look back at yourself.”

He almost whispered in your ear, now with one hand on your waist, and the other holding your leg higher than what you were comfortable with. You smiled once you saw yourself. Your arabesque looked different, more sophisticated.

“When you do your second arabesque, or any arabesque for that matter. Remember this. Straight back and high leg.”

He said in a low comforting tone once he saw your smile. You nodded, and stepped down from your tippy toes. He let go of your leg, but moved that hand to the other side of your waist.

“Think of me holding your waist, it’ll help you stabilise.”

He whispered now, you felt his warm breath on the back of your neck. You turned to look at him.

“Thank you.”

You muttered. His eyes immediately fell to your lips, and in a split second his lips were on yours. You were caught off guard, and didn’t respond at first. But once it dawned on you what was happening you quickly moved your face away from his. You felt his hands on your waist tighten.

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

You looked up at the mirror, wanting to see his reaction. He was looking you dead in the eye, with anger written all over his face. He leaned down to kiss your bare shoulder, still maintaining eye contact. Before he deeply whispered.

“I’ll do whatever I want with my ballerinas.”

His hand moved up to your face as he turned to kiss you yet again. You pushed him away, and tried to make a run for it. But he snaked his arm around your chest.

“Let me go!”

You struggled against him, now scared of what would happen if you didn’t get away. Your fight or flight instinct kicked in and you elbowed him as hard as you could in his side. His hand loosened and you ran. But not quick enough. He grabbed you by your arm and threw you into the big mirror. It was pure luck that it didn’t shatter. His body locked you in.

“Hush, I won’t hurt you.”

He said, and for a second you stopped fighting. You were out of breath, but still managed to give him a death glare.

“Let me go!”

You tried once again. He shook his head.

“Do you think I just give away free lessons? Don’t you think you need to repay me?”

You felt something hard against your abdomen. You wanted to cry, you didn’t know what to do. His face shifted once he saw your eyes watering.

“No, no. I’m not a rapist, y/n! God no. But if you want to be my prima ballerina. You have to get your priorities straight.”

You clung onto the little bit of relief you felt from his words.

“I’ve tried my best to stay away, y/n. I really have. But there’s just something about you.”

You felt his hips grind against yours.

“You make me fucking crazy. I can’t wait any longer. I need you.”

He let out a small moan at the friction. A tear fell down your face.

“Please, Mr. Park. Let me go.”

You sobbed. He hushed you again.

“I’ll let you go. Just listen to me.”

You took a deep breath, collecting yourself as much as you could.

“By next Thursday I want an answer. Either you show up or you don’t. Don’t be late.”

He pushed himself off the wall and gave you one last look before slowly walking out the studio. Leaving you alone in the big dance room. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

“I don’t know what to do, Maria. This is like a fucking nightmare!”

You said sobbing onto Marias lap as she comforted you. You called her the minute you got home, knowing that she already knew most of the backstory. She immediately came over to your place, wanting to be there for you in a situation like this. You were forever great full for having a friend like her.

“You have to report this. Surely the police could do something about him.”

She said in a calm voice, stroking your hair lightly. You sat up in your bed, wiping your tears away from your swollen face.

“Would they though?”

You asked defeated. Mr. Park was a rich and famous man. You wanted to believe Marias theory, but the hard sad truth was that you didn’t stand a chance against him. Especially with no proof.

“Either I don’t show up and give up my career or-“

You paused, collecting your thoughts.

“Or you give that bastard what he wants.”

Maria finished for you. Knowing exactly what you were thinking.

“Look, being Jimin Parks prima ballerina is huge. It really is, but- I don’t know, is it really worth it? Is it really worth loosing your dignity for a life of fame?”

She asked you with a worried face. You blinked away your tears, not wanting to cry anymore.

“What else would I do? I’ve been dancing my entire life, everything I’ve ever done has lead up to this moment. I can’t-“

You shook your head, not letting the emotions take control over you again.

“I have to show up, I have to talk some sense into him. I can’t give up now. I just can’t.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap as you felt a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“You could go to college, get a degree, get a nine to five. Anything but this, please I can’t watch you go through with this. It’s not safe to see him again.”

You looked up at her again.

“And be a complete failure? Not only to my parents, to you, to the company, but also to myself. This is all I’ve ever dreamed of, Maria.”

“You won’t be a failure! You’re an amazing dancer, you have real talent. But it’s not worth it.”

You shook your head. You had already made up your mind.

“I’m sorry.”

You mumbled. Maria sighed and got up from the bed.

“You do you, girl. But you better not call me crying next Thursday. I won’t feel bad for you.”

She said before walking out your room. You were alone with this now. But like you told her, you couldn’t give up on your dream. No matter the cost.

Thursday. You were sweating. A lump had formed itself inside your stomach, and it was impossible to to ignore it. You took what felt like your last breath before you opened the door to the studio. He stood in the other end, hands crossed over his chest, with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“You’re late.”

His voice rang through the big room, leaving an echo. You stepped into the room, the door shutting behind you. Another echo filling the otherwise dead silent room. You didn’t walk towards him, you stayed by the door. The silence making the lump in your stomach grow even larger.

“What are you doing?”

He asked, still with a slight smirk.

“Come here, we have dancing to do.”

You didn’t know what to do. Your entire body was screaming for you to run out the door and never look back. But your brain didn’t let you move.

“Come over here, y/n. Right now!”

He said in a strict tone, once you didn’t listen. Your own feet moved against your own will, as you slowly started moving forward. You put your bag down on your way.

“Good girl.”

He said, barely audible. But you heard it. All your senses were sharpened. He watched you like a predator, as you can closer and closer. You stopped at a reasonable distance. Close enough to have a conversation with him, but still just out of reach.

“Why so gloomy? You’ve made the biggest decision in your life, baby.”

He stepped closer to you. Every single muscle in your body tensed as his hand met your face in a loving embrace.

“I’m going to make you a star.”

He whispered. You shook your head.

“I don’t want to have sex with you, Mr. Park.”

His smile faded at your words. You straightened your back, trying your best to seem confident and not afraid of the man standing in front of you.

“This is all I’ve ever dreamt of. It’s all I’ve ever worked for. But I refuse to think that this is the only way I can get what I want.”

You said as you tried to conceal the shaky breath escaping your mouth.

“Please, I don’t want to sleep my way to fame. I want to earn it. So tell me, do you see a true and genuine prima ballerina in me. Or am I just a piece of meat?”

He looked at you directly in your eyes. You didn’t break eye contact. You were not giving up, not yet. He broke out in laughter after a few seconds of staring into your soul.

“Oh, y/n. Please.”

He continued laughing, as if this whole thing was a joke. You stayed as serious as ever.

“This is what I like about you. You’re so stubborn, so strong. You don’t see that often around here.”

He turned serious in a split second.

“Why would I be lying to you? Huh? I can sleep with whoever I want. If I wanted just a one night stand I’d pick one of the other girls. Someone easier to manipulate.”

His hand slid around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“I’m a man of my word, y/n. I see potential in you, I wouldn’t just say that to anyone.”

His eyes flickered down to your lips. You instinctively turned your head away, opting to looking at the two of you in the mirror. He looked back at you in the reflection.

“I see my next prima ballerina.”

He said and pointed at the mirror.

“You’re not just beautiful and talented, you have a strong mind. You’re perfect.”

You sighed, looking back at him.

“Why would you waste it all?”

He asked and softly caressed your chin. Your gaze flicked down, wanting to look anywhere but him. He was right, why would you waste the opportunity to have everything you’ve ever wanted?

“It’s honestly a package deal. You get fame and fortune, and good sex. I don’t see what the problem is honestly.”

You looked back up at him again. Trying to conceal the ick you just got.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

His face turned into a devilish grin.

“Join me in my office.”

He hastily got rid of your bollero, throwing it onto the floor. The second you stepped into his office his lips were on yours. Your fate was sealed, there was no return now. He grabbed at your hips harshly, digging his fingers into you with desperation and lust. He lifted you up, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. He walked over to his desk, leaving your lips for a moment to push whatever was on it onto the floor. It all hit the floor and made a loud crashing noise. He placed you onto the desk, continuing his heated attack of your lips.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long, baby.”

He said in between kisses. Working on your wrap around skirt and tights. You lifted yourself off the desk so he could slide your garments off. Leaving you in your underwear and tank top.

“You have no idea how crazy you’ve made me. How many sins I’ve done in your favour.”

His lips crashed back onto yours. You started thinking of your career as you heard him removing his belt. Preparing yourself for what was to come. He pushed your upper body down onto the desk, making your head dip over the edge of the desk. You looked at his office upside down, staring at the expensive painting hanging on the wall. You felt him sliding your underwear to the side.

“What a pretty pussy you have, baby.”

He said before sliding himself into you, making you moan as you felt yourself being filled up.

“Better than I ever imagined.”

He groaned as he started to slowly move. You continued to look at the painting of the ballerina with a bouquet in her hands bowing down in a gracious pose. Your hands found his forearms, digging your nails into his skin. Your breath got heavy as you felt his speed increase.

But still you focused on the ballerina. You imagined it was you. Maybe that would be you after this. Bowing deeply to the applause of hundreds, maybe even thousands of people in the audience. They all applauding you. You moaned loudly once he hit a good spot.

“You like that? You want it, huh?”

“Yes.”

You said in a shaky voice. You wanted this, you wanted this more than anything. This was all worth it in the end. You would be a star, a prima ballerina. Someone little girls looked up to, and adults wanted to be. You would be like that ballerina in the painting. Gracious and beautiful in every way. Everything you ever aspired to be. Everything you were meant to be.

“God, I’m gonna-“

You belonged here. On that desk. In that studio. Alone on a stage, bowing to the audience after the greatest performance of their lives. You were Mr. Park’s new prima ballerina.

——————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! Do you want to read more?

Masterlist

[beekeeperspicnic]

Let's play... Bella or Watson?

While waiting for the next Letters from Watson email to arrive, fancy joining me in a little game of BELLA OR WATSON?

Some of these statements were written by Dr John H Watson about his friend Mr Sherlock Holmes. Some were written by Bella Swan about Edward, the hot teenage vampire from Twilight.

[IMG Silhouettes of Dr Watson and Bella Swan, text reads Watson or Bella]

(This was inspired by a tumblr post, but I'm afraid it's lost to the mists of ancient dash for me by now. Answers are under the cut!]

With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted [REDACTED], and [REDACTED].

glanced sideways at the beautiful [REDACTED], who was [REDACTED], [REDACTED] with long, pale fingers

His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence

I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine.

In the darkness he looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.

In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing Watson or Bella?

His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. 

An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were shivering.

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. 

ANSWERS UNDER THE CUT

Question 1 - Watson

With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff.

Question 2 - Bella

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers

Question 3 - Watson His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase

Question 4 - Bella His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence

Question 5 - Bella

I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine.

Question 6 - Bella

In the darkness he looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon

Question 7 - Watson

In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing

Question 8 - Watson

His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. 

Question 9 - Watson

An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were shivering.

Question 10 - Yup, still Watson

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. 

[myfairkatiecat]

If Elwin ends up being the father, he’d better tell her without permission from the Black Swan. That is the only way I will accept this.

Elwin just decides that she deserves to know, screw Mr. Forkle, screw the collective, and he hugs her and says he’s sorry without even being prompted and says he’s always loved her but understands if she needs time.

And it feels different than it did with Oralie because Sophie didn’t force the answer out of him, wasn’t met with a lie to her face, and he understood how hard it was. How much it hurt.

And her relationship with him isn’t ruined at all.

And then they yell at Mr. Forkle together as an unstoppable father daughter duo

ONLY way I will accept that reveal

[shiftingwithjaidyn]

🎞️ ⋮ writer/fame dr

★┊ BASICS .ᐟ

timeline:

this dr takes place around late august of 2022 due to the fact i intend to be part of one of the films i work on right from its beginning

locations:

los angeles, california (main)

vancouver, canada

new york, new york

san antonio, texas

london, england

notes:

i scripted out a lot of things that occur in this reality (due to the fact i scripted the timeline of everything somewhat similar)

some movies in my filmography are book adaptations that do not exist in this reality however exist in mine and most tv-shows in my filmography are cancelled shows in this reality so i decided to make them continued in my dr (just incase of some confusion hehe)

★┊ ABOUT ME .ᐟ

name: lilian maricel villaécija

nicknames: lily, lia, celia, mary/mari

gender & pronouns: demigirl || she/they

birthday: august 11th, 1980

height: 5’6”/167 cm

zodiac sign: leo

mbti: enfp

nationality & ethnicity: american || filipino-chinese

occupations:

screenwriter

script supervisor

production designer

director of photography

make-up artist

storyboard artist

aesthetic:

★┊ CAREER .ᐟ

movies:

center stage (2000)

in the mood for love (2000)

uptown girls (2003)

eternal sunshine of a spotless mind (2004)

pride & prejudice (2005)

the devil wears prada (2006)

black swan (2010)

if i stay (2014)

la la land (2016)

lady bird (2017)

the glass castle (2017)

to the bone (2017)

the greatest showman (2017)

oceans 8 (2018)

crazy rich asians (2018)

always be my maybe (2019)

little women (2019)

all the bright places (2020)

pieces of a woman (2020)

last night in soho (2021)

everything everywhere all at once (2022)

one last stop (2023) [film adaptation of the book by casey mcquinston]

tv shows:

grey's anatomy (s2-s13) || 2005-2016)

rupaul's drag race (s5-s14 || 2013-2022)

rupaul's drag race: all stars (s2-s5 || 2016-2020)

anne with an e (s1- || 2017-present/ongoing)

the marvelous mrs. maisel (s1-s5 || 2017-2023)

pose (s1-s3 || 2018-2021)

instinct (s1-s3) (2018-2023)

the umbrella academy (s1-s4 || 2019-2024)

the haunting of bly manor (s1 || 2020)

bridgerton (s1- || 2020-present/ongoing)

yellowjackets (s2- || 2023-present/ongoing)

★┊ RELATIONSHIPS .ᐟ

╰┈➤ FRIENDS

(i have a lot of friends due to the fact i've been in the industry for quite a while now, but these are just my closest)

trixie mattel

shea couleé

katya zamolodchikova

kate walsh

emmy raver-lampman

sandra oh

nicola coughlan

gemma chan

simone kessell

a huge special mention as well to @ixzotica a.k.a. aaliyah sinclair in my dr!! the one and only best friend, neighbor, sister, and platonic soulmate of mine in every single universe <3

╰┈➤ PET

name: mari-pusa (Mariposa)

nicknames: mari, choco butternut,

gender & pronouns: female || she/her

birthday: january 15

zodiac sign: capricorn

mbti: istj

breed: tortoiseshell

╰┈➤ S/O

gonna keep him a redacted for now as i am not yet comfortable sharing much about my dr but i just wanted to let u guys know he's an actor, he's a libra, and that he exists HSHJSHDSHKJHL

★┊ EXTRAS .ᐟ

links:

patter banner || gradient divider || star divider || heart divider

note:

feel free to ask me about this dr or any shifting related thing in general!! i'd really appreciate it! : ]

[reallyromealone]

(Hi Rome! Sorry to bother you)

But may I request part two of Ciel babysitting Elizabeth's younger brother? Perhaps this time they go out for a fun event (With Lizzie of course) when they turned around after watching a few people doing tricks the 3 didn't see (name) anymore so they panicked. What they didn't know was that the little one made friends with a new demon friend, Sebastian found him trying to carry him away from his demon friend, but his friend couldn't let him go

(Sorry for my bad grammar, and you can choose to ignore this)

Fandom: black butler

Pairing: black butler cast x male reader

Tags: child male reader - fluff

Warnings: none

None:

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

(Name) held his nannies hand as he, his sister, Ciel and Mr. Sebastian went to the spring fair, Balloons and games and swan boat rides amongst it all "look!" (Name) pointed to what seemed to be a pink cloud on a stick, Funtom having funded this whole event so Ciel recognized it all including the candy floss that had gotten big through out England.

(Name) was dressed in a lovely spring outfit, Lizzie making sure he was dressed in his best "Mr. Sebastian! Look, a kitty!" When (name) learned the butler likes cats, he always found something cat related to show the other.

(Name) got to lead the group around and Sebastian won him toys, the boy over the moon with his new toy. "Whoa...." He said in awe at the juggler on a unicycle and the others watched curiously, unaware (name) saw something of even more interest and wandered off.

"Alright (name)...(name)?" The group looked around to realize that there was no itty bitty to, panic flooding them (save for Sebastian who was calm at all times).

"Hi!" (Name) looked up at the other who looked at him curiously, having gone to the human realm for business and this small human clung to him "hello little one" he said softly and (name) beamed "what's your name?" The boy asked and the other tilted his head "my name is Asmodeus... But you can call me Asmo" he said softly as he lifted the boy in his arms "my name is (name)! I'm four!" He said with pride and the lust demon chuckled.

This human was his now.

"Interesting"

Sebastian didn't know what to do or feel as he saw a sin hold little (name) who babbled about anything the boy could think of "there's my family!" (Name) tried to pull away but the demon clung to his new best friend "Mr. Sebastian! Do you think mama will be upset at my new friend?" (Name) asked as the demon basically claimed him as his son and after some convincing, (name) was wondering around with a "dog" much to his nannies worry.

Though Sebastian was worried on this friendship between the avatar of lust and his young masters brother in law...

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 9

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

Nine.  九

You wake up the next day certain you will be fired. But when the axe does not fall, you relax slightly, going about your tasks. It occurs to you that maybe you should leave–but you don’t really want to, and only part of that has to do with your fascination with Donaka himself. The coming weeks seem almost normal, and you begin to think that Mr. Mark decided to be a gentleman about it all, and pretend it never happened.

What a fool you are. 

Your first inkling of your idiocy comes when you are called into Mr. Mark’s office, after dinner, when usually you are hanging up your apron and calling it quits for the day. 

You approach his massive carved ebony desk with folded hands, feeling all for like a naughty school girl. Donaka Mark sits behind it, every bit the lord and master of the house. He has discarded his suit jacket, the top buttons of his black dress shirt undone, so handsome it hurts. His eyes are sharp as obsidian knives upon you, and a cold chill runs down your spine as you come to stand beside him, as he directs. 

That is when he produces the colorfully-covered journal you usually keep secreted in your underwear drawer, the little book dwarfed in his hands. Your heart does a swan dive–you hadn’t even realized it was missing. 

He does not seem amused. 

Maybe you can’t blame him. In that book, amidst your more pedestrian musings and accounts of your day, you have detailed every torrid little fantasy your rotten brain ever concocted about this man. Scorching alternate endings to all your encounters in which you were too smart, or too much of a coward to actually see through. Not to mention, the completely fictional bonus scenes too. It’s like an X rated love letter that rambles on for pages and pages and dear lord, it’s in his hands.

He throws the book down on his desk with a clap that makes you jump out of your skin. With narrowed eyes he looks up at you, his voice low and dangerous. "Care to explain this?"

Your mouth makes a perfect ‘o’ of surprise, your blood turning to ice in your veins. A flood of unbearable embarrassment washes through you, and you begin to shake like a leaf. Never in your life have you ever been so mortified, or, so angry, that he has that obviously private book in his hand. 

"How dare you read that?"

Rage flares in Donaka's dark eyes, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth. 

"How dare I read this filth, written about me, in my house? I have every right."

You are quaking, tears in your eyes. The things you wrote about him in that diary...it’s not all filth. Some of it…is foolishly sweet. And he read it all.  Your chest feels like it's pressed in a vice. You feel like you want to throw up...or just die, there on the rug of his office, rather than speak to him further about this. A timely earthquake would be most appreciated; a fissure in the floor to jump into, quite ideal. 

Donaka takes in your reaction to his intrusion of your privacy with secret pleasure; he knows he's got you right where he wants you, completely at his mercy, humiliated and vulnerable.

He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on your face, drinking in your misery. "I read every single word," he delights in telling you.

You look away, utterly unable to meet his eyes. "Congratulations, Sir," you rasp past the lump of sand in your throat.

Donaka can't help the cold smirk that appears on his face as he watches you look away, unable to meet his eyes. The way you address him as "sir" makes a shiver of satisfaction run down his spine.

“I've got to say, I'm impressed. I never would have guessed your imagination was so...vivid. You seem like such a nice girl.”

A shuddering breath escapes you. You’ve resisted him all this time, taking solace instead in writing in your journal. It was better that way. Safer. But this man is not the type to be satisfied with just words on a page. That's why...he runs a billion dollar corporation, and you...sweep floors.

Donaka watches your defeated gesture, savoring it like a fine dessert. 

“Just what did you intend to do with all this?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you defend immediately. Dear god, you think. Please don’t let this man think I was planning a ‘Tell All’. 

“This is a lot of energy gone into nothing?” 

He doesn’t have to tell you. “It’s just…my journal. To clear my head.”

“Your journal. Of things that never actually happened?” It sounds pretty stupid when he puts it that way–you feel every pound of pressure he puts in that statement, and you think you really just might faint right there beside his desk. “Do you actually get satisfaction out of that?” He sounds genuinely curious.

You close your eyes, so you don’t have to look at his blazing dark stare boring into you as you nod.

“Just give it back, and you never have to see me again.”

He laughs at you, a cruel little chuckle that pierces you to the core. “No, this little treasure is never leaving this house. And you’re not going anywhere.” 

You can do nothing but shake your head, trembling in your very bones. 

“You’re brave in many ways, y/n,” he tells you, fingering the cover of your damning treatise on The Art of Being Creepy About Your Boss. “But in others? Such a coward.” 

It’s the understatement of the century, and you can’t stand it anymore. You turn on your heel to leave–and a grip like iron encircles your wrist, so tight the bones creak. You get your first real taste of how strong this man is, when he jerks you down into his lap like you are a ragdoll made of straw. A yip of a scream escapes you, as he manhandles you like he owns you.

You feel so small, enveloped by his massive frame, his long arms wrapped around you.

"Let's have story time, shall we?" he says with a wicked chuckle, cracking the journal to a random page, and he begins to read the explicit scene you wrote starring the two of you, against the bookshelves, in the library. You can feel his deep, baritone voice vibrating against your skin as he recites, his arm around your waist holding you tight, preventing you from escaping.

“The strength in his hands makes me weak, those veritable paws gripping my thighs and lifting me, the desperate fury of his kiss pressing me back into the shelves so hard there will be linear bruises imprinted upon my skin. Perhaps I will look upon the souvenir tomorrow with equal parts pride and horror, still unsure if I am a victim, or if I welcomed the beast’s ravishment with open arms. Both feel true. The lush wetness between my legs suggests the latter, and as he explores my center with those long, blunt fingers I embrace the prospect of my ruin, bewitched by his skillful touch… Sweetheart, I’m flattered!”

You are dying in your mortification, your face on fire, your every nerve ending aware of this man. You physically cannot stand it, going feral in his arms, squirming in his lap like a fish on a hook, desperate to get away from this hell of your own making. It’s like pushing on a steel wall; he does not give a millimeter up to you. 

"Forget travel writing, I think your calling is the x-rated romance novel," he congratulates you cruelly when you finally go still with exhaustion. And maybe it’s true–you can feel the bulge of his erection pressing into your behind, and fuck if despite your desperation, you start to ache between your thighs, your unhelpful lady parts casting their usual vote for what is undoubtedly a form of suicide.  

He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look how you’re trembling. You’ve tried to deny it all along, but you want me."

"I want you to let me go." You push at his muscle-corded arm around you again, fruitlessly. You haven’t resorted to nails or teeth yet–somehow, you suspect you would not like the result of such an escalation. 

Donaka's grip on you just tightens even more, squeezing the breath from you. “You know…something about reading this makes me think that’s not what you really want.” 

Suddenly he stands, dropping you on his desk hard, tossing the little book away so that he can use two hands to pin you down. You might have screamed, had it not knocked the breath out of you. "I liked your ideas about this desk," he growls, taking your mouth in a punishing kiss, pressing you down into the wooden surface with his full bodyweight, his slender hips wedged between your legs. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole, starting with your mouth. 

This. This is what you expected all along. 

"Please, Donaka–" you plead when you are allowed to draw a breath. But his fingers in your hair control your head, pulling your lips to his again. His kiss is fueled by a fierce, primal hunger, his tongue delving deep into your mouth, seeking and claiming every inch of you as his own. His free hand moves over your body, exploring and caressing every curve and contour, squeezing the soft meat of your bare thigh, sliding under your panties to cup your ass.

"I'm not angry that you wrote the words," he snarls against your cheek. "I'm angry that you dared to deny me, lying to my face while you wanted me all along." His eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense. "Your charade ends tonight."

“But I–”

You whimper as he tugs at your hair, forcing you to meet his eyes again. "No more excuses, you little coward," he snarls. "Did you think you were going to tame me with a potato chip?”

"I wasn't playing with you," you protest, on the edge of tears. "I never meant to hurt you!" 

“Hurt me?” His tone is incredulous, but in that moment it dawns on you that that is indeed the root of his fury. He’d offered you sweetness, at least his version of it, such a rare and unheard of thing for him, damn near showing vulnerability–and you’d denied him. So now…you were getting the stick, and despite the flood of arousal between your legs, you weren’t really sure you liked it all that much. There were no straight lines with this man. Everything was a jagged edge, or a shade of grey. 

"You didn’t hurt me, you infuriated me,” he insists, his lips on your neck. “You knew what I wanted, what I needed, and yet you still dared deny me." He returns to your mouth, his lips hovering just above yours. "You wanted the thrill of bedding the bad man, but none of the blame. That’s fine, bunny. I’ll be your villain.”

At hearing that you renew your struggle, trying to worm out of his grasp.

Donaka's grip on you tightens even more as you writhe, his weight crushing the breath from you, his hips pinning you like a butterfly on a board. There truly is no escaping him like this.  “Give it up," he admonishes, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You wanted me to make you. I read all about it, and I’ll give it to you, sweetheart. I'm not letting you go. Fight me, I like it. Or submit, I like that too. Either way, you're mine tonight."

You’ve known all along that he is a dangerous enigma, and that was why you tried to exorcise your desire for him in words on a page, and not play with fire, not taunt the beast and offer him your tender flesh because you knew you would get bitten. 

But deep down...God, you’d wanted it anyway. You’d wanted to know, just once, what it would be like to bare your throat to a man like Donaka Mark, wondering if he might find you enticing enough, worthy enough, to kiss rather than kill simply because he could. 

“I hate you,” you hiss through your tears, but all you win is his dark laughter. 

“You wish that you hated me, baby. I read all about that too.” He kisses you again, almost tenderly this time, though his hold on you is still bruising. He kisses your cheeks, savoring the wet tracks of your tears. “Don't cry. I’m going to make your wicked little fantasies come true.” 

He kisses you, a deep, punishing lock of lips, and his hand disappears beneath your skirt. When he touches your soaking wet center he smiles against your mouth. You know it is not a nice smile, but still you moan as his thumb circles your clit confidently, as though he knows exactly how to handle you–as though you already belong to him. When he withdraws you watch with horror as he licks his thumb clean, his eyes all for you. 

“Tastes like little liar,” he sighs with narrowed eyes. “But we’re going to fix that.” 

You scream, when he savagely tears open the front of your dress, the black buttons flying to every corner of the room. He ducks to kiss your freshly bared skin, impatiently pulling down the cup of your bra, presenting your mounded flesh for his delectation. When his lips close on your nipple, his tongue flicking, you feel it simultaneously in your throbbing clit. An involuntary moan escapes you, and you know this is the beginning of the end.

“That’s my good girl,” he encourages between ravishing your sensitive flesh, his hips locked against yours. “Tell me all about it.”

“I do hate you.” 

He laughs, a short bark of mirth before kissing you again. You feel him reach down to work his buckle and buttons and zipper, taking himself out with one hand, the other still holding you down. He’s so impatient he simply pushes your panties to the side, his thick tip sinking past your entrance with embarrassingly little resistance, you’re so wet. He growls as he bullies himself inside, lost in the sensation of you, drunk on the heady high of triumph at last.

When you open your mouth to protest he makes the final thrust that fills you completely, tearing a sound from your throat instead that sounds suspiciously like enjoyment. Your head rocks back against the desk as your body adjusts to this delicious invasion.

This is bad. Very bad. But it feels so very good. 

He pauses for a moment to savor it, looking down at you with a smirk, and maybe you invent it out of desperation–but a smoldering warmth in his eyes.

You are so fucked.

“I just knew you’d have the sweetest little pussy.”

He kisses you, moaning in your mouth as he thrusts, losing himself as he wrecks you with his unfairly endowed cock. When his tip hits your cervix you flinch, your body still trying to get away, even while the rest of you has accepted the inevitable. “Too much?”

“Yes,” you hiss, still writhing beneath him.

“Be good then,” he warns you, his voice rough in your ear. “Or I’ll have to punish you.” 

He ducks to your breast again, his tongue wreaking havoc as his thumb slips between you, moving in time with his manhood stretching you to perfection, hitting just the right spot like he was made for you…

“Fuck,” you pant, out of frustration and need and worst of all…the knowledge of absolute defeat. 

You feel him smile against your skin, surrendering to pleasure while he works inside you once more. “Someone’s finally catching on…” 

You let out a growl…but you’re not fighting him anymore, your back arched as you strain for the release that is building in your hips, that maddening promise of euphoria coiled in your loins, the gratification you’ve craved from this man since day one. The tightening of your walls around him wins you another ragged groan, his forehead pressed to your breastbone as he concentrates on making you cum first. A part of you wishes he’d just get off and leave you alone–but he’s not going to do that. There’s no way in hell, you’re in his claws and so you might as well wring every little bit of enjoyment out of it that you can, before you meet your inevitable demise…

“Come on baby,” he coaxes. “Give me what’s mine. From now on, this is where your pleasure comes from, and I intend to keep your schedule full.” 

“This is not–becoming a thing,” you insist, short of breath, because it feels like he’s in your lungs.

He laughs at you, a wicked chuckle that raises your every hair follicle. “No? Do I have to keep you on the edge until you beg me for it, pretty girl? We could do this for days.”

Is it possible, to cum out of spite? You think it might be, as you wrap your legs around his narrow hips in a bid to control the timing of his thrusts. He lets you, caught up in the moment you start participating rather than fighting. You clench upon his perfect cock buried inside you, desperate to indulge yourself before he can torture you by withholding it. 

Your orgasm takes mercy on you, rising to the occasion valiantly. The rapture of it destroys you like a chain explosion, filling your loins before ripping up your spine, hitting so hard you arch and lift him from desk for a few, beautiful moments of ruin. He moans with you, fucking you hard as your needy, turncoat of a cunt milks him, sending him over the edge to spill inside you. He fills you with hot spurts of his essence, his powerful body locked against yours as though to make sure you get every drop. 

For a few long moments he collapses on you, his breathing heavy in the bend of your neck, his lips gentle behind your ear.

“Was that so terrible?” he asks you smugly, sitting up on his elbows to sweep the wisps of your sweat-plastered hair from your forehead. You close your eyes, lulled by the unexpected tenderness in his touch.

“I still hate you,” you sigh unconvincingly.

“Mmm hmm. I can tell. Are you on birth control?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked that beforehand?”

“Don’t be smart, just answer the question.”

You growl, winning that smirk that quickens your heart. He just thinks you’re cute, goddamn him.

“No, I’m not going bear your demon spawn,” you grumble with an eye roll.

“Hmm.” He smirks down at you, his eyes sweeping your face, then lower, and for a terrifying moment you can’t tell if he’s pleased by your preparedness, or contemplating the thought of filling you with his child. The latter scares you more than anything else he’s done so far tonight.

Spitefully you muse, “I kinda wish I had a venereal disease to give you though.” 

Now he narrows his eyes. “Very funny.”

“You’ll find out, I guess...”

He puts his hand over your mouth; it's so big it envelopes the whole lower half of your face.

“Let’s have silence now.” You glare–and you lick his hand, though you don’t make a sound. He looks at it with a frown, then wipes it on your cheek.

“Come on.” He withdraws, righting himself, then you, papers fluttering to the ground as you make your dismount from the desk. Whatever he was working on is surely ruined by sweat…and other bodily fluids. He doesn’t seem to care, for the smug way he smiles at you. 

You might have fallen, if not for his strong arm steadying your shaking limbs. He gives you a moment to find your legs, and as you rest against the solid warmth of his chest, enveloped by the spice of his cologne, you are consumed by the warring urges to kiss him and to hit him. This man. This man could prove to be the death of you through confusion alone. 

He tilts your face up to his, surprisingly gentle now. It’s hard to believe this is the same man from five minutes ago, when he presses his lips to yours. 

You try to button your dress, but it's a lost cause. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because he is pulling you away, towards the door. In the hallway you try to break off in the direction of your room, but he snorts at you, guiding you in the opposite direction with a hand on the back of your neck. 

“I’m not done with you yet, bunny…”

“Donaka…” You only narrowly resist the urge to sob. “You won. Just let me go…” All you want to do is be alone to lick your wounds, and reflect on what the fuck just happened to you. Your thoughts are a complete jumble; you are a walking well-fucked vessel filled with shame and confusion and you hate to admit–total gratification.  It all went by so fast and maybe deep down you wanted it but he just took you and you– 

As though he knows you are trying to pick all this apart and doesn’t intend to give you the chance, Donaka jerks you to him, pulling you into a punishing kiss that melts your bones all over again. You make a small, kittenish sound that betrays your begrudging enjoyment. You swear you feel his smug satisfaction emanating from his pores.

“Don’t you get it yet?” he asks you darkly, a dangerous sparkle in his midnight black eyes. “You’re mine now.”

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

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

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

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

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

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

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

── THE INSTRUMENT

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

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what did you think?” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” you say.

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

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

“Fuck if I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you despise roses,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” he says.

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

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

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

“Yes?” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was?” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

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

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

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

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

“What?” he says. You shrug.

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

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

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

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

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[littlekiara96]

Hey, Penacony spoilers ahead for up to the end of 2.3. THEORY AHEAD. (kinda crack, kinda not, I'm talking about Gallagher)

Y'know, it's funny how Gallagher, a History Fictionologist, told like 1 lie.

And then, Mr. Reca, a Memokeeper, told some guy "Love the unknown" once.

Like, guys, switch places, please. That would make more sense.

I remember when I found inconsistencies with how people treated Gallagher; one of two Bloodhounds "recognising" him, another Bloodhound going "Who?" and then the receptionist at the Family's mansion acting as if he's some important person who's rarely sought out by people?

I swear, this still makes no sense... unless......

And Reca is sometimes a well-known director. Sometimes a self-proclaimed one.

Chabro and Aideen? Love the guy. Nobodies? Who does this dude think he is.

But hey. You know what makes me go "What the HELL is going on here"?

I have two questions.

Why "Mr. Reca"? And not Mr. Reca?

How the hell does this guy know about Gallagher AND HIS DEATH.

Okay, so I guess this Reca is indeed a Memokeeper who uses camera and film to record (rec - Reca) stuff and retell stories. He should be the same Memokeeper Black Swan mentions at the Studios.

And I suspect this censored movie to be his work.

Hey, remember who did so much to make sure that some people's names and true stories would be restored?

Yeah, funny coincidences.

And then, nobody remembers Gallagher, ironically. Except us, Nameless.

And except Reca, SOMEHOW. (Aideen. Gallagher is the guy thanked BEFORE YOUR OWN BRAND, DID YOU EVEN WATCH THE MOVIE.)

But ultimately, Aideen is right. Gallagher wasn't made to be remembered.

Sorry, I mean, "Gallagher the History Fictionologist" isn't meant to be remembered.

We know "Gallagher" is fake. And I'm not just talking about his appearance; ALL OF HIM is fictional. He is a character, a role. And like any role... there has to be an actor playing the part. The person who came up with "Gallagher". The person who is still there once the character isn't needed anymore.

The person we didn't see when "Gallagher" disappeared off-screen.

And I guess that person would also be the real Gallagher... The one who was so loyal to Mikhail.

Or... was he all that loyal to Mikhail?

There's something so fickle about calling an unshakable loyalty "imaginary". I know it's meant positively here, but it's so easy to turn this upside-down...

I mean, the purpose of "Gallagher" was to fulfill one promise to Mikhail. And once that has been done... the real Gallagher could do whatever, afterwards. He's free of his role as "Gallagher" the History Fictionologist... who did the exact opposite of what a Fictionologist would do...... by restoring the truth of the past.........

Gallagher is the worst at his job, isn't he. Almost like he should be a Memokeeper, instead.

Anyway. I have a technical question.

Where did Reca get the memory segments to recreate Firefly for the Scorchsand Venue movie?

I see two possibilities:

Got them from someone else (Aideen, other witnesses, maybe from the surroundings themselves?)

Himself

In the first case, it makes sense, I have no further question.

In the second case, though... When did Reca meet Firefly? Did he need to actually meet her or would just seeing her from afar suffice? Depending on the answers to those questions, things might get complicated.

Okay, it's time I stopped beating around the bush. I've been drawing mirrored parallels between "Gallagher" and "Mr. Reca" from the very start of this post. You're probably guessing what my point is by now.

But first... Remember Sleepie? a.k.a. Dormancy?

Poor thing came to Scorchsand searching for Gallagher...

But there was no trace of him there anymore since... before Sleepie arrived... Right?

And there's no way Gallagher would still be around... Right?

... why would you say that if you know your whole being will disappear once you're done with your final task...

i mean, it's not like there was yet another Hound statue in Dreamflux Reef, next to the three epitaphs of the Nameless, right?! Grmbl...

Remember when Himeko said "In the end, we still failed to figure out his true identity, or if he was even a "living person"? Because I SURE REMEMBER.

Anyway, we don't know where Reca was when Sleepie arrived at Scorchsand, but-

I think it's safe to say that they interracted to some extent.

BUT that's in fact still not what made me go "WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL IS GOING ON HERE???!!"

Remember how the movie started?

With the phrase: "Even now, the world is still filled with characters that we've played."

The hell do you mean by that, Reca.

And it ended with the phrase: "We will keep playing our roles, drunken and foolish in the moment, playing at life but never thinking to celebrate it." Then the credits roll.

Heyyyy, I know someone else who talks about celebrating life. And used bits of other people's lives to create a whole new "character". Kinda like how you can pick pieces of different stories to make a whole new story. Or movie, for that matter.

And hey... Reca told us "My lens is upon you… Don't let me down. And more importantly, don't let the audience down."

You know who told us we had interesting life stories? YEAH.

Hey. Let's go back to Brina. The receptionist.

You know how we could easily explain this?

If the real Gallagher's full name was Gallagher Reca.

Or maybe "Mr. Reca" is just yet another pseudonym. I mean, why would he credit himself as "Mr. Reca" and not Reca. That's fishy.

ANYWAY, this theory has been on my mind for maybe 4 months now, so I'm glad I've finally manage to write all of my thoughts down.

[toptophat]

2.6 thoughts!!!!

Spoilers for anyone who hasn't finished it yet!

It was a freaking blast, a rollercoaster of emotions, I honestly thought that Mr Reca, with how cuckoo he was in the trailer, was gonna be the antagonist, turns out he's a quirky memokeeper (who may still have his motives but for now he was definitely an ally) I guess, much like the galaxy rangers, there is no uniform, because I honestly thought they all would have some resemblance to Black Swan, but I can't wait to see more memokeepers, as well as more galaxy rangers

Speaking of galaxy rangers, ok!! Rappa and Boothill were the real protagonists here!!!! Poor trailblazer became a side character to these two champions and I love it!!! I've already made it clear that I adored Rappa from the moment her drip marketing dropped, I initially found her strange way of referring to everything as ninja stuff hilarious and quirky, I thought "are all galaxy rangers gonna talk funny?" But that was my first impression, now I wanna [forking] cry!!! I was already skeptical of this "Master Kucha" from the way he spoke! I didn't know that he was basically like the only parental figure she had, she's one of Dr Primitive's (Evil Ninja Osaru) test subjects in a hidden lab (Ninja capital) having to undergo harmful tests and torture (Ninja trials) this, coupled with the fact that her only source of free time and entertainment has been a ninja manga, she may have developed some sort of mental/ identity disorder, she's been living in a fabricated reality and no one can help her because they don't see the full picture, even her backstory has been distorted by her own retelling making her some sort of unreliable narrator in her own story. Dr Primitive is truly a despicable monster, torturing people and distorting an innocent girl's mind. There's a bright side to this tragedy though! That innocent girl is now our Rappa, and although her mind has been messed with, she still became a righteous galaxy ranger, kindhearted, unmatched skill, hellbent on hunting down the cruel doctor and she definitely lives up to that title too!!! So I'm rooting for her!!! And the moment we got to fight alongside her at the end after hearing "No Dazzle No Break" was gorgeous (can't wait to finish building her so she can continue to show them the way of the ninja!)

Once I finish reading her character story, I'll make a further analysis

Speaking of which, I'm actually gonna make 2!! One for both of our stars of the show, Rappa and Boothill, two people who had to revisit their past, and come to terms with their present and future, living up to the ways of The Hunt! I already deeply respect these two, the more I get of them, the more I can't help but respect them more!!! And I'm definitely excited to get more of them!! Galaxy rangers are the best!!

Boothill's up first because obviously I've already read his backstory so his POV was like an added 5 course meal!!! But I do wanna talk about his best moments (aside from the obvious highlight that blew me away) Firstly, we got more of Boothill the identity stealer (First Pom Pom now March 7th???) Actual Robinhill moments??? (I'm more of a GunsNRoses person now but it's still really cute) The way he was so relieved that he could "fake swear" again instead of the banana cussing was hilarious, Star Rail don't do this to my man, at least give him the "Ninja slang" treatment, let him swear 😭😭 And Boothill owned the dancefloor in the DJ Robin cutscene!!! We have a rapping ninja and a dancing cowboy, could this get any better!!! And obviously, there's the Lore!!!! Which was actually insane !!! I literally wanted to avoid spoilers in order to experience it blindly and it was worth it!!!! I wanted to [fudging] cry, it was so well done!! Andrew Russell and Kendell Byrd knocked it out of the park with their scenes!!! I freaking love Boothill and Rappa so much 😭😭😭 they're both life my dude!!!

This is just what I needed!!!

[berryblueshortcake]

me! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

i recently turned 20 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

my name is ava 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

favorite artists: Lana of course, fiona apple, deftones, alex g, elita, phoebe bridgers, courtney love, nirvana, alice in chains, ethel cain, frank ocean, tyler the creator, have a nice life, jeff buckley, king krule, mitski, local h, mazzy star, patti smith, radiohead, sohodolls, title fight, suki waterhouse, the white stripes, pretty sick, and slowdive! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

favorite movies: black swan, gone girl, american psycho, the florida project, promising young woman, priscilla, every old barbie movie, mysterious skin, the virgin suicides, ponyo, howls moving castle, jennifer’s body, fight club, the truman show, corpse bride, spirited away, palo alto, tinkerbell, marie antionette, thirteen, fantastic mr fox, pulp fiction, gingersnaps, pearl, hereditary, donnie darko, mid 90s, big time adolescence, heathers, girl interrupted, edward scissorhands, and coraline 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

my other socials! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

pinterest: berryblueshortcake

instagram:pixi3asf

spotify: avabryn

dni: pro ed blogs and men! 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

disclaimer 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

I have struggled with an eating disorder since I was 12 and recently got out of an eating recovery center. I completely understand posting about your struggles and your disorder. Recovery is hard enough, and will never be linear. so seeing people encourage each other to get sucked deeper and deeper into a fatal sickness is gut wrenching. it break my heart to see it, especially among young girls. I know how i clung onto the “community” when i was younger. regardless, recovery is always an option when you are ready. mwah. 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

eat a snack, drink water, and have an amazing day! you deserve love and light and happiness! xoxo 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

[r0mantic-f00l]

(this turned out to be a bit angstier than I thought but still has a happy ending!)

I present to you, enemies to lovers with mr regulus black!

Infatuation

Regulus Black.

There was nobody else you despised more. Nobody else could make you snarl at his ridiculous wavy hair, his stupid ocean-blue eyes, his smarmy yet lucent grin. Nobody else made your skin crawl, your blood rush through your veins, your heartbeat rapidly increasing in its speed.

You hated him.

Truly despised him.

Yet with that hate came infatuation.

Whenever he walked into the room you were already in, with his chin pointed upwards whilst his lips curled into an arrogant grin, you gazed at him with such passionate hatred behind your eyes. And he was already staring at you with the exact same hatred.

You hated it when he sat across from you in the Great Hall, staring at you with blank, beady eyes whilst you conversed with a boy, a handsome boy, a boy who smiled at you and laughed at your jokes and glanced at you in a way that didn't show complete hatred. You lost focus when Regulus would glare at you, or perhaps you told yourself that to stop the suggestion that you simply grew bored of the boy entering your mind.

You did love some things about Regulus.

You loved the exhilaration he gave you when you did something you were not supposed to do to make him suffer (only mildly, of course, much to your dismay). You loved the competition, the rivalry present between you whenever you sat next to each other in Potions. Most of all, you loved the freedom he gave you to not be a perfect angel. With everyone else, you had to smile like a goddess, walk like a swan, talk like a princess. With him, all of that was forgotten. You were grateful, however, for the brief escape he unknowingly allowed you from being perfect all the time. It was tiring, draining you from inside your heart.

He knew how devilish you truly could be, and he relished in the hell you provided him.

You walked into the Potions class one afternoon, your last lesson of the day, and sat in your designated seat; at the very back of the classroom where nobody (bur Regulus) could bother you.

It seemed the boy was running late, and although you grinned in satisfaction on the outside, you felt your heartbeat decrease in its speed.

Slughorn had begun to talk, smiling in an annoyingly jovial way, when Regulus had rushed in with a sour look on his face, and your heartbeat drummed against your chest.

"Regulus, my boy! Better late than never." Slughorn joked, oblivious to the boy muttering under his breath, seemingly frustrated as he took his seat next to you.

You glanced over at him, watching as he threw his quill and his books out in anger.

Your grin grew bigger.

"Oh no, is the precious teacher's pet frustrated 'cause he was late?" You pouted in faux sympathy, bashing your eyelashes as he snarled.

"Shut up."

You laughed, seemingly finding humour in the boy's sour mood.

"Wow, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Reggie?"

He scoffed.

"I told you to stop calling me Reggie."

"Well, I didn't promise anything, did I?"

The boy dipped his quill in his pot of ink, writing notes in a messy scrawl, trying his hardest to ignore you, and your stupid grin, and your ridiculously beautiful hair, and your glossy lips that reflected the light of the candles.

"Hmm, are you ignoring me now?" You asked, subconsciously leaning closer, making the boy take a deep breath which you mistook as a sign of annoyance.

He continued to write, making you huff and roll your eyes.

"You're no fun today."

"Well excuse me for actually wanting to pay attention in this class for once."

You grinned, and Regulus instantly knew he said his words wrong.

"So you're saying that you pay attention to me in most of these lessons?"

"I'm saying that you bother me that much with your incessant rambling that I don't have time to do work." The boy spoke through gritted teeth, no longer writing but still staring down at his page.

"Just say you're in love with me at this point, Reggie." You grinned.

Regulus glanced up from his page, still not quite looking at you just yet, but rather focusing his gaze on your hand that touched his side of the desk.

"..And if I was?"

Finally, your grin had dropped, the curve of your lip faltering as you processed his words. Only 4 words he said, but it made your heart beat rapidly, your brain stop working, your lungs stop bringing in air.

The boy had looked up at you then, a slight smirk on his face, yet his eyes could not be read, could not be understood by your eyes which had memorised every one of his looks, his mechanisms, his patterns. This, this was unlike him. This was not the Regulus Black you'd grown to passionately despise.

"W-What?"

"I said," He leaned closer to you, staring at you intently.

"If I was in love with you, if I couldn't stop thinking about everything you do, if I have driven myself insane over the thought of you, what would you do?"

He found humour in the way your mouth was slightly agape, your eyes scanning his as you had appeared to stop breathing.

"I-I," You tried to say something, but your mouth had ran dry and your mind did not provide you with any help. It was as if you had forgotten how to speak.

He pouted slightly, tilting his head as he watched you struggle to find words.

"Nothing?" Regulus questioned, copying your faux sympathy you always had whenever the boy was in a sour mood just like before.

Still, you could not speak, could not utter the words your heart screamed in your chest as you continued to stare at him with a perplexed and shocked expression.

He turned back to his notes and grinned to himself, feeling pride in his success to make you silent.

It was only when Slughorn began to dismiss the class that you spoke up once again, yet with such a feeble and broken voice.

"I truly cannot stand you."

You then hurried out of the classroom, your bag knocking pots of ink down on the floor as you stormed away.

It wasn't the first time you had said that, in fact Regulus had lost count of how many times you told him you hated him, but this was different. There was true venom behind your words, true fury in your voice. Yet your voice still wobbled in an upset manner, your bottom lip slightly quivering as you hid your glassy eyes away from him.

And the boy was compelled to follow after you, calling out your name as he ignored the confused looks of other students.

Regulus Black, running after the girl who he despised, with such desperation?

The boy did not know by what he was compelled, he did not know the emotions that entered his heart like a virus, he did not know why his legs were picking up speed as you rushed away from him. All he did know was he had done something devastatingly wrong.

You walked into a desolate classroom and slammed the door, but you were too late in your efforts to keep him out, Regulus opening the door shortly after you closed it.

"Go away, Reggie." You murmured in a weak manner, the boy ignoring your request as he stepped closer to you, unsure what to do in this situation to calm you down. Because you didn't seem angry, no, you seemed distraught.

"What's wrong? What did I do?" He asked, approaching you as if you were a delicate, yet dangerous creature.

"Go away, Regulus!" You snapped, shocking both the boy and yourself as you yelled.

He saw the way tears dropped from your eyes, and he felt his heart shatter.

"N-No, I'm not leaving, I'm not leaving you." He drew closer to you, holding his arms out as if to hug you, but stopping in his movement like he didn't know how to, like he didn't know if he could.

"Please, just go away." You repeated your request again, your feeble, muttering voice returning. Yet your words contrasts your actions, as you held onto his arms for support.

"Tell me what I did that made you like this. Tell me." Regulus asked, desperation appearing in his eyes and in the way he spoke as he watched you weep.

"Y-You," Unable to get the words out, you took a deep breath, before crumbling down all over again.

"You don't joke about loving someone, Reggie! Not like that. Not when that someone actually loves you!"

In that moment, everything clicked into place for Regulus. That was why he chased after you. That was why he glared at whatever other boy you smiled at. That was why he was mean and cruel and bitter towards you. Because he loved you. And he didn't know how to show it. After all, how can someone show love it they have never been shown it themselves?

Your cries filled the silence in the room as he processed all his thoughts and his feelings. Though, there was not much to process, they were all of you.

"Y-You love me?"

You scoffed, stepping away from him as you harshly wiped away your tears as if you were disgusted at your own emotions.

"Yes, I do. I love you. And it's such a cruel fate." You snarked, yet you felt weaker.

Regulus walked towards you once more, but stopped in his tracks before he could get too close.

"I-I love you. I love you." He repeated it, sinking it in to your and his brain, and he smiled. A smile not of arrogance, or of mischief, but rather a smile of content, of peace, of belonging.

Your eyes widened slightly, but you snapped out of it, whatever spell his words placed on you, and you sniffed, looking down at the wood beneath you as you folded your arms.

"No you don't."

Regulus' eyebrows furrowed, and he chose to step closer to you finally, to breach that line that you both drawn since the first year in Hogwarts.

"I do. I-I realise now, that I've loved you ever since I met you. I just... I suppose I repressed it." He tucked your hair behind your ear, making you look up to see his soft smile.

"I've grown tired of pretending to hate you, when you're the person I love most in this world."

You glanced between his eyes, and saw a sign of love, recognising truth behind his words, and your brain memorised that as another mood of his, one that you would see always.

"Really?"

He nodded, cupping your face.

"Truly."

You smiled, and held the hands that was holding your face, and leaned in for a soft kiss, a kiss that Regulus did not know how to give, but he was a rather quick learner, always had been.

That day, you learned that the infatuation you had for the boy was not one born out of pure passionate hatred, but rather an overwhelming amount of love.