#michael bllk

day 7 of @vampireaxel and @varrowe's event — add a four leaf clover for someone lucky to find TS TOOK ME AN UNFAIR AMOUNT OF TIME.. AND ALSO THE CLOVER IN THE PFP DOESNT COUNT ITS THE BANNER U NEED TO LOOK AT OK.... GOOD LUCK 😊

all art is by nagdong_Duck on X

f2u with written creds thanksuhhhh

⤷ ANGST ﹫ michael kaiser x fem!reader ﹫ I love angst so bad guys it’s not healthy anymore.

⚠︎ angst, heavy mental health struggles (kaiser), PTSD (kaiser), insults .ᐟ.ᐟ

Kaiser had always thought love was a fable.

Not the kind told at bedtime by mothers with warm voices and softer eyes, but the kind whispered between bleeding mouths and clenched teeth—a myth, twisted and fantastical. A word too sweet for the world he came from. Where love meant bruises hidden under school uniforms, silence at dinner tables, and the heavy, choking stench of fear disguised as obedience.

He had learned early on that people only got close enough to hurt you. That affection was conditional. That kindness was currency. And he never had enough of it.

So he became beautiful. He made himself golden, magnetic, cruel when needed. He climbed through the mud wearing a crown of thorns he forged himself, teeth bared, never looking back. The world praised him for it. For the shine. For the swagger. For the calculated charm. But beneath it all was rot. Something broken and trembling.

And then—

You.

You, with your laugh that didn’t sound like it was practiced. You, who looked at him not like he was a god or a ghost, but a person. Someone real.

He hated that.

He hated how you saw him.

He hated how your eyes lingered on the pieces he tried to bury—the trembling hands when the crowd got too loud, the way he flinched at sudden noises, the exhaustion in his smile when the cameras turned off. You saw those things. You noticed. And you didn’t turn away.

No one had ever stayed when they saw him like that.

He remembered the first time you touched his face gently, like he wasn’t made of war. Your palm on his cheek, thumb brushing over the scar no one else mentioned. He’d frozen. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t understand it. And he remembered the way you said, “You don’t have to be anything with me.”

And he believed you.

God, he wished he didn’t. But he did.

That night, after you fell asleep in his arms, he whispered an apology into your hair. He didn’t know what it was for—maybe for letting you love something so wrecked. Maybe because, for once, he wanted to believe he was more than just damage with a smile.

But the sickness came back.

He didn’t understand how to hold something soft without breaking it. He didn’t know how to be loved without sabotaging it. So he tested you. In little ways, at first—cold words, late replies, sharp sarcasm. He waited for you to leave. He wanted you to. It would be easier if you did.

You didn’t.

So he pushed harder. Cancelled plans. Didn’t say “I love you” back. Picked fights over nothing. Tried to become unbearable. Because a part of him—too loud, too cruel—kept screaming:

“You don’t deserve this. You’re filth. You’re fucked up. You’re nothing but your father’s son.”

“You’re a pretty face with a rotted soul. And she will see it. She will leave. Let her leave.”

But you didn’t.

You stood in the doorway of his penthouse after another one of his episodes, eyes filled not with anger, but something worse—compassion.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered.

And Kaiser, who had faced thousands, who had stood untouched beneath stadium lights, who had smiled through agony and danced with demons, crumbled like a boy. He sank to his knees in front of you, hands shaking like leaves in winter, and finally told you the truth:

“Because I don’t know how to be loved.”

You knelt with him. You took his face in your hands. And you cried.

Not because he was broken—but because he’d been made to believe that was all he was.

“I love you,” you said, again and again, like it was a prayer. Like if you said it enough, it could stitch him back together. “I love you even when you hate yourself. Especially then.”

He tried to shake his head. “You shouldn’t. I’m not—fuck—I’m not human. I’m a monster in disguise. I manipulate. I lie. I don’t even know who I am when I’m not pretending to be someone else.”

But you held him tighter. “You’re mine. And I see you.”

And for the first time in his life, he let someone hold all of him.

The darkness. The boy who used to cry himself to sleep. The man who turned fear into arrogance. The heart he thought had died a long time ago.

You loved him through every terrible version of himself.

And he loved you for it—too much, almost. Like worship. Like madness. Like a man clinging to a lifeline he never thought he’d find. He memorized the curve of your lips, the sound of your heartbeat when you fell asleep on his chest. He began to believe that maybe—just maybe—there was a version of him worth loving.

But the guilt never left.

Even on the happiest days—when you laughed with him, when you whispered dreams into his skin—he would catch himself thinking: I don’t deserve this.

He would sit alone sometimes, long after you were asleep, whispering to the dark:

“I’m sorry I exist. I’m sorry I ruined you. I’m sorry I can’t be better.”

But you never let go.

Even when he gave you every reason to.

Even when he screamed. Even when he cried. Even when he tried to disappear behind the armor he had worn for years.

You held on.

You loved him not because he was easy to love—but because you saw the boy inside the monster. Because you knew love was not something earned, but something given. Freely. Fiercely.

And he—

He would burn the world to keep you warm.

He loved you with the desperation of a drowning man, with the reverence of someone who had never known what it felt like to be held without bruises.

You became his home.

The only one he’d ever known.

And even on the days when he still hated himself, when the ghosts were too loud and the pain too sharp, he’d look at you and remember:

That once upon a time, someone saw him not as broken, but as human.

And that, maybe, was enough to keep going.

Even if he cried for it.

Even if it hurt to believe.

Because loving you was the first beautiful thing he ever did.

And being loved by you—

Was the only miracle he’d ever known.

Wait wait

So i'm gonna see my babyboi Ness animated with a voice..? SlOJOEBDBD

Wait wait

So we're gonna hear the voice of Charles Chevalier???? OMG.

Wait wait

So we're gonna hear the voice of ALL THE BASTARD MUNCHEN IN GERMAN AND THEN IN JAPANESE, ENGLISH OR WHATEVER??!! (auf die knie, blue lock)

Wait wait

SO WE'RE GONNA SEE HOW LOOKS THE TEETH OF DON LORENZO (plz it’s gold not yellow🙏🙏)

But wait wait

All of the ness’s backstory too...right? And all the scenes that makes me wanna cry and scream "FUCK YOU KAISER YOU BASTARD WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE FOR DOING THAT TO NESS-"

.....we're gonna see that too?

I'm shaking right now. I'm so scared.

I pray for the voice of Ness. Idk if they’re already release the voice actor but i'm a little scared. Specially for the French version. ARGHHHH

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The LIVE-ACTION movie + the season 3 of good omens + the world cup

+ the season 3 OF BLUE LOCK???!!!