#stilzchen

7. what’s your opinion on call out posts?

my opinion is that if you recirculate a 3.5-year-old callout post then you should make sure the links actually work 💙

8. name any three things about the rpc that bother you.

only three oh my god so - 1.   the kiss-asses! not on this blog but when i had a much big follower count i could tell when i’d get empty compliments just for the sake of getting on my good side. it was the minority of followers ofc not everybody on this website is a vulture but it’s the same principle as not wanting to be just a number in someone’s follower count. i want interactions w my mutuals! i’m genuinely here to write! i really, really love receiving feedback on my blog and my writing - but if you don’t have anything real to say please don’t say anything at all. i think this makes me sound like a bitch but yk! i don’t think authenticity, or as close as the rpc can get to it, is too much to ask for 2.   people who follow and then unfollow within a day before i’ve had a chance to properly sit down and look at their blogs. i don’t come down too hard on this bc it’s impossible to know who got tired of waiting and who just got tired of following me and would’ve unfollowed me even if i had followed back - but it happens sometimes and it’s meh. i know i’m here a lot sometimes but i really don’t have all the time in the world! pls new followers be patient 3.   christ this was hard to narrow down - i cannot fucking stand when people mark trigger words like “rape” or “pedophilia” with an asterisk to censor it IN THEIR GOOGLE DOCS. like WHY. even on the dash it’s useless bc blacklist won’t pick up that stuff, lol, how am i supposed to blacklist sexual assault when y’all tag it “s*xual *ssault” or with variations of asterisks every time like? just something to consider but especially on google docs like yeah it’s useless just type the word

17. have you ever sent a message to yourself on anon? why?

sure, i think i did from time to time when i was younger and way more attention-seeking. shit is lame now though; every now and then i suspect someone’s doing it and it’s like... in 2021 really? hope you’re having fun x

34. have you ever cried while writing a reply?

i can’t remember a time that i have but i wouldn’t be surprised at all - and i can tell you with 100% certainty that if it ever happened it was during a reply for you, either with a mara-fisch thread or with e*********r (not bringing them into 2021 with me mark my worms i DON’T need their energy)

Eyes flutter closed, ringed fingers clenching tightly around the refrigerator handle in their grasp until knuckles blanch white. The muscle in his jaw ticks in ever increasing frustration, waves of ire settling in the pit of his stomach only to claw their way like beasts up the back of his throat. 

Three.. Four...Bloody hell. The crocodile’s useless words prattle on, every syllable and grate of tone pouring into his ears like molten lead, stopping them up until its all he can bloody think about.. all he can bloody hear. Giving up on some feigned attempt at remaining calm, the pirate slowly turns his head - blue eyes flashing with murderous intent. It’d be easy to lose his temper, aye - to strangle the damned demon until he himself passed out from the exhaustion from it .... but Killian Jones has ever proven to be a man of impatience and thoughtless vengeance .. and this night proves no different.

Cowardice is not something which easily befalls him - foolishness, however...Black boots take careful steps along the village green, eyes watchful lest his longtime foe catch him unawares. He has yet to find the creature’s secret, the crocodile’s demise, as it were - but ever a man of confidence, Killian is willing to bet he can goad the other man out. The whispered rumors and strangled confirmations coaxed from lips with curved steel assures the pirate that Rumpelstiltskin is indeed here, no doubt intent on ruining someone else the way that he himself was so carelessly tossed aside. 

Fingers wrap around the hilt of his blade, drawing it forth as gaze falls upon the infernal demon in question. “Aye, so we meet again crocodile - “ He is not so daft as to think he has any ounce of hope, but vengeance chases out self preservation - and the instinct to crow all but slips out of the pirate’s throat. “What is it this time, mate? Come to torture another over jealousy for a thing you, yourself,  lost?”

Smile stays plastered across rum flavored lips, ringed fingers itching to grab the flask at his side instead of being trapped to the crocodile’s whims. He had lost their bet, aye - had thought the demon’s suggestion of a game called simon says nothing but a jest .. but, alas. A duel would have been no hardship, a shower of words even less so - but how in the bloody hell was a man supposed to pat his head and rub his stomach at the same damned time?

Muscles in his jaw clench and tick, weight shifting until the joints in his neck and shoulders give a crackling pop!. It seems like they’ve been in this village for hours, a venture which Killian has no doubt, that is specifically chosen to irk him. Blue eyes roll skyward as The Dark One turned Romeo finishes his speech, fingers flipping the current backdrop to the one that waits beneath it. Tongue presses to the inside of one cheek at the other’s pointed look and Captain Hook (if anyone would ever bloody call him such again) clears his throat, curved steel held out in waiting of the next costume to be draped across it. “Bloody hell - “ Words are whispered through a locked jaw, hardened eyes flashing like a storm at sea. “ - finish this, mate - or I’ll run you through.”

Killian’s station is chaos, flour mixed with some sort of put together at the last minute chocolate frosting sticking to every surface, including the fingers of his one (currently functional) hand. It rises, pressing said digits to his lips in an attempt to get rid of such a thing - and for a moment he’s so engrossed in the act that he doesn’t feel the vibration of his cell against his thigh. Giving ringed thumb one last lick, he digs in his pocket, brows furrowing in a frown. He has no idea who’d be bloody texting him, let alone in the middle of a daft baking competition - but as blue eyes scan the simple “....” thoughts turn to only one thing. Gaze rises to stare across the room, brows furrowing in a scowl. The crocodile is there - always staring, always waiting - and for a moment the Irishman lets emotion get the better of him, throwing expectations to the wind.