#Why have this been a thing for YEARS and no one does anything???

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Mad Woman"

ok yall im out of school now! this was rushed so don't judge, when i write i just pour out whatever's in my head, that's why it's almost always rushed. i feel like if i don't write it, it'll disappeare! also to everyone hating in my asks, NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY WORK!!!! hating does nothing but discourage me and lower my already non-existent confidence in my writing. pls leave me alone, if you don't have anything nice to say; don't say anything. i LOVE all my positive asks and comments, they make my day. don't ruin it for me.

Six months, that's how long it's been since Bruce exiled you to New York and left you alone once again. It's been 387 days since Tiffany Maverick pulled the rug from beneath your feet and ensnared your family in her web of lies and manipulation. For six months, your family ignored you, only Alfred sending you the occasional care package which you promptly threw in the garbage.

You wish Tiffany and Damian were as content with ignoring you as the rest of the family but unfortunately, they went out of their way to rub their closeness in your face by sending you pictures of family movie night, family game night, and the family attending their school events. It made you angry at first, before you saw how funny it was. A family of billionaires, a family of detectives, a family of vigilantes, sitting next to a spy; obliviously feeding her insider information. The Batman, sitting grinning ear to ear next to a girl who could be his downfall.

Surprisingly, boarding school was amazing. The boys were hot, though most arrogant and dumb, they were all loaded and into you. The girls idolized you from the moment you walked in, your word was law around here and the power felt amazing. You decided what was in and out, who was hot and who was not; a huge difference and change of pace from the years of bullying and ridicule at Gotham Prep.

The charm came with your new abilities, most likely. Sure, the first two months were fucking painful and exposed you to pain you didn't think was possible but it was a small price to pay. It was nothing for the power of being able to charm and flirt your way out of just about anything, being able to eject venom with the slightest trace of your fresh set of acrylics, being able to literally bite people with your fangs and have them enjoy it, sensing heat signatures and feeling emotions and eyes on you, having the ability to give literal bone-crushing hugs, and so many things you haven't even discovered.

Not to mention your random overnight makeover! Suddenly, your figure was to die for, perfect in all senses of the word. Your skin gleamed and shimmered in the light, long shed away were all the blemishes and scars. Your hair always shiny and your teeth always pearly white, albeit a bit sharp. You're the image of beauty.

Who cares about the price when the product was this good anyway?

Who needed familial love when everyone here worshipped you? That new view and utter hatred for the family is what convinced you to accept Ariele, your boarding school bff and roomie,'s offer to spend summer break with her family in the south of france. Of course, you wanted to go back to manor for a week before meeting her there. Alfred asked you to come and though you were angry at him, you missed the old man. You swore to yourself that you'd only stay the night, catch up with Alfred, and ignore your 'family' then promptly spend the summer half naked, tanning on a super yacht with your girls.

Little did you know that you'd never make it to france, in fact, you wouldn't even make it out the manor now that Tim discovered the truth and told the rest of the family.

Tim Drake noticed things. Small things. Minute details that other people might overlook. That's how he found the truth.

It started with the cooking. Tiffany had casually mentioned one evening that she’d found some old recipes in the manor’s archives, recipes that you had once written down, hoping to impress Damian with Arabic dinners and desserts. Tiffany had barely glanced at the handwritten notes before she had offered to make dinner that night—a perfect replica of your signature stuffed cabbage leaves, Malfoof, as you called it.

Tim had been there when it happened. He’d recognized it immediately. The dish was one of your favorites, one you had made for family dinners. It was too familiar, too precise for Tiffany, it lacked the usual love and effort.

Then came the awards. It was subtle at first, too. Tiffany casually dropping that she had “entered a local baking competition” and how much fun it had been to win. Tim had known that you had been the one to actually win that competition the year before, he remembered rolling his eyes as you foolishly tried to impress him. But when he checked the award Tiffany had won? It looked eerily similar to the one that you had earned. Tiffany didn’t even bother hiding her gloating as she showed it off, calling it “another step toward making Gotham proud.”

Tim’s stomach churned. It wasn’t a coincidence. Tiffany was stealing your life and he was the only one that saw it. Who knows what else she was stealing.

The pieces clicked into place when he found the old photo albums. Tiffany had been snooping around the library one afternoon, pulling out albums that had been tucked away in the back, ones that hadn’t been touched in years. They were full of memories of your achievements, pictures of family vacations, awards won for charity work and academic excellence. Baby photo's, old camera's, journals, even old clothes.It wasn’t just admiration. It was an obsession.

He saw her dig through and read every one of your old entries, saw her stare at pictures and attempt to manuever her body how you stood, but what really creeped him out was when she started tracing over your handwriting.

Tim couldn’t let it go. This was insane. It was almost as if Tiffany wanted to wear your skin.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make Tiffany an enemy or villainize her, quite the opposite actually, he'd been ignoring her strange behavior and smell for a year now because of how fond he was of her. But this? This was crossing a line. She wasn’t just trying to fit in anymore, this was dangerous.

He now suspected there was more to Tiffany than just her obsession with your life and after putting the pieces together, it was becoming clear: Tiffany was playing a much deeper game. She wasn’t just trying to steal your identity, she was stealing information, too.

Tim’s investigative skills had been honed through years of being the tech guy of the Batfamily, and when something felt off, he didn’t ignore it. Not anymore, he started tracking small anomalies—times when Tiffany’s presence seemed too convenient, moments when crucial data about Gotham’s underworld went missing from the Batcomputer, or when confidential mission details were leaked through channels Tim knew the Batfamily didn’t use. Times when the Joker seemed to know the family's course of action and times when villains knew Duke's plans.

That’s when it clicked.

Tiffany wasn’t just trying to fit in with the family. She was spying. Her affections with the family were a cover for something darker. She had been gathering intelligence for a shadowy organization, feeding them vital information about their operations. This was bigger than him—this was a full-blown infiltration. Tiffany was working for someone else, someone dangerous.

Tiffany’s betrayal ran deep, and her spying wasn’t just about information anymore; it was personal. She had been stealing pieces of your life, your successes, your talents , your family. She had slowly taken everything that you had worked for and twisted it into her own false narrative. It was sickening.

Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He had dug through encrypted files, tracked hidden transmissions, and pieced together cryptic conversations. Tiffany wasn’t just trying to steal your identity for the sake of becoming the perfect family member. No. She was mimicking your cooking and baking skills, down to the awards she had won for those very talents. She had been trying to erase you and replace you with a manufactured version of herself.

It was almost too much for Tim to handle. But there was something even worse lurking beneath the surface: the deeper he dug, the more it became clear that Tiffany wasn’t just feeding information to criminals. She had been feeding off your spirit, your presence and she had nearly replaced you entirely.

Now he just needed to tell the other.

The tension in the Batcave could be cut with a knife as Tim stood before Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred, ready to show them what he had discovered.

“I’ve been tracking Tiffany’s movements for the last few days,” Tim began, his voice low but sharp. “And I found something that’s... unsettling.”

Bruce, who had been scanning a mission report, looked up with interest. Dick turned to Tim, a puzzled expression on his face. Alfred stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor now replaced with a rare concern. Even Damian looked confused.

“What did you find, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his tone calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He clicked a button on the computer, and the large screen behind him flickered to life. A series of encrypted files appeared—mission logs, surveillance footage, and even intercepted communications. The Batcave was suffocating in its silence as Tim presented the evidence to Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and the others. His fingers flew over the keyboard, and every new image, every new file, felt like a punch in the gut.

There was a long silence as everyone processed the information. Bruce’s usual stoic expression faltered for a moment, and Dick clenched his fists. The weight of the revelation was hitting hard, but it wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt. It was that someone in their midst had been pulling the strings behind their backs for a year.

The data was damning. It was all there, proof that Tiffany had been copying your recipes, your designs, your machines, even stealing the culinary awards that you had earned over the years. And on top of that, she had been siphoning critical Batfamily intel to an unknown organisation. The information was so sensitive, it could have jeopardized every single one of them.

“Do you see it now?” Tim’s voice was quieter, but his anger was unmistakable. He flicked the last file onto the screen. Tiffany’s false accomplishments, stolen directly from you. The stolen recipes. The mission intel sent out from the Batcomputer under her watch. “All of us have been blind to it.”

“About a month ago,” Tim said, “I found an odd encryption pattern in the Batcomputer—something I’ve never seen before. When I decrypted it, I found a set of mission details. Ones that shouldn’t have left the system. I traced the origin back to Tiffany.”

Alfred's face tightened as he took in the footage on the screen. It was a recording of Tiffany accessing classified Batfamily data, tapping into their most sensitive files.

“She’s been stealing information,” Tim continued, his voice gaining intensity. “Every single time she’s interacted with the Batcomputer, she’s been sending that data out to an unknown address. I can't track where it's coming from, it's too advanced; even for me.

“Impossible,” Bruce muttered, but his eyes were narrowing in disbelief. “Why would she—?”

“Because she’s a spy,” Tim interrupted, “and it gets worse. She’s been feeding them everything. Our weaknesses, our next moves, our schedules. She’s not just a mole in the manor. She’s been working against us this whole time. She's why so many missions have failed.Tim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just the family’s accomplishments she’s been stealing. She’s been getting close to each of us, using our trust. She knows things, personal things, and she’s been leaking that information. She’s been feeding it to the highest bidder, giving Gotham’s worst players a playbook for taking us down.”

Dick’s face twisted with disbelief. “She was pretending to be (y/n), taking her accomplishments as her own, but—” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “How could we have let this happen? How did we not notice?”

Jason’s voice cut through the heavy silence, rough and sharp, like a crack of thunder. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “I should’ve known. She’s been playing everyone, pretending like she’s all sweet and innocent, but she was using all of us.” Jason’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back at Tim, his face a mask of fury. “She lied to me. She’s been lying to all of us. And she’s been trying to replace her.” His hand slammed onto the table, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable. “She doesn’t belong here. We trusted her. We all trusted her.” Jason’s anger bubbled over. This betrayal, the way Tiffany had wormed her way into their lives, made him see red

He couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I should’ve known,” Jason spat, pacing in circles, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I let her get close to me. I let her in, we all did! And now look at this. She’s been pretending to be everything she’s not. She’s been trying to take her place, her rightful place in this family!”

Alfred, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his voice filled with quiet but growing fury. “I should have seen it,” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “I was too lenient with her. I allowed her to slip through the cracks, to play at being part of this family. I should have known better.” His usually calm demeanor was cracking, and the regret in his voice was palpable.

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line as the weight of Tim’s words sank in. His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen, disappointment creeping into his features. Tiffany had been their guest, their supposed family, and this whole time, she had been playing them all. You had tried to warn them.

Duke, who had been standing quietly at the back of the room, spoke up. His voice was low but steady.

“I knew something was off,” Duke said, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but... she’d been acting weird around me. Always asking questions—asking about the family, the missions, everything. I thought I was paranoid.”

Damian had always been fiercely protective of what he considered his, no one could ever doubt that. He mocked you, saw you as his pathetic bastard older sister, he had wanted to hurt you. But now, as the reality of Tiffany’s betrayal settled in, something darker began to take root inside him. He remember your unconditional love for him, how you took everything he said did to you with grace and compassion. He remembered how good you were to him. He noticed that everything he thought he loved about Tiffany was what she stole from you. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how Tiffany had wormed her way into the family and his heart, how she’d stolen your accomplishments, and how she’d attempted to erase his sibling from the very fabric of their world.

She was trying to replace her. That thought alone made his fists tighten, nails biting into his palms.

It had been a long time since Damian had felt this kind of protective rage. He was the blood of the Wayne family, the one who deserved to be at the center of it all, but you; his blood sibling, his equal, had always been ignored, undervalued ridiculed and neglected. And now Tiffany, a mere interloper, had dared to manipulate and tear him away from you.

Damian watched the family, his gaze flicking to each of them as they tried to process the betrayal. The anger from his family was palpable, but there was something else there too: possessiveness. Protectiveness. regret. They weren’t just angry at Tiffany for what she had done to you, they were furious at themselves for pushing you away and leaving you alone and unprotected in New York.

You were his responsibility, his blood, and no one; not even Tiffany, was going to steal you away from him. He had always wanted to prove his superiority to the others, but now that wasn’t his focus. His attention was fixed solely on bringing you back to him, where you belonged.

Cass, who had been silently observing, nodded. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her jaw told Tim that she, too, had been sensing something wrong for weeks.

Steph, ever the sharp observer, had her arms crossed over her chest, her usual sarcasm now tempered with a cold seriousness. “I knew she wasn’t perfect, but this? This is next-level crazy. Are you sure bout this Time?” She leaned forward, her voice suddenly harder.

Barbra was too shocked to say anything. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Alfred glanced toward Bruce. “Master Bruce,” he said softly, “the level of infiltration, this is something I never anticipated. We should have seen the signs.”

Bruce’s expression was steely. “We were too distracted, too willing to accept her presence as part of the family. We let our guard down.”

“That’s not just her fault,” Dick interjected. “We’ve all been too trusting. Especially with everything that happened with (y/n).” His voice hardened as he glanced at the screen again, eyes flicking to Tim. “What now? What do we do about it?”

Tim stepped forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’ve already notified our allies. The information she’s passed is enough to give this organization an upper hand in Gotham, maybe beyond. She hasn't revealed our identities but she might soon. we can’t let her get away with it. She’s been playing us this whole time.”

Steph threw her hands up in exasperation. “So what, we just let her go? She’s been lying to us, manipulating us for months! ?”

Tim’s eyes were cold, calculating. “We’ll have to trap her. Use the information she’s already stolen to set her up. Once we confront her, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away.”

Bruce’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in stone. He had failed [Y/N]—he had failed his child. The weight of that was too much for him to bear. “This ends now. We’re going to fix this.”

Ok yall since apparently 8 ppl think my work is absoulte shit and and SURE i knew how they felt this is pretty rushed and i feel like it sucks! anyway!! i hope at least some people enjoy <33 send in nice aks and questions and ideas pls. its so fun answering them. yall are mind readers and are so creative!! lmk if there's any typos bc I copy-pasted half of it from my notes app. yeah i did write half of this when i was supposed to be in class, and??? Next chapter Tiffany gets confronted, reader comes home, Batfam start groveling and regretting their actions, sort of on their way to yandere-ism and make reader move back to gotham to be closer to "family"

[writing-flower]

“ Between life and death, death is tempting ”

First act: “From the roots”

Prologue: “Happy fifteenth birthday! (Again?)”

WARNING: Mention of blood and death.

My memory had never been the best, it was good, but not exceptional. Nothing out of this world.

I wasn't as smart as Damian or Tim, I wasn't as strong as Jason or Dick, nor was I as sharp as Bruce Wayne.

I wasn't exceptional, but I was good, but not good enough for them. For him.

God, I was so focused on getting his attention, playing sports, try to pass every subject with the highest grade, join any club like debate or math.

Anything, but all that never leads to anything.

Well, almost nothing, everything I did only caused Damian to see me as a desperate for attention, which, he wasn't wrong.

But still, it didn't make it hurt any less, every insult, malicious insinuation even the occasional threat flying through the air, each one was the result of three years of trying to get someone to look at me.

Sometimes that attention only appeared with Dick, on the few times that he came to visit and came across a scene of me with Damian, He immediately stopped him.

Forcing him to apologize, spoiler, he never apologized.

The first time it happened I thought that my attempts had finally yielded good results, but no, I dare say this was worse.

As if he gave me hope and then suddenly he snatches it away without any fanfare.

Oh wait, that's literally what happened.

And about the others, I didn't even have the chance to talk to them, simply because I was already tired and also because if Damian continued he would have more reasons to screw me.

And let's face it, nobody wants to feed the wolf because you know it bites.

In this case, the bird.

It didn't help that almost the entire family was going on patrol, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in being part of that, but then I remember Jason...I immediately got that idea out of my mind.

Mm, but if I stop to think, or rather, remember, another thing that I learned in my attempts to get my family's attention, I fell in love with dance.

It was the only class that I didn't drop like the others, I genuinely loved it.

Once in her class, the teacher made us all dance with large, long, and thin fabrics. She made us dance what we wanted, in her words: “Dance as if you were free”.

My companions danced with joy, I just stayed silent for a few moments watching them without knowing how to start.

But then I sighed to close my eyes, letting my body move as it wanted.

“Dance as if you were free” I thought, I started to imagine the music in my head. It was nice, I love it.

I went from knowing what the hell to do to starting to laugh with my classmates, I turned around and then curtsied, feeling how almost all the fabric covered my body.

I open my eyes and see my entire audience applauding, not just me, but also the rest of the dancers.

As soon as I turned eighteen I followed my teacher's advice. I didn't do it before because I was a minor, I needed my tutor's permission and blah blah blah...

Contact with my family at this point was zero, except for the new member, Duke, a sweet and kind boy.

Just looking at him made prayers come to mind for Bruce.

“If you let this kid end up like Jason, I’ll take care of throwing the Joker at you myself, you unhappy idiot.” I was thinking but also listening as Duke energetically told me what his first patrol had been like.

I used to have a certain respect for Bruce, I mean, he's Batman and he does everything in his power to make sure Gotham isn't in such a shitty place.

But then I remember that he keeps adopting children as if they were dogs to give them "A better life" by turning them into human weapons.

Sooooo, yeah, I wish that every day he wakes up with a backache and a headache.

"[Name]"

"Yes dear?" Through the mirror I watched Duke looking at me hopefully as I put on my makeup for the upcoming performance in an hour.

Oh no, I already know what he's going to ask.

"Why do you never come to the mansion?" God, I swear he does that look on purpose, brat.

I sigh as I turn around to look at him.

"You already know my answer, I have no reason to do it and I don't want to either." I said as I turned back to the mirror to continue.

"Yes! I know, but why exactly don't you want to?"

A silence reigned in the room, putting on my makeup but at the same time thinking about what to answer him.

As much as I resent the Waynes, they didn't do anything to Duke, until now, they treat him as he deserves and the last thing I want is to plant that seed of hatred towards them in Duke.

Because I know him, as soon as I tell him what my childhood was like in that mansion and those responsible, the first thing he will do is complain.

And at this point in my life I don't want any unnecessary drama with them.

I lowered the lipstick and looked at him.

"I never liked being in that mansion, since I was little I was always afraid of those giant, dark hallways, and I still am."

Duke stared at me in bewilderment. "Is that the only reason you don't want to come to the mansion?"

I nodded. "It sounds stupid, I know, but every time I walk down those halls it brings back bad memories."

That wasn't a lie.

Duke was silent for a few moments before coming up to me and hugging me.

"Aww, honey you are such a sweetheart sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Yeah, because you can be a brat sometimes too." I laughed as I ruffled Duke's hair until it was disheveled.

"A white lie won't hurt anyone." I thought while Duke laughed and tried to pull my hand out of his hair.

Without realizing it, it was already time to start. I said goodbye to Duke, telling him to go back to the mansion, but he insisted on staying.

Something I allowed, GOD, I should have begged him not to do it.

Because from one moment to the next while I was dancing, all the lights went out and when they came back on I felt like blood was flooding my mouth, like everyone was screaming in fear.

What happened? Why am I bleeding?

Duke, he was next to me trying to keep me awake, to not close my eyes.

It got to the point where I couldn't hear anything he was saying, it was complicated while I felt like a part of my body was bleeding non-stop.

I hate to see him cry, please look away... leave me here.

Please...

I don't want the last thing I see to be you crying...

Please...

She opened her eyes calmly and confusedly, all she could hear was the ringing in her ears. She thought she was in a hospital because of the light.

But when her vision stopped blurring, she realized that the light was not from a hospital spotlight, but from the skylight in the wooden ceiling.

"Wait...Skylight?" She muttered, feeling her voice raspy and her throat sore.

The bed wasn't that soft, it was really hard and uncomfortable but still [Name] didn't want to get up, after almost dying...

[Name] sat up in bed right away.

"I ALMOST DIE!" She literally jumped out of bed and ran to the closet to get her clothes.

She needed to see how Duke was doing, his desperate face and the way he held back the urge to cry and couldn't, broke her heart.

But it was when she pulled out a t-shirt that she realized.

"This isn't my size..." Confused, [Name] walked over to the mirror.

If Duke broke her heart, now she's literally having a heart attack.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" [Name] could swear that any living thing that was near her would have run away in less time than it takes a rooster to crow.

She touched her face carefully, as if it would disappear or break if she touched it hard, this is so weird...a woman in her late twenties trapped in her fifteen year old self, god, what a hell.

[Name] She stepped back without taking her eyes off the mirror while she sat back down on her bed.

On the other side of the door, she heard someone knocking on it two or three times. Accompanied by a soft but direct voice calling her name.

"Miss [Name]"

[Name] immediately turned around to stare at the door, for a few short moments no one said anything, there was only silence.

"Are you okay? You didn't come down to breakfast. That's not something usual for you." Alfred said once he got no response from her.

"Yeah, I'm fine Alfred...I just stayed up late last night that's all..." She didn't know what to say, obviously it wasn't okay, but she didn't want any more problems in her head, she just wanted to focus on the main problem.

She literally just got younger, which would be a good thing if it weren't for the fact that she also came back to this damn mansion.

"Okay, miss, I'll be waiting for you with your breakfast, you need to eat something before you start the day." [Name] was about to reply until Alfred stepped in. "Also, Happy Birthday Miss."

She didn't say anything, she didn't want to.

Alfred walked away from the door, [Name] could hear his footsteps moving away through the hallways and down the stairs.

"Was it always this quiet?" She muttered in her mind as she turned her gaze back to the mirror.

She thought about her life before coming back here, it wasn't good, she didn't earn much from dancing, but... it was her life, a life that took her time to perfect.

And now, I go back to the beginning? Shit, no.

"Alive or dead, I don't care, either way I'm getting out of here..." She said with some frustration and tiredness. "Happy birthday to me...that's new."

With nothing left to lose, she gets back out of bed to find some clothes to change into.

It was her birthday and she had to look good.

And hopefully, it would be the last birthday she would spend in this mansion.

NOTES: Hi, I hope everything is okay, even if it's better than me, I had finished the 'prologue' a while ago but I was feeling a bit unsure that something felt out of place or "weird".

I repeat and reiterate, I can understand English but in terms of speaking/writing it I am still learning. Until I feel completely confident for now I will continue using the translator (my savior).

But if there are any errors (probably some, I hope not many) let me know, I want everyone to be able to read comfortably and as long as I can I will make it happen.

Anyway, I hope you like it, I love you! Muak muak💋💋

TAGS:

@crazycaoticsimp @closetreader1864

[swappermanent]

Sugar Baby

When I started going out with Paul, it felt like everything had finally settled into place. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was in a relationship that made me feel alive. We were super attracted to each other—magnetically, almost—which, after years of boyfriends who left me feeling unsure and self-conscious, was a relief. I knew I was attractive, sure, but there’s a difference between knowing it and feeling it. With Paul, I felt it.

The chemistry was undeniable. We were having sex all the time, barely able to keep our hands off each other. It had been seven months, and honestly, I thought the honeymoon phase might never end. We’d built this bubble around us, this glowing little world where nothing else mattered… until that night.

We’d just come back from dinner at a trendy little spot downtown. I thought the evening had been perfect. The food was great, the wine was flowing, and Paul had looked incredible in his tailored blazer and skinny jeans. But as soon as we got back to my apartment, I could tell something was wrong.

Paul dropped his wallet on the counter with more force than necessary and crossed his arms. “Did you hear what that server said tonight?” he asked, his voice sharp.

I blinked, trying to think back. “What are you talking about?”

“He called me a sugar baby, Oliver,” Paul snapped, his eyes flashing. “Or at least he implied it. Don’t tell me you didn’t catch that.”

I frowned, replaying the night in my head. “I think he said something about us being a…‘cute couple,’ maybe? I don’t remember anything like that.”

Paul threw his hands up. “Of course you didn’t notice. Why would you? You’re not the one who gets judged every time we walk into a room together.”

“Paul, what are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely confused. “What do you care what some random waiter thinks? He’s nobody.”

“It’s not just him,” Paul said, his voice rising. “It’s everyone. Every time we’re out, people look at us and assume I’m with you for your money or because you’re older and can…‘take care’ of me or whatever.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, trying to keep my tone calm. “No one’s judging you. Why would they?”

Paul’s laugh was bitter. “You really don’t get it, do you? Even though you’re super, super hot, you’re still older, Oliver. People notice. They talk. And I’m tired of it.”

I opened my mouth to respond but realized I didn’t know what to say. I’d always thought of us as equals, partners in every sense. But now Paul was voicing something I hadn’t even considered. I didn’t care what anyone thought of us, but clearly, he did.

The argument spiraled from there, each of us throwing words we didn’t mean into the space between us. By the time we finally fell silent, the tension was suffocating. I hated it. I hated that we were fighting, that I couldn’t make him see how little anyone else’s opinion mattered.

That was when Paul said something I never expected. “I wish you could understand what it’s like to be me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, folding my arms.

“It means you have no idea what it’s like to be young and judged for being with someone older,” he said. “You’ve never had to deal with that.”

I wanted to argue, but something in his tone stopped me. He was hurt, and I didn’t know how to fix it. Instead, I sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Paul. I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed his coat and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

---

The argument with Paul left me feeling helpless. For days, his words echoed in my mind: “I wish you could understand what it’s like to be me.” I hated the wedge it had driven between us, and I wanted to show him—prove to him—how much I cared.

That’s how I ended up in a small, dimly lit shop tucked into a back alley downtown. A witch, of all things, had been recommended by a friend who swore she could “fix anything.” At first, I thought it was ridiculous, but desperation does strange things to a person.

The witch, a woman with piercing green eyes and a voice that felt like velvet and steel all at once, listened to my story. When I told her I wanted to switch bodies with Paul, she raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask questions. “It’s a bold move,” she said, studying me. “Are you sure you want this? The spell isn’t permanent, but it’ll be… revealing.”

I nodded. “I need him to see how much I care. I need to understand.”

That night, I surprised Paul with dinner at home—his favorite meal, candles, wine. He was suspicious at first, probably expecting another long conversation about our fight, but eventually, he relaxed.

After we ate, I told him. “I did something for us,” I said, my hands trembling slightly as I held his. “It’s… different, but I think it’ll help.”

Paul looked at me warily. “What did you do, Oliver?”

“Just trust me,” I said, pulling the small vial of shimmering liquid from my pocket. “Drink this with me.”

“What the hell is that?” he asked, leaning back.

“It’s magic. Literally,” I said, smiling nervously. “It’s going to switch our bodies—for a little while. So I can understand what it’s like to be you. So we can understand each other better.”

Paul stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” I said firmly. “I know it’s crazy, but… I love you, Paul. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. Please.”

He hesitated, but eventually, he sighed and reached for the vial. “This is insane,” he muttered. “But fine. Let’s do it.”

The sensation was indescribable. A rush of heat, a pull deep in my chest, and then—suddenly—I was staring at myself. At Oliver. My body. Paul’s jaw dropped, and I realized my mouth—his mouth—was hanging open too.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, my voice high and light. Paul’s voice.

“Holy shit,” Paul said, his tone low and steady—my tone. He looked down at his hands, flexing them. “This is… weird.”

We stood there for a moment, just staring at each other, until a grin spread across my—Paul’s—face. “I’m… cute,” I said, looking in the mirror to admire my new body. “You’re adorable, Paul. I mean, I knew that, but… wow.”

Paul rolled his—my—eyes. “Great. Glad you’re having fun already.”

But I could see the curiosity in his expression as he studied his new reflection in the window. “This is so strange,” he muttered, running his—my—hands through his hair.

---

The first few days were exhilarating. I had always thought Paul’s body was beautiful, but living in it was something else entirely. I felt light and full of energy. I was used to being strong, but in Paul’s body, I felt… different. More vulnerable, maybe, but in a way that made me more aware of the world around me.

And then there was the bedroom. That was… an experience. For the first time, I got to see myself—my body—through Paul’s eyes, and it was hotter than I ever could have imagined. I couldn’t stop staring at him. At me. At the way my body moved and how it felt under Paul’s touch.

“Wow,” I whispered one night, lying on my back and looking up at him—at me. “I didn’t realize how hot I am.”

Paul smirked, his—my—hands running over my chest. “Told you.”

The roles had reversed completely. He was stronger now, more dominant, and I was smaller, lighter. It felt amazing to let go and be tossed around a little, to feel his strength in a way I’d never experienced before. And the way he looked at me—his eyes hungry and full of admiration—it turned me on even more.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I teased one night, watching him as he explored his new body.

Paul grinned, his face lighting up. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his tone playful. “You’re… pretty great, you know.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

---

At first, being Paul felt liberating. I loved the way people looked at me—at him—with a mix of admiration and envy. I enjoyed the carefree lightness of being in his body, his energy, his youth. But the novelty wore off faster than I expected. The longer I spent as Paul, the more I realized his life wasn’t as effortless as I’d thought.

The first real cracks appeared with his friends.

I’d always thought they liked me. They were always so warm when I was me—when I was Oliver. But as Paul, I got to see the unfiltered version of how they really felt about our relationship. The jokes started small.

“You’re still with Oliver?” one of them asked over beers. “Man, the dude’s practically a fossil.”

The group laughed, and I forced a grin. “He’s not that old,” I said, trying to brush it off.

Another friend, Darren, smirked. “I don’t know, Paul. Next thing you know, you’ll be helping him pick out retirement homes.”

More laughter. I clenched my teeth, trying to laugh along, but it stung. The digs didn’t stop there. Every hangout seemed to come with new jabs. “How’s the old man holding up?” “Bet he falls asleep before you even make it to the bedroom.” “Does he have to stretch before you guys have sex?”

I tried to defend myself—Oliver—but it only made things worse. “He’s incredible,” I snapped once, tired of the ridicule. “He’s smart and successful and—”

“And old,” Darren interrupted, grinning. “C’mon, Paul, we’re just messing with you. Don’t be so sensitive.”

It was grating. Even though they claimed to be joking, the constant comments wore me down. I started to see how much pressure Paul must have felt every time we were out together. I understood now why he’d been so sensitive about the waiter’s comment. This wasn’t just an isolated thing; it was everywhere.

Things came to a head on the beach trip.

Paul’s friends had organized a day at the beach, and I’d been excited. The sun, the waves, the chance to relax—it sounded perfect. But I realized they had ulterior motives.

“Hey, Paul,” one of them said with a sly grin as we set up on the sand. “We invited someone new to join us today. You’ll love him.”

That “someone” turned out to be Vince. Tall, tan, and absolutely ripped, Vince looked like he’d walked straight off the cover of a fitness magazine. His laugh was deep and easy, his smile dazzling. I couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in his swim trunks, his abs catching the sunlight. He was polite, charming, and… clearly interested in me.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. But as the day went on, it became obvious this wasn’t a coincidence. Paul’s friends had brought Vince along to tempt me—Paul. It was a cruel test, one I hadn’t been prepared for.

The group seemed to push us together all day. “Vince, why don’t you help Paul with the cooler?” “Hey, Paul, Vince is really into hiking. You should talk to him about that trail you like.” “You two should totally go for a swim together.”

And Vince played along. He was magnetic, and it was hard not to be drawn to him. His confidence was intoxicating, and the way he looked at me—as if I were the only person on the beach—made my heart race in a way I hadn’t expected.

By the end of the day, we found ourselves at a seaside bar. The group was dancing, drinks in hand, the setting sun casting a golden glow over everything. Vince and I ended up on the dance floor together, and he moved closer, his hand brushing against mine.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said, his voice low. His eyes locked on mine, and I felt a rush of heat.

“I’m not—” I started, but he interrupted me.

“Yes, you are,” he said, stepping closer. His hands rested lightly on my hips, and I didn’t pull away. “You’re gorgeous, Paul. You deserve to be adored.”

Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine. I froze, torn between the pull of his touch and the voice in my head screaming that this was wrong.

I hesitated, and in that moment, his hand slid lower. He gently cupped my bulge, his fingers pressing just enough to send a shiver through me. My breath caught, and before I could stop myself, I kissed him back. It was slow at first, tentative, but then his other hand slid up my back, pulling me closer, and I melted into him.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the group, not Oliver, not the consequences. Just Vince and the way he made me feel—desired, wanted, free.

It started as a moment of weakness. The kiss with Vince was supposed to be just that—a fleeting mistake, something I could forget. But I didn’t forget. I couldn’t.

The first time we slept together, it was like an explosion. Vince was passionate, attentive, and completely unlike anything I’d experienced before. He made me feel alive in a way that both thrilled and terrified me. I told myself it would just be a one-time thing, but one night turned into two, and then three, and soon I was finding excuses to see him.

It wasn’t just about the physical connection—although that was incredible. With Vince, I felt like I could shed all the insecurities I’d been carrying as Paul. He didn’t see me as someone trying to live up to anyone else’s standards. He just saw me.

But every time I was with Vince, the guilt weighed heavier. I was lying to Paul—not just about Vince, but about everything. The whole reason I’d switched bodies was to understand him, to bridge the gap between us. Instead, I’d let the gap widen, filling it with secrets and betrayal.

After weeks of this, I couldn’t keep it up anymore. I knew I had to end things with Paul.

We sat across from each other in his apartment—my apartment, technically—and I struggled to find the words. Paul looked so hopeful, his expression soft despite the tension that had grown between us since the switch.

“I’ve been thinking,” I started, my voice trembling slightly. “About us.”

Paul frowned, leaning forward. “What about us?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “You were right,” I said quietly. “The age gap… it’s too much. I thought it didn’t matter, but I see it now. You deserve someone who’s in the same place as you. Someone your own age.”

Paul’s face fell, and my chest tightened. I could see the hurt in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. “So, you’ve come around, huh?” he said, his voice heavy. “I guess I should’ve seen this coming.”

“I just want what’s best for you,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “You should be with someone who gets you. Someone who can make you happy in ways I can’t.”

He nodded slowly, biting his lip. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” His voice wavered, and I could tell he was holding back tears. “I guess I’ve been thinking the same thing… but I didn’t want to admit it.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, guilt gnawing at me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Paul took a shaky breath, brushing his hands over his thighs. “Well, I guess this means we need to swap back, huh?”

The words hung in the air between us. I could feel the weight of them, the finality. But instead of agreeing, I hesitated. My heart pounded as I looked at him—at me.

“Actually…” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “I’m afraid we’re not going to be doing that.”

Paul blinked, confusion washing over his face. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean… I think it’s better this way,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady. “You can start fresh. Be with someone who fits into your life. And I can… I can do the same.”

Realization dawned on him, his eyes widening. “You’re serious,” he said, his voice rising. “You’re not giving my body back?”

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, Paul. I think this is for the best.”

[flowersforvax]

I've read some very good meta on the looming ending of campaign 3 and why it does or doesn't work and- still after all this time my main issue (and I believe the root of others!)  is that we didn't get enough time with Bell's Hells.

Does that sound ridiculous after 120 episodes in the span of three years? Obviously!

But if we look at the in-game time it's been barely four months. We don't know Bell's Hells outside of the main plot and worse they don't know each other.

Between Imogen and Fearne and Orym's connection to the Moon Plot from the start there was very little low-stakes low-level fuckery. No downtime, no long travel, no filler episodes.

Even during high-stakes arcs Vox Machina used to take the time to talk and play and fuck around in the evenings before their long rests. (Cannonball contest in the mansion hot tub anyone?) But they took that initiative because they had already done the bonding and enjoyed spending time with each other.

The Mighty Nein as well! And they had the added bonus of nobody counting on them for anything at first- everything they did they wanted to do. And even when the seeds of their last enemy were planted very early on - they didn't know it would be the endgame. The emotions were high but the stakes were lower. There was no constant pressure to go go go, time's running out!

They got time to grieve. Bell's Hells never got that.

And who knows if the Mighty Nein in their early days would have felt compelled to do the heroics late-game Mighty Nein did! I don't believe so! But they had the time to become characters who would, characters who would make the decision to follow that thread, to put their lives on the line to save the world.

Additionally to the in-game time constraints I think the idea that this third campaign is the CULMINATION OF A TRILOGY put a lot of pressure on the players to always make the Right Choice so they won't ruin Matt's story. That includes both following the narrative to its conclusion whether that made sense for every character or not and- no deviations from that loosely held leash. No "Hey, Matt, nice story you got there, what if we become pirates instead?"

... The first time I really connected with Bell's Hells was during one of their very few night watches (a thing that was a staple in MN bonding time!). I loved when they were goofy, when they turned a break-in into a fake haunting for no reason at all. When they got to be ridiculous and pretend they were livestreaming porn.

My favorite moments of Bell's Hells were the few minutes they as characters got to breathe.

[linklethehistorian]

Hi — OP here. I wanted to highlight some of the tags that I thought were worth showing from y’all insightful folks (especially those in other countries) who have been reblogging:

Also, since I’m getting a few people reblogging and/or commenting like I’m fearmongering and saying the situation is already doomed:

This was NOT my intent. I am well aware of everything that’s required for this to get passed. I’m well aware it’s a slim shot of it happening. This does not make it a non-threat. Listen to the voices around you — even those who do not live in this country. Listen to them, and take heed of their warnings. They know this situation by heart, from experience. They’ve seen it all before.

Listen to the people who know their history, who know history in general of situations that were similar. They speak the truth.

Me telling you that this will not be the end was not fearmongering and it was not an attempt to be demoralizing and it was not treating the situation like, or implying it was, an inescapable Armageddon. I know it sounds terrifying, but that’s because it is. And people need to see that. They need to think about it. They need to know what is at stake in the event this passes, however unlikely those odds may or may not be.

It was a warning. A call to action. A “unless we both as a country and as individuals act to stop it here and now, this will happen.”

The reason why I did not bring up the odds is largely because I was in a hurry to get this out, because I wanted to alert people as soon as I could. Because this it’s important. As I have said previously, this post was made very early in to this becoming public knowledge. There weren’t many places talking about it yet and I wanted to do so before people started flooding in with the dangerous, downplaying “don’t worry, it’s a 0% chance” rhetoric that would convince people it wasn’t worth acting against and that they didn’t have to do anything, because they’d think they could trust it would all just be okay.

And you should never just trust that it will all be okay, if there’s something you can do to help ensure that. The odds of the situation are ultimately entirely irrelevant when it comes to the necessity to act. You should always treat situations like this like if you don’t act, no one will.

As I have said in another post, while it’s understandable people want to comfort themselves, there is no such thing as a 0% chance, and there is also no such thing as slim odds unless you act in every way you can to ensure the odds are, in fact, as slim as you believe and hope them to be, and spreading anything along those lines is to play an extremely dangerous game that only helps your enemy.

We are not omniscient. We cannot read the hearts and minds of each individual member of congress and head of state and know in an instant how they feel, nor can we see the future. Betting on odds to save your life and your fate and the lives and fates of everyone you know and love when you could be doing something to at least help those odds is a fool’s game.

Do your research. Know your odds, if it helps to comfort you. Check out the links the kind people in the reblogs and comments have sent or offered you and listen to those around you.

But don’t ever assume that you don’t have to act. Especially on important matters like this.

Yes, part of the reason this bill got passed may have been a distraction tactic to get you to look the other way from other things going on; HOWEVER, THIS DOES NOT MAKE IT ANY LESS DANGEROUS OR A NON-THREAT.

Multiple things can be a threat at once. Something can be both a distraction and a serious attempt to alter the course of the American future. You can care about multiple things at once. You don’t have to choose. But if you do choose only a few, certainly don’t choose to ignore the amendment that could permanently alter how America runs and allow this man — or people like him — to have a grip over this country for 12 years each, and pave the way for lifelong dictatorships.

Thanks for your time and all the reblogs that help made this post spread. My blog is not super popular, so I never could’ve dreamed this would fly away like it has, but I’m so happy that it was something important like this that took off.

I love you all. We’re in this together. Protect your country in any way you can. Be safe. There is hope, but it’s hope we need to help carve out by our own hands. Not hope we put blindly into the hands of others.

Source

Transcript:

“BREAKING: A constitutional amendment has been filed allowing President Trump to seek a 3rd term in office.

"No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than three times, nor be elected to any additional term after being elected to two consecutive terms, and no person who has held the office of President, or acted as President, for more than two years of a term to which some other person was elected President shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice."

It was filed by Congressman Andy Ogles (R-TN).

Don’t let this slip by unnoticed. This is not just “one extra term”, it’s a warning shot. It’s a red flag. It’s an omen.

They are slowly turning up the heat in the pan. Do not be the frog who sits denying it’s getting hotter.

One extra term will become two, two will become three, and three will eventually give way to lifelong reign of each president.

Fight. Fight for God’s sake.

Contact your local representative of congress. Convince them we do not want this.

We are going to end up in a dictatorship.

@ikiyou

Please help spread this. I don’t usually get political and I don’t usually ask for assistance but this is important and you have more reach.

[justallihere]

i've been talking about this for two months now, but we're past onyx storm and i'm finally far enough into this fic that i'm almost ready to start posting, which means. . .

dead on arrival chapter 1 will be coming your way on feb 3rd!

this is a bones-inspired modern au, and i'm in love with every moment of it so far. i can't wait to start sharing it with you, but in the meantime, here's the summary - and below the cut, a longer look into the first bit of chapter 1

Violet Sorrengail is a forensic anthropologist good with only one thing: dead people. Their bones speak a language only she can hear, but the living aren't quite so easy to understand - particularly one FBI Agent Xaden Riorson, who does everything possible to get under her skin. When an unexpected murder victim washes up in DC, the ensuing investigation brings them closer together despite her every effort to stay away, and she's forced to decide if the careful distance she keeps around her heart is really worth it.

There was a dead body.

That was what the text message said anyway, the one that interrupted Violet Sorrengail’s music with a cheerful little ding and made her flinch. It popped up on the screen of her car—from FBI Agent Xaden Riorson.

7:03 am There’s a dead body. I’ll pick you up in 10. 

When she read it, she rolled her eyes. Of course there was a fucking dead body. That was the only reason he ever texted, called, emailed, or otherwise contacted her. There was a steady stream of texts from him dating back six months, from their first case together, all variations of: Got a body. On my way to pick you up. Any updates on the case? Why aren’t you in the lab? I have new evidence for you. Never so much as a hello or a how are you. If his neck was more easily reachable, she would have strangled him by now, but as it was, he stood about fifteen inches taller than her, and Violet hated both high heels and step stools, so he got to keep breathing. For now. 

A bark came from the passenger seat. She spared a glance at Tairn and found the dog was already glaring at the car screen, as if he knew exactly who had texted. He held a special sort of contempt for Xaden Riorson that Violet didn't think he'd ever shown anyone she knew, and he'd been her service dog for almost three years.

She was stuck at a red light, so she took a fortifying drink of her coffee and then plucked her cell phone out of the second empty cup holder to respond. 

7:04 am  it’s 7 in the morning on a monday y tf do u think i’m in the lab already. i’m 20 min away 

Riorson hated shorthand text. Violet normally didn’t do it, but once, in a hurry, she’d typed bc instead of because, and it was the first thing he’d commented on the next time he saw her. She’d made it a point ever since to shorten as many words as possible. 

7:04 am  Then I’ll pick you up in 20. Washed up from the Potomac at a park in Alexandria a couple hours ago.

Sounded lovely—and unstable for her, given it had rained the entire weekend before and she could break or dislocate just about anything with a single wrong look.

It took her twenty-two minutes instead of the promised twenty to get to the lab, and she felt confident Riorson was losing his mind. He had a thing for punctuality that bordered on compulsive. Sure enough, he was already there, his government-issued SUV parked next to her usual spot. He stood outside it, leaning against the closed driver’s door, wearing a sleek black suit and aviators, not a strand of dark hair out of place. He looked the perfect picture of professionalism, were it not for the tattoo on his left arm that wound from wrist to jawline. The early morning sun gilded his brown skin, and he looked almost ethereal. It was both infuriating and unfair how beautiful he was, but he made up for it by being a complete and utter dick most of the time. 

Riorson was too composed to show any outward signs of impatience, but Violet was sure he was counting the seconds it took her to gather her coffee, her phone, and her bag and climb out of her own car to join him. Instead of waiting for her to round the car and open the passenger door, Tairn followed her out of the driver's side, his leash trailing. She didn't bother to pick it up; he stuck close to her side regardless, his nose nearly against her thigh.

“I need to go inside and get waders,” she informed Riorson instead of offering any polite greeting. She knew he certainly wasn’t going to offer her one. She skirted around the back of his car to the passenger side. She was wearing jeans and a white sweater and sneakers—not exactly appropriate attire for investigating a dead body on a riverbank. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Your waders and boots are in the trunk, and Sloane has the rest of all your fancy tools and equipment. She rode ahead to the scene with Rhiannon.” 

Well, that at least answered the question of which intern was on the schedule today. And hopefully Rhiannon was far enough ahead of them that she’d be done with her preliminary analysis by the time Violet got there. If this was the FBI’s problem, and Riorson wanted Violet there, then the remains were presumably in bad shape. 

Violet opened the back door for Tairn and stood back as he jumped inside, settling on the nice leather seats without a care for his claws. There were scratches in the material already, but Violet was sure most of them came from Xaden's own dog, Sgaeyl. She wasn't a service dog like Tairn, but Riorson had brought her around a few times, usually when a case called them in on a weekend or late at night. Tairn used his teeth to tug his leash closer when it dangled, and then sat back on his haunches, looking at her expectantly. She shut the door.

Violet climbed into the passenger seat, dropping her bag at her feet and her coffee in one of the cup holders, then buckling her seat belt as Riorson climbed in next to her, starting the car without a word. 

He was seemingly allergic to music, so they almost always rode in silence. Violet was never quite sure why he felt the need to drive her to crime scenes. She could just as easily get herself there, or hitch a ride in the forensics van with Rhiannon or Ridoc. But since the very first case, he’d insisted, and he was about as much fun to argue with as a brick wall, and some things simply weren’t worth the energy to complain about. 

Every so often, Tairn would make a little chuffing noise in the back seat, but he didn't actually lean forward and alert, so she ignored him. He was always restless and grumbling around Xaden. Despite his relative youth, he acted remarkably like an old man.

"So why are we going to Alexandria?" Violet asked skeptically as Riorson weaved expertly through the early morning DC traffic, heading the opposite way Violet had just come from. She had a charming, spacious house in Georgetown she'd received as a gift from her father, with a secluded backyard and even a small heated pool. As one of the most renowned forensic anthropologists in the world, she made good money, enough to cover the utilities and the property taxes and insurance with ease, but it was still far too rich of a neighborhood for her; she never could've afforded it outright. There had been questions for a while about where the money came from for her father to afford to buy her such a place, if it had been earned through legal means, but after six months of investigating when she first got the deed, everyone had stopped looking into it, and she'd been able to finally move in with no problems.

She'd been there for three years now with no additional issues. She suspected that was her mother's doing, but Lilith Sorrengail had never admitted it outright.

"Because that's where the dead body is?" Riorson offered dryly without taking his eyes from the road.

Violet huffed, and Tairn echoed the noise behind her. "It's in Virginia," she said, like it should've been obvious, because it should have. "What makes this the FBI's problem? Shouldn't local police get first dibs?"

"They don't want it," he answered. "The remains are in bad enough shape that we need you, Sorrengail. Do you really think Alexandria PD has the resources to investigate this?"

"Do you really think I know anything about the resources Alexandria PD has?" she countered. She didn't, and she didn't want to. That fell into the pile of things that were very firmly not her problem. Her brain had a lot of room, but local police jurisdiction wasn't really something she bothered to make space for. Riorson gave her bodies, and she told him how they died. That was her job.

He did look at her then, a brief, cutting glance from the corner of his eye. "I thought you knew everything."

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously not, Riorson."

A little smirk curled up one corner of his mouth, but he didn't say anything else.

Violet spent the rest of the car ride braiding her hair. She kept it long, and she liked to wear it loose, but her work didn't often lend to it. When she was younger, her older sister, Mira, had braided it into a crown for her when she'd gone through a phase of reading only princess books, and had taught her to do it herself as a teenager. It had quickly become her signature style in college and while she completed her PhD; it was the easiest way to ensure it was all out of the way while she was in the lab or on the university's body farm, studying decomposing remains. Beyond its practicality, she just thought it was pretty, especially because the ends of her hair were leached of all pigment, so the silver strands looked interesting all weaved together.

It was a challenge in the car—she had to lean forward to flip her hair over and start the plait at the back of her head, which didn't do great things for her heart rate—but it wasn't the first time she'd done this and it wouldn't be the last. She had hair ties and pins in her bag that she held between her teeth until she needed them.

By the time she was done, they'd reached the crime scene. The park was right on the Potomac River, and already blocked off with yellow tape. Riorson eased the SUV around a group of civilians standing and tittering as they watched the FBI forensics team as they gathered evidence. Violet couldn't find her own people among the sea of navy jackets, so they must have been closer to the river.

She hopped out and paused when her head spun, bracing a hand on the open door. Tairn barked, scratching at the door she hadn't yet opened for him.

"You good, Violence?" Riorson paused, leaning back down to look at her through his own open door. His sunglasses slid down his nose, revealing dark eyes and long, thick lashes.

She lifted her head enough to glare at him. "Don't call me Violence."

[silverhypnos]

Unpopular Spider Opinion

Chrollo and the rest of the Spiders don't actually like the scarlet eyes as a valuable item.

I see so many fanarts of Chrollo admiring the scarlet eyes but I honestly think the canon Chrollo doesn't even like them. It's not just because of the backstory of Sarasa's dismembered body.

There are a lot of hints throughout the manga and anime that actually imply their lack of interest.

Other than nen, usually when it came to things the spiders were interested in were material goods that could be used. Books, Games, food, etc. We never really see them show any interest in objects that are "pretty to look at"

Since most of them are from Meteor City, it's kind of hard to imagine them enjoying the luxury of something that is just aesthetic. I think people imagine Chrollo as different from his friends as someone who could potentially enjoy that kind of luxury, but I also think the main reason why people feel that way is partly due to how other characters describe him. Mainly how Hisoka, a character that was confirmed to be a fickle pathological liar described him. I'm a firm believer that Hisoka was purposely twisting his description of Chrollo to convince Kurapika that teaming up was the only rational solution. We know the "The spider won't stop moving until the head is crushed" is a lie. So why are the fandom so convinced that everything else must be true? Hisoka described Chrollo as someone who admires everything he steals and then gets bored of it and sells it off. Funny, we never get to see him admire any of the merchandise that the Spider's successfully steals. Everyone chooses to celebrate instead and we see him sitting on the boxed merchandise as if it were a stool and drinking beer.

Later when the Spiders finally made the connection that the Chain User was probably a survivor of the Kurta clan. Remember what Chrollo asked?

Chrollo, a man who is constantly depicted as an admirer of the scarlet eyes by the fandom had NO IDEA if the scarlet eyes were even being sold in the first place. "But it could be easy to forget with all that merchandise!!"

Sure, but the scarlet eyes were the LAST ITEM that got sold off. The only person who remembers is Kortopi because he had to use his Nen.

Usually, people will remember the first and last item unless they personally don't give a shit about it. Heck, Pakunoda was ON STAGE, and even she didn't say anything. (Granted Pakunoda does show a reluctance to speak her mind sometimes but still.)

I honestly don't think any of the Spiders, including Chrollo give a shit about the scarlet eyes. Their backstory and their behavior during the YorkShin arc only reinforce that. Is it possible that five years ago, Chrollo might have been interested when they killed the Kurta clan, (assuming the Togashi isn't trying to pull a plot twist on us and reveal a different culprit) Sure, it's possible. But it sounds like it's unlikely he'd be interested in them for that long, why obsess over a pair of eyeballs when there is a good book right over there? Don't get me wrong, I get the artistic appeal, and I assume MOST of the artists are doing it for the artistic appeal rather than if it feels canon based on the source material. But I wanted to share my opinion because I rarely see this kind of take. Usually, people depict Chrollo as being obsessed with Kurapika even though he really isn't. Kurapika is the one who is obsessed with killing the Spiders (For good reasons) but the obsession isn't mutual.

[moonlight-fox]

I'm not an AO3 author. I had a few things up on ff.net way back in the days of "before AO3 was a thing" but most of the fiction I've written isn't on any such sites (mainly because the formatting for them is pretty specific and I'm not sure sites designed to host prose would work with it, though there are some prose works within them and stuff that bounces between prose and the more bespoke format, but also "a lot of my prose is original amateur fiction and I don't think AO3 allows that?" People sometimes indicate it does but whenever I look at the TOS it doesn't, though it also has a really weird boundary on what is and what isn't 'fanfic' to me so I'm just left unclear on some of my writing if it would be appropriate to AO3 or not so I just... Don't...)

What that ultimately means, though, is that for the majority of my writing? I'm yelling into barely more than a void. Back in the 2001-2004 period I used to joke about having an audience of 2. I haven't been able to make those jokes about my 2022-2024 stuff (but some might be bots) because NeoCities actually has something resembling analytics for free acounts in a way GeoCities did not. And I sometimes got feedback via the forum that was setup back in the day, and sometimes the person who was letting people know which of the 20 or so of us who were working in this nanogenre had updated that week did a bit of praise to try and entice others to read those things. And the amount of feedback I've gotten went down in the 2022-2024 stuff.

The attitude I sometimes see on the peripherary of "If you don't leave kudos or comments your writers will abandon you, fanfic authors rely on seretonin" is such a weird reason for writing to me, completely alien to my experience of putting my writing up online. If I was looking for external gratification I'd be doing literally anything else. I'm writing because I enjoy writing. My target audience is, and always will be, exactly one person - myself. If others happen to enjoy it, that's bonus.

And I just... Can't get my head around why you'd be putting in that much work - I've heard about AO3 author curses and how dedicated folk on there are to Maintaining A Schedule and having just come off of a one installment a week for schedule for 3 years (plus three weeks where I went one a day for, spread out throughout the project) - for anything else?

All in all, I can't help but wonder if AO3's comment and kudos system has accidentally gamified writing for some people, with all the drawbacks extrinsic rewards has to people otherwise intrinsicly motivated to do something.

(Though back on FF.net I did get a "This is the most disturbing thing I've ever read" comment on one of my works which... I don't know if it was intended as a compliment or not but it means I hit the tone I was aiming for for at least one person.)

[mythalism]

i think what people need to understand is that no amount of essays assuring me of veilguard's strengths, of which i agree there are plenty, is going to change the fact that the emotional experience veilguard prompted within me (and for many others) while i played it was a deeply negative one. discomfort at best, painful at worst. im talking stomach aches. visceral, somatic creeping disappointment and dread that i tried to fight for hours and hours but eventually had no choice but to accept. i stopped wanting to play entirely around 30 hours. i felt vaguely ill. i felt anxious. i could not sleep for a few days. and im not saying i felt sick because it was so bad, but that i felt sick because of the sinking realization that i was about to be terribly, horribly disappointed after so, so long. you could call me dramatic and im sure someone will. idk what to tell you. my emotions manifest physically long before they become decipherable or understandable to me mentally, especially when they're 10 years in the making. probably an autism symptom. regardless, it was genuinely pretty awful, especially because i had immense good faith for this game. i was so hopeful and optimistic and generally thrilled and literally anyone who followed me before october 31 would know that. the emotional whiplash and crash was intense and devastating, and i was reeling for days. you cannot tell me that this experience was "wrong" or "toxic" due to it's negative nature. it was entirely involuntary and outside of my control, as i would expect many people's joy was. emotional reactions are not beholden to fandom discourse.

any post i have made criticizing the game since is attempt to make sense of the emotional roller-coaster of the past 10 years, this summer, and finally this game's release. i do not come on here and write out my criticisms of veilguard because i want YOU to dislike it too. the nature of my essays are not persuasive. if they do persuade you its just because i am a well-trained essayist. sorry. if they dont, great! that wasnt the point. i have no desire to change anyone's mind on the game, in fact i actually would not wish the disappointment i felt on anyone. the fact that i have a lot of followers who agree with what i say and who spread the thoughts i express across tumblr is literally out of my control. when i write out my long-winded criticisms, it is out of a need to express and externalize that sinking, cold feeling i had while playing, in pursuit of understanding exactly why playing that game felt that way to me. identifying, analyzing and verbalizing is the only way i have been able to process my experience. its confessional and therapeutic more than anything. it helps other people understand their own difficult emotional process with the game. its not an attempt to ruin your fun. my negative experience with veilguard does not invalidate anyone else's positive one.

i see so many posts acting like all criticism is an intentional, targeted hate campaign and i dont understand that assumption. to what ends? what would that achieve? why would i bother with such a thing? maybe that is some people's intention in the deep hater corners of this website, and im blissfully unaware. if it is, fuck them. its certainly the intention of annoying grifters, but i feel the distinction between transphobe grifters and devastated fans is pretty clear, so im not sure why the lines are deliberately blurred as if those groups are remotely similar. some of my criticisms come from a more objective place. the writing comes to mind, and it's a consistent criticism from thousands of players. but just because i consider it to be poorly executed, does not make it unlovable. and when i say that i think its poorly done, i am not saying that you cannot or should not love it, or that you are stupid for loving it. maybe someone out there is saying that!!! but i am not. things do not have to be perfect to be enjoyable. they dont even have to be well executed to be enjoyable. "i think x aspect of veilguard is poorly done for yz reasons" is a completely different sentence than "you should not like x aspect of veilguard for yz reasons". these are not the same statements. i see so many posts that are so vitriolic and acting like two experiences of this game cannot coexist, that one has to win and be objectively right, moralizing them on a false axis of positivity = good and negativity = bad, and acting like the existence of one negates the experience of the other. and why? why would that be true? i literally love so many things that other people think are absolute ass. i also love plenty of things that i myself think are actual ass. i love them anyway. this is allowed and really fun. i am not sure who told you that it is not.

however, i have just as much of a right to express my disappointment as you have to express your excitement. i am genuinely happy for everyone who loves the game, i am glad it resonated, or that you saw yourself in its characters, or that it just scratched your hyperfixation itch. but whatever je ne se quoi it had for you, it did not have for me. i have written out so much criticism about so many aspects of the game, but fundamentally what it comes down to and what i cannot express in words is that while i played after waiting 10 years for that moment, it felt wrong. it wasn't that i had specific expectations for game story that were not met, in fact, it exceeded my expectations in a lot of ways. i mean that in terms of how i felt, something was off. it did not resonate. it did not land. it did not hit the right cord with me. i did not have enough moments of joy to outweigh the feeling of emptiness. i did not walk away from it feeling the way that the previous games made me feel. and ive been trying to figure out exactly why that is for three months now by talking about it with people who feel similarly. i am not sure that i will ever be able to analyze my way into figuring it out. it might just have to simply be that it left me bereft.

and so my posts are not anti-veilguard hater propaganda to make you feel like shit for loving the game. rather, they are me verbally processing exactly why i feel like shit so i can hopefully stop feeling like shit. to assume that people who are trying to process these negative feelings are toxic and intentionally malicious is a projection made in bad faith. i love dragon age, and it is because i love it so much that it disappointed me, and it is because disappointed me that i have to verbally process it on tumblr.com so that i dont go absolutely insane. i tag my posts properly. i do not go into tags where i do not belong. i do not rage-bait. i am participating in post-partum dragon age therapy between me and my followers. if it ends up on your dash, sorry. my therapy is popular i guess. so please for the love of god enjoy the game, freely and enthusiastically. i am happy for you. i will sit here and be jealous that it spoke to something in your soul that it unfortunately did not speak to in mine, and nothing i say can take that away from you. please stop interpreting it as an attempt to.

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/772982617698074624/i-havent-been-on-social-media-much-recently-so

Clarification because i think it's been misunderstood:

The way i use it is if i'm stuck on research i ask it to find me sources which i then check, i don't just ask it a question and take whatever answer it gives me. The research project i was talking about was about a very specific topic and i previously spent hours trying to get google to give me any useful results because all it gave me were articles about broader semi-related topics. And the introduction i had it write me was literally just for the sake of having something on the page that made sense, i completely re-wrote it afterwards.

As for writing, i don't ask it for plot points or anything, i have those completely planned out. I just have a tendency to get stuck, especially when it comes to going from one plot point to another and it genuinely helps to just ask like "how could i transition from this scene to that major thing that has to happen" and have it spit out some general ideas on how to lead into it.

Because in my opinion the problem isn't using AI, the problem is NOT using critical thinking. Yeah it's unreliable as a source. So are friends. It definitely gives you some ideas that are just stupid. Guess what, so do my friends and even other writers. Which is why when you ask other people, you think their answers through and check the information they give you. Same principles apply here.

Believe it or not, a dumb computer CAN have good ideas and give good critiques, it's just that you have to treat it the same way you'd treat, say, your 15-year-old nephew who isn't a writer but is currently the only person you can ask for ideas. And having it analyse your characters is quite simply fun and for me it also worked quite well to get my brain back onto the story after months of not writing.

(Side note, i wouldn't recommend the standard ChatGPT for any of this, that one really does just suck. There's one specifically for creative writing that's miles better)

--

Some people talk to the action figures stuck to their monitor with much the same unsticking results, yeah.

Google has been getting worse and worse in recent years. It's definitely not the best way to find journal articles, though IDK what kind of articles you were after.

[doctormonocat]

Replaced

Self Aware! Rafayel x Unaware! Player

Can you guess which other game character this is inspired by? I will be doing a series for each of the LADS boys being self aware. A little angsty, once again. It will hopefully become clear, but this is a story about Rafayel, your favorite LI, becoming self aware, and eventually being replaced by Caleb. I just picked Caleb bc he just released, but Sylus or any LI released after start would work. Hope you enjoy! I'll prolly do a part 2. A bit long, sorry!

Self Aware! Rafayel who becomes aware slowly but surely. Rather than an instant moment of understanding, he begins to recognize new things in his world, things he didn’t understand before. Things seem… out of order. Time is disjointed, his senses thrown into a black void just as often as he is alive. 

Self Aware! Rafayel realizes he is a game character long before he ever becomes aware of you. His existence seems to dull with each passing day before he meets you. His life, his suffering, his love… none of its real. He realizes that he is pre programmed into a virtual reality. But he wonders, why? And why does he feel a sort of… presence? 

Self Aware! Rafayel who feels the presence everywhere. In his battles with his… lover? (is she still? Does he even want her to be? Rafayel doesn’t know. Even she seems fake now) There is an unknowing force watching him. Despite the oddity of it, Rafayel isn’t alarmed by it. If anything, it’s comforting. Warm. It feels like his first hug after a life of being touch starved. 

Self Aware! Rafayel becomes addicted to the presence. Comforted by the ever watching force. He looks forward to his limited interactions with it in that cafe everyday. His dulled world begins to spill with color. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who one day sees… you. You’re the presence that’s been there for what seems like years, the only thing allowing sunshine to pour into Rafayel’s darkened world. He preens under your attention, feeling like a deep sea fish seeing the light for the first time. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who finally realizes his world is a dating game. It's a bit of a shock, but a surprising comfort. You had become his everything before he was even aware who you were, and being able to actually see you everyday has only deepened his feelings. So, learning that you joined this game to date the characters, and that he is your main focus is a relief. He feels requited. You care about him just as much as he does you (maybe not quite as much, he realizes. Currently, you are his only tether to realness, and are still unaware of his awareness or his feelings. But, it won’t be like that for much longer). 

Self Aware! Rafayel who is aware of the other male love interests, but doesn’t pay them much of a mind besides the occasional twinge of jealousy. After all, you only complete their events out of a sense of obligation. But he is your focus. You pull for his cards, spend your in game currency on his outfits, and have him accompany you for card games and plushie hunting. It’s clear to him, he is your favorite. And he hopes that when he makes you aware of his presence too, that your favoritism will turn into something more. So, in response to those other boys, all he does is give you a pout the next time you visit him in your cafe. But, seeing your smile in his presence makes the painter’s grumpy mood vanish quickly. He loves your smile, direct just at him; teasing, joking, and flirting all the time just to see it whenever he wants. Yeah. He needs to see that smile more often.

Self Aware! Rafayel who wants everything to be perfect for when he confesses. He’s been picking up some coding skills on the side, trying to keep it hidden from you as he carves out a small place in his world just for you to. The perfect place by the beach, with the perfect light. The perfect gift (a painting of you), the perfect words to say to make you understand the depth of his sentience and of his love. His perfect moment. He’s worried he might spoil it accidentally though, with the extra attention he’s been lavishing on you. You’re just so cute, that every time you cheer after the two of you win a battle together he can’t help but laugh along. He’s a little tired of waiting, but he still wants everything to be perfect. He just hopes you can chalk up your excellent luck pulling cards and his extra smiles to a new game mechanic. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who is vaguely aware of the announcement of a new male love interest. Colin? Or maybe Cade? Who cares? Rafayel’s been your favorite since launch. Truly, he doesn’t pay too much attention. He’s too focused on making his confession to you just perfect. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who starts paying attention when he hears it come from your mouth. 

“Caleb is almost here!” You say, cheerily. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who feels his heart clench a little. Now he begins to remember the details clearly. Caleb. Thats his name. The jealousy he feels is a bit more papabile than it has been before with the other boys, feeling like a heavy stone pulling his heart down into a dark ocean. He remembers you playing that chapter with that… man… in it a couple times, but he dismissed it as you trying to better understand the story. He knows it's not because you want to see that guy. Is it? 

| | | | |

Self Aware! Rafayel who doesn't realize how black everything has been until he’s let out into the light again. How long has it been? He feels his body physically react when he checks your phone’s internal clock and realizes a month has passed. His world had become dull again without you at least visiting him; fake, and flat and just black. It scares him for two reasons. The first, that without you he might stop being aware, stop existing as he is now. He might start being like the other nothings that populate his world without you, pre programmed to run in circles. It terrifies him. And the second, that something might have happened to you in the time you were away from him. He is even more scared that something in your large and expansive reality might be able to harm you. With his dulled senses, he hasn’t felt your presence visiting him at all in the past month (that went by all too fast to him. Add that to his growing list of things that will keep him up at night.)

Self Aware! Rafayel who is scared now for an entirely different reason. He manages to use his coding skills in the brief time period where you are visiting to tether himself to the game outright. At least it will be harder now to pull him away from you. Even if you stop visiting, he’ll be aware. But with that, comes an even worse realization. You’d been here, actually. In the game, playing as usual. Just not with him. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who wants to cry and shout all at once. Who the hell is this Caleb, and how dare he take you from him (he tries to push down the feeling that you have betrayed him as well. He doesn’t want to fall into that rabbit hole of resenting the only thing that makes him feel alive). So, instead he blames this… usurper, who has stolen your love, your light, your attention away from him. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who has a plan to get your attention back. Screw the perfect moment. He just needs to confess the next time he sees you. You’ll throw away apple boy the second you realize you have a sentient fishie who loves you more than anything. 

Self Aware! Rafayel begins to slowly realize a couple of harrowing things. The first, that you haven’t visited him in a long time. The last time you did, his first gasp of air in over a month, seemed to be irregular, if not a fluke entirely. You were too focused on Caleb (the name still sickens him to think about) to spend anytime with him anymore. Who knows if you would even give him the chance to confess. The second, even more harrowing thought. Was it your attention, your love, that brought him sentience? If so, could that same awareness be brought to another? Would Rafayel’s competition soon extend to another man who knew of your existence just as he did? The third, that it might not even matter for him or the “colonel” either. You had discarded and neglected Rafayel so easily when a new shiny toy came into your view. Did you even see him as real? Would you ever? Were you even capable of that? 

Self Aware! Rafayel chose to push that thought down deep. He would cross that bridge when he got to it. No, he should deal with the problem at hand. Caleb. Just the very thought of him made fire burn in Rafayel’s veins and a sting like salt water in his throat. At the very least, he should deal with this so-called replacement. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who knows deep in his soul, in the very essence of his being that you love him. You’ve just been… distracted. Tempted. Lured. But Rafayel knows about luring also. He is a siren, a vision of seduction and temptation. Colonel apple can’t compare. Rafayel will use very weapon in his arsenal. His newly acquired coding skills will force you to see him, force you to let him win your love back. He’ll shower you with gifts, with digital seashells, in game currency, and his sweet words. He’ll hold off on confessing, just until his competition is not even a memory in your mind. 

Self Aware! Rafayel decides that even if that fails, he has other ways of convincing you to his side. He wonders what would happen if he were to alter the game code, to make Caleb repulsive to you, or even better, gone (the thought of messing with the game code, with the very essence of the world does still make him a bit queasy. Perhaps that will be his last resort). Instead, he wonders what would happen if he decided to find Caleb in his world. Maybe a recreation of a certain explosion might be in order, certain to actually find it’s target this time. 

Self Aware! Rafayel who is becoming desperate. He’s willing to do anything. Even if it means removing all other obstacles by any means necessary. You will love him again. 

After all, why wouldn’t you? With no one else but him and you, everything will be just as it should be. 

[legalandnotease]

This is utterly and laughably wrong.

Bucky did not use anything close to "lethal force" on the police. They are clearly shown to be not even remotely injured.

If he had wanted to kill them, Bucky would have picked up one of the discarded guns and mown them down without mercy.

Instead what does he do? He employs hand-to hand combat. He deflects bullets with his arms, and pushes their weapons out the way.

He punches and elbows them. None of this is "lethal force"

...and he pulled a guy off a bike.

Again, not lethal force. Not even close

That he had carried out dozens of missions for Hydra that would have required the ability to plan and adapt over the years.

He carried out targeted assassinations. These are very different military operations. They did not require planning. Only muscle memory.

Which, by the way is the same thing Natasha did: and yet Tony does not view her as an evil killer.

That he apparently had the ability NOT to follow orders if it was important enough to him.

No evidence for this. Unless you mean the one singular time he didn't kill Steve.. because Steve broke through his conditioning long enough for their connection to allow Bucky to make the first choice he had made for himself in 70 years.

The rest of the time, he's tortured if he so much as doesn't give a mission report. There was no reason to assume he was capable of defying orders.

That when they met in Siberia he was holding a gun on Tony right up until he decided that a known superhero wasn't gonna like, hold him legally responsible for his actions or anything crazy like that.

Context is important for what happened in Siberia. They are hunting Zemo: they are also in the bunker where there are 5 other super soldiers.

They are in a highly dangerous situation when they hear the elevator being activated. ANYBODY coudl have been in that elevator. Zemo, one of the other soldiers. For all they knew Zemo had accomplices.

That is why Bucky raised his gun. It was a natural, and quite sensible, defensive posture for a trained soldier.

Also it pays to remember the last time he saw Tony, Tony was attacking him. He was in the company of T'Challa who tried to rip Bucky's throat out (somethiing which Tony was fine with btw). For all Bucky knew, Tony had come to finish the job.

THAT is why he pointed his weapon at Tony. Until he proved himself to not be a threat.

Why should all of this add up to "Hero tragically mind controlled into these terrible actions as he watched helplessly from within his own body, hasn't he suffered enough?!?!

Hmmm, I dunno. Maybe becausde Tony knew all that was true. He had all that information. He called him Manchurian Candidate. He knew about mind control: he'd witnessed it first hand. Clint Barton tried to kill *HIM* under mind control.

I love the character, but that is the most gd BORING interpretation of the Winter Soldier possible, not to mention unsupported by what we are shown, much less what Tony knew.

Except it is *totally* supported by what we are shown. We are shown Bucky as a captive being repeatedly tortured. We are shown the horror and fear on his face when Zemo says his trigger words.

We are shown the guilt and shame when he is forced to kill. We are shown a guy trying not to kill, who doesn't even want to fight if he can help it.

He acts only defensively. He lived in Romania for 2 years without incident. He didn't join some mercenary band or become organized crime gang. We are not shown an evil pyschopath who enjoys killing. (If anything that's Tony...)

By the point we see hm we have seen it established that Mind Control victim are not in control of their actions. Which is why Tony fans use mind control as an excuse for his actions.

I get it. You love the male power fantasy of the Winter Soldier. Just like you love Mr "r*pe is funny" Stark, but that was and has never been Bucky's true nature and we are shown that multiple times. Right from the outset.

All this other nonsense is simply an attempt to justify Tony's attempted murder of the guy.

I always see Anti-Team Cap and Pro-Tony discuss how Tony attacking Bucky and Steve was justified and made sense, and yes, I totally agree with them, and regardless of the fact that Tony attacked Steve first because Steve was the one who lied and betrayed him, there is one thing that I haven’t seen be discussed much.

And it’s this scene right here:

Look at Tony’s face. Look at the shock and fear.

Bucky had no way of knowing that Tony could have protected himself, and he aimed right at Tony’s head. Look at the proximity of the weapon to Tony’s face. He could’ve blown his mind clear off if Tony wasn’t fast enough.

Tony had absolutely no way of knowing that Bucky “had changed” when literally just what? Days? Hours? Moments? ago, he could’ve died at Bucky’s hands.

That’s all I have to say.

[dragonotaku-justineverything]

It's been a while, idk if your still writing for RWBY but if you are can I ask for 5 ships reactions to Jaune getting a tattoo over his crotch reading "Property of" with their full names

I will likely always be writing for RWBY. It is what got me into actually writing and posting real content online, or at least the courage to finally start after dreaming to do it for years.

Since you didn't specify, the five RWBY girls I used were picked using a random spinner app with a list of all the RWBY girls.

Emerald Sustrai

Emerald stared wide eyed at the green text print on her (recently agreed upon) boyfriend, right on his pelvis, just above his crotch. When he said that he had a surprise for her and started undoing his buckle, she rolled her eyes at the cheesy as hell way to start some foreplay.

Not that she wasn't ready to go along with it. He had whipped up a great dinner for them tonight and she was quickly realizing that she loved a man that could cook.

She was not expecting to see him show off a tattoo. And not one with her name on it. "What do you think?"

She wasn't too sure what she thought about it, but definitely knew what she wanted to ask. "Wow... it looks... good. My emblem is a nice touch I guess. But ummm... why did you even get it?"

Jaune let go of the hem of his shirt that he'd been holding out of the way, partially covering the tattoo. "W-well... When we talked about our pasts a while ago... you said you never really had or owned anything for yourself." Emerald didn't need that being brought up again, it was awkward enough talking about it with him the first time. She quickly just agreed with a sharp nod, not wanting to deal with it all over again now. "Well... I thought now... you could at least own... me. That you'll always have me?"

Oh.

Oh damn...

He could have definitely tried to sound more confident when saying that... but damn if that line didn't do things to Emerald. Both making her cheeks flush and her heart race.

And also getting her very turned on.

"You are getting so much ass tonight."

"W-what?!"

Emerald sashayed her way over to her blushing dork, her ass swaying side to side. "Use your semblance on me. Then you're going to find out just how much that ink of yours is going to pay off."

Jaune's earlier surprise was quickly being replaced by excitement. But he was still a little confused, which persisted even as Emerald reached him and lifted up his shirt with one of her nimble hands. But he was still confused. "Why do you want me to use my semblance on you?"

Emerald lifted her knee up between his legs to gently rub his crotch. "Because I want to make sure I can last all night with you~"

"O-oh."

"Yup. Now, boost me up and dick me down you mushy goofball~."

Emerald jumped up and let herself be caught by Jaune, his hands gripping onto her ass through her shorts and giving them each plump cheek a squeeze. Emerald wrapped her legs around him and kissed him as deeply as she could before he carried her off to the nearest bedroom, his hands and her body starting to faintly glow white and green as the door shut behind them.

---------------------------

May Zedong

“W-what is that!?” May felt her cheeks heat up with embarrassment when Jaune first started to lift up his shirt and pull his jeans down a bit. No matter how much she and him saw each other naked before, she still couldn't help but get bashful. However, when she saw the writing printed on his... very defined abs, her face went from warm to burning.

Jaune seemed to be catching some of her embarrassment since “W-well it’s a tattoo…”

May whined while she lifted up the collar of her jacket and the bottom of her beanie down, trying her best to hide her redding face from her boyfriend. "I know that! But why does it say that y-you're.... Why does it say THAT!?"

Jaune let his shirt drop, covering the tattoo again. "Well I-I heard about what those girls from Vacuo picking on you, and about what they said. And I just wanted to do something for you to make you feel better..."

"Why do you think this would make me feel better!?"

"B-because they said no one would... love you... and all that other stuff. W-well they're wrong! And this proves it! I-I'm sorry I couldn't be there to help you with those bullies at the time, but I got this to show you that I'll always be there for you in the end."

Now that stunned May, so much so that the blood receded from her face quickly and her jaw went a little slack. She stopped trying to hide her face, and looked at Jaune's. While his cheeks were very red, his eyes met hers and she saw the determination in them, meaning every word he said.

"C-can I see it again?"

Without hesitation or any question, Jaune lifted the bottom of his hoodie up again to show her the tattoo. A goofy smile dawned on his lips again.

...

May slowly walked forwards to him. When she was close enough, she slowly started to trace the inked skin with her index finger. Then she placed her hand on his abdomen, her thumb still rubbing the image of a hat in the corner, a hat that was nearly identical to her own signature beanie. "I-I like that it has my beanie... it's a really nice touch."

"S-so you like it?"

May slowly nodded, letting out a low, "Mmm-hmm", confirming that she did indeed like her boyfriend's tattoo. And it was certainly no lie.

"Eeep!"

Nor was it a lie to say that the squeak that she let out when Jaune suddenly hugged her wasn't adorable.

Jaune spun her around twice before placing her feet back on the ground. "I'm happy you like May! I really hoped you would. I just wanted to show you that I'll always be yours... because I love you."

May hugged Jaune back for a moment, only to pull back and plant a kiss on his smiling lips before flashing a rarely seen bright smile. "...I love you too, Jaune."

---------------------------

Blake Belladonna

"B-Blake? Are you okay."

Jaune's worried tone and question fell deft on two sets of ears, not that he really needed an answer. For Blake was certainly not okay... Her increasingly heavy panting and dilated eyes were a clear indicator of that fact. She didn't even bother trying to hide it because she thought her response was very justified!

Her boyfriend decided he wanted to surprise her in her room after a lovely date, so after waiting a decent amount of time to let him 'get ready', she walked in on him laying shirtless on their bed, with one of her favorite books placed on his toned abdominal muscles. She rolled her eyes at him at first, but it was only when she playfully snatched the book off his stomach for them to get the most fun part of the night started did she realize what his real surprise was.

Her name, tattooed a few inches above his crotch. And clearly listing him as her property...

Dust and Brother gods alike... that was so freaking hot. It was something she had never known she needed to see up to this point. Something so simple, yet unlocking something deep within Blake's mind and body. Something primal... lustful. And now that she had seen it, she knew what she wanted next.

Jaune yelped as Blake literally pounced onto the bed, landing above him and silencing his surprised noise with a kiss. A deep kiss. A VERY deep kiss. Her tongue wrestling with his, and trading their saliva while doing so, absolutely caught Jaune by surprise.

And he was just as surprised when she pulled away, their tongues still extended since they had been mid-kiss.

Blake looked down at Jaune, panting and blushing heavily. "This means you're mine now, Jaune. And I plan to enjoy every part of you tonight~."

"O-okay."

Blake ground her hips back and forth against Jaune's, getting some pleasurable friction between them and both moaning as she went over her growing erection in his pants. "I'm starting on top tonight. Does that sound good?"

Blake grinned as Jaune nodded to her, placing his hands on her thighs to keep her where she was. She reached behind her and unzipped her top. She wanted to waste no more time getting on with a very fun night with her, now very much marked, man~.

---------------------------

Robyn Hill (was bit of a new challenge writing for her)

"I-I thought I should show you m-my support..."

“So you got… a tattoo?"

"Y-yeah..."

"Of my name!?

"...yes..." Jaune nodded, slowly lowering his hoodie and shirt back down to cover his belly button and the green ink below it again.

"But if you wanted to show support for me, why did you get it down there?!”

He winced the smallest bit as Robyn raised her voice at him a little. “W-well… you seemed kinda… j-jealous when all of those moms of the kids I was a crossing guard for were flirting with me at your rallies… despite me telling them I was taken!” Jaune added the last part quickly when he saw Robyn’s gaze narrow when he brought up those hussies…

“So I… thought that this would be nice and I-I wanted to show you that... well... you're the only one that gets to see this part of me..."

Robyn was very silent, standing with her arms crossed and staring at him with a raised eyebrow. She was honestly having a hard time believing that he had really done something like this. He had seemed like such an innocent goodie two shoes when she met him. But… he did suggest stealing an Atlesian airship to get to Mantle in the first place… AND had asked her out in the first place… honestly, all things considered...

Robyn smiled as she uncrossed her arms and slowly walked towards Jaune. "Well... I do like seeing my name printed out."

"You do? Awesome! I'm so glad. I was worried tha- Mmmmh!"

Jaune was cut off as Robyn quickly grabbed him by the top of his chestplate and pulled him towards her. Her lips captured his own in a passionate kiss. One she was very much in control of. She had her fun for a few seconds before pushing Jaune back so they could both take a breath.

Jaune also took the break in the kiss to give a goofy smile. “That… that was nice…”

Robyn chuckled to herself, her grip on Jaune not letting go. “Yes, it was~. Now… How about I get through this rally quickly and then we go somewhere private where I can show you how much I appreciate your support~? Somewhere I can admire that tattoo fully while I sit comfortably on that face of yours~? Does that sound like a good idea to you Mr. Strategist?”

“Y-yes! S-sounds great actually!”

Robyn licked her lips and grinned as her hand grabbing Jaune's chestplate glowed green.

---------------------------

Bleiss Gele

Bleiss was nearly drooling when she saw her darling lift up his shirt to show off those dust shredding abs of his. But when she saw what it was he exactly wanted to show her, she nearly fainted from pure excitement and blood loss from a nosebleed.

It was her name! Right below her darling’s defined abs! It was all she could ever have dreamed about and more! This was amazing! No more skanks or bimbos trying to steal her man! Or they could try, but he has proof of her claim now!

“Oh darling, it's wonderful!” Bleiss squealed in joy as she jumped into Jaune’s arms. Jaune, being quick to drop the bottom of his hoodie he was holding up, caught her easily with his arms around her. The only trouble he had holding her up was from how much she was kicking her legs in joy. Her giggling was also so infectious that Jaune couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

“I guess you like it, huh?” Jaune slowly lowered his girlfriend back to the ground, but still kept her close in a hug. Mainly because Bleiss was still trying to squeeze the air out of him.

“Like it?! I love it! You know me so well darling!” If it was possible, her hug on him got even tighter. “I love that you are happy to show me off as your future wife like that!” Bleiss ended her sentence by nuzzling her head into Jaune’s chest.

“Hehe… well… I’m glad you like it.”

“I really do! And it’s even better because we match now!”

“...what?”

Bleiss’ wide smile shifted into a knowing smirk as she let go of Jaune finally and stepped back a small distance. “Guess it’s time for my surprise now darling~!” She turned around and flicked up her skirt, revealing something that made Jaune’s eyes widen and his jaw drop.

On her right cheek was her own tattoo. One quite similar to the one that he had gotten for her. And the yellow ink reading out his name over the Arc family emblem was very noticeable on her pale rear. 

Bleiss looked over her shoulder at Jaune, smirking confidently. “What do ya think~?

Jaune couldn’t respond. His jaw was still slack and his eyes were wider than dinner plates. He was having trouble looking away from such a sight. But the lower half of his body was very telling instead.

And Bleiss was happy to accept that version of approval. But she wasn’t done there either. With a shake of her ass, she asked ‘innocently’, “Hey darling, want to see if we can make our ink touch~?”

I didn't really know which version of Bliess's last name, so I picked Gele as that makes the most sense of what she'd like to be called being the (literal) black sheep of the family. She'd prefer to go by her mother's name and Jaune would absolutely respect that.

[themeaningthemeaningthe]

can’t sleep for other reasons and my brain can’t stop thinking about a post i saw and initially ignored but keep having thoughts about. i didn’t comment on it or anything and now it’s lost to the ether and i don’t wanna go looking for it but these thoughts gotta go somewhere.

this will be long and rambling and probably a little incoherent cuz it’s 3am.

the post was someone saying that they finally picked up gideon the ninth after years of seeing locked tomb posts and griddlehark, then dropped it after like 2 chapters bcuz they think the dynamic between gideon and harrow is abusive (which is fair when u first start it) and they can’t believe people are into it as enemies to lovers. on the one hand, people are totally cool to just not like something for whatever reason, i myself just have thoughts about the Nuance that i didn’t express on the post that i now must here.

lots of important spoilers for GtN!! (and maybe accidentally ones to HtN)

ok here’s the rant.

that’s the point!!!!! that’s the point.

they are terrible to each other and they have always been. the growth and the development of their character dynamics together explores how this thing between them that has always been sharp and seething and spiky must buckle under the weight of outside pressure beyond anything they could have imagined.

in a very important pool scene (one that is ubiquitous in fanart and i have to believe this poster saw at least a few times) we get an explanation from harrow! and not only does this give us a more full look into the context of drearbruh outside of gideons narrow point of view, but it also makes more clear why they were like That.

i’m sorry but literally harrow is 200 dead kids that her parents killed to make her, and gideon is the one kid they couldn’t kill. and gideon realizes once told this, she is the living reminder of the war crime committed to save the house, and no one who knows can forget it.

and harrow has known the truth of her origin since she was old enough to comprehend anything!! so yeah, a traumatized child who knows she’s the entirety of a generation of her house is gonna lash out at literally the only other child on the planet who she happens to also have power over.

and i feel like the book makes this pretty clear!! this was bad!! but also, these are two traumatized kids growing up in a dying, creepy, planet that is lowkey hell.

the other key thing about the pool scene, is that it is a Confession. these books are sooo steeped in catholicism. harrow isn’t just explaining the true history of her life, she is Confessing all of the sins that make her up and all of the sins she has committed. bearing the entirety of the wretchedness of her soul for gideon judge. expecting her only friend whom she has made miserable for years to kill her.

and i know we joke about gideon being lesbian jesus, but there’s a reason for that (besides the obvious). bcuz after hearing her Confession, gideon baptized harrow in that pool.

one flesh one end, bitch.

and also like yeah griddlehark is an enemies to lovers in some ways, but i feel like also not in the typical way you would think about that trope?? bcuz correct me if im wrong but they never really become lovers (and i personally am not sure they ever will). yes they love each other and make the grandest gestures of love imaginable. but that love is inevitably fucked up in some ways and it’s impossible for it to not be.

god that was way too long. anyway. some Nuance is necessary.

[blablablayup]

One issue is that the trans community does NOT apply this logic to the issues which they refuse to acknowledge affect cis women. HRT is an extremely necessary medical intervention for many cis women undergoing menopause and experience various gynecological health conditions. However, I have never heard a trans person even ONCE mention it as anything other than an exclusively-trans thing.

This is also an example of why it was so very harmful to erase all the words we have to describe biological sex. “People with uteruses” is not an adequate or accurate descriptor. Why? Because:

1.) It’s too long. People stop talking about our bodies, our experiences, and our rights when the only language they have for it involves repeating a long phrase over and over. Trans people are aware of the power of catchy taglines - you know how important it is to have efficient language. But the trans community has completely robbed female people of that language. I have been yelled at and harassed by trans people for using the word “female”, in reference to my OWN body, even back when I identified as trans. I even tried to create new words, but trans women objected at every turn, because they insisted to me directly that biological sex IS NOT real and that we need to “stop talking about it”. Your issue about the use of the word “women” could have been resolved if we just had a word like “female”, but the trans community has erased all such words. That’s why I left.

2.) Female people who don’t have a uterus are ALSO affected. The trans community’s insistence on reducing us to individual body parts (instead of allowing for an actual word to describe our sex) betrays an ignorance of how female bodies actually work. We’re a whole being, not individual parts that can be considered in a vacuum. People who are female and who do not have a uterus can experience ectopic pregnancies and die from these laws. They are also being harmed by the overall reduction in the already sparse medical care available for other gynecological health issues, which go hand in hand with abortion care resources.

Please notice that in the trans community, I could not have written this response. Because the word “female” has been forbidden, except in reference to trans women. I know that from experience being harassed over it when I was in the trans community for years, desperately trying to be as inclusive as possible and timidly mentioning my own body in the context of an urgent medical need. In the trans community, this response wouldn’t exist. I wouldn’t have been able to educate you about the harms this does and the risks to female people without a uterus, because there is no accepted word for female. That’s a tremendous problem.

I have hope that maybe the trans community will get better one day. For now, I’ve had to leave it. Because the aggression directed at me for mentioning my body exists has been unimaginable.

I’m going to try to articulate this in a way that perhaps everyone will understand.

I don’t think it’s helpful to discuss who is “targeted” by any particular policy. I think it’s more helpful to discus who that policy affects.

Abortion bans affect everyone with a uterus.

In the USA, statistically, most people with a uterus are perisex cis women. This means that the majority of people affected by an abortion ban will be perisex cis women.

However

The largest group is not necessarily the demographic most at risk.

I do not say “perisex cis women as a collective” here because I’m an intersectional feminist and I know that no such collective actually exists. Perisex cis women experience a kaleidoscope of intersecting risk factors that can make them more or less vulnerable to reproductive harm.

And taking intersectionality into account, we have to acknowledge that trans and intersex people with uteruses face additional risks when accessing abortion compared to perisex cis women. This may mean certain trans and intersex individuals may have higher risks than some perisex cis women.

Acknowledging this increased risk isn’t ignoring perisex cis women or erasing them from the discussion. It’s just acknowledging the most vulnerable among us.

[doumadono]

sorry if this sounds rude 😢 but you haven’t been posting a lot of stories lately and that’s like the only thing you have to do? just post something it’s not that big of a deal? dygwim? i think fanfic writers especially on the anime side like to exaggerate things too much and if you don’t post then just deactivate? there’s no point in staying if you’re not gonna do anything but reblog silly content all the time? i don't understand how so many ppl can follow you when you are not even trying to be grateful and you only write not what people request but what you find interesting (which is not, like vampier Shigaraki???? viking Dabi???? so silly stupid ideas imo 😒)? whoever finds your writing or you as a person nice is either blind or stupid. and even if you write something chaptered it takes you literally months to update which isn't fair to people?? but I guess you don't care at all. you must be a freaking entitled white woman to treat otherz the way you do.

(again sorry, didn't mean to sound rude) 😔

When I first read your message, I was completely speechless for a minute or two, anon.

Firstly, it seems there’s a misconception about what fanfiction writers, or any creative individuals for that matter, have to do. Let me clarify something important: creativity isn’t a tap that one can simply turn on and off at will. It’s a complex, often unpredictable process that cannot be rushed without compromising the integrity and quality of the work. Quality stories often require research, plotting, editing, and revising before they’re ready to share. My creative process isn’t a fast food joint, nonnie, and I'm not here to serve up reheated ideas just to fill the silence.

My blog belongs to no one but me. I post what I want, when I want. As for the content of my stories, I believe every writer has the right to explore subjects that excite them the most - even if that means delving into topics or settings others may find odd, like vampires or vikings. My goal is to write stories I’m passionate about and then offer them freely to anyone who might find them entertaining. Some people will, others won’t, and that’s absolutely okay.

Contrary to your belief, I don't exist solely to churn out stories at the speed you dictate. I write on my own time and for my own pleasure. The notion that I should be a content machine is, frankly, laughable. Writing takes time, creative energy, and often real-life circumstances can slow the process. I post when I’m ready, and if that doesn’t align with your desired schedule, you’re free to unfollow or seek out other writers who update more frequently. Suggesting I deactivate because I’m not constantly posting or because I reblog content I enjoy is dismissive at best. I'm not a streaming service like Netflix, darling🙄

Calling me an entitled white woman or implying I’m ungrateful crosses a line. You know nothing of my background or personal circumstances, and bringing race or entitlement into the conversation is neither accurate nor constructive. My ethnicity or personal identity, whatever it may be, does not diminish the value of my creative output, nor does it affect my commitment to my followers. I appreciate every person who visits my page - whether they come to enjoy what I reblog, to read stories I post or to offer critique.

It's also laughable that you think my followers are stupid. Just because their tastes don't align with yours doesn't make them any less intelligent. Diversity in fandoms exists because creativity resonates differently with everyone, something you seem incapable of recognizing.

In the end, I won’t apologize for taking the time I need to create or for following my own interests - that’s part of being a writer. I do, however, expect basic respect in return. If you can’t extend that courtesy, I hope you'll block me, step away from my blog, and never interact with any of my content again.

With all this in mind, it's precisely why I've stopped taking regular requests. Last year, I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of requests and the rudeness in many messages, pushing me to my limits. That's why I've decided to concentrate on my own projects and only accept commissioned work.

I'm taking a few days off to gather my thoughts and concentrate on my writing projects.