#and it's going to get their account terminated if they don't cut it out

[vladdyissues]

I apologize for not answering this ask directly, anon, but I wanted to extend the courtesy that the person in the above link is denying us by not revealing their username.

But yeah, I've seen the list. Had a good laugh at it, then I reported it to Tumblr—and reported the linked files to Google. What this user is doing may not be direct harassment, but it's outing people and their blogs and collecting "evidence" in the form of links to content proving each accused's affiliation—which to me sounds like a violation of privacy; doxxing lite—and inviting others to participate in this same invasive, predatory behavior.

And no, typing out "btw DON'T harass these people!" at the top of the post does not absolve this person of their responsibility for hosting files and encouraging other users to partake in a literal witch hunt.

[purplesuitcowboy]

this is so long, my god but i love a sexy maid moment.

tw: rape (under negotiated kink and consent with coercion)

This job had not been Brittney's first choice. She'd been working at the restaurant one night when a man far to wealthy to be eating at an establishment as shitty as the place she worked had gotten her attention and slipped her his card. He'd told her that if she was ever interested in expanding her work opportunities and entering into a lucrative new field, she should give the number a call. At the time, she'd brushed off his proposition, thinking him a creep, but she never threw out his card. Of course, she'd gotten fired a week later for tardiness and after weeks of fruitless job hunting, she had re-evaluated his offer. Maybe, it wouldn't be that bad? He was pretty posh so she didn't imagine they have her doing hard labor outside or anything.

She checked her bank account and the minuscule balance helped her steel her nerves. She didn't have enough money to pay her rent this month. The leasing agency had been lenient with her thus far but she knew that eventually their patience with her late or missing or incomplete payments would wear out and she'd be out on the street. She'd called and found out that the number was for an agency that matched attractive young women with wealthy clients who needed extra assistance performing common household tasks. She'd asked the agent for more information but hadn't been able to get more out of them then vague statements about client confidentially.

She'd agreed and gone through the strangest application process she'd ever experienced. She'd never been asked to submit her measurements to a job before. She thought that maybe they just had specific uniform standards but she never received anything. The only pro about the whole thing, other then the pay check, was that it didn't take them long to match her with a client. She was sent an address, date, and time to arrive, and was told not to be late under any circumstances unless she wanted to be terminated immediately. This seemed like a lot for a job cleaning houses but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

That's how she'd managed to find herself in the swankiest building she'd ever been in on an elevator headed to the penthouse. The doors opened to a small hallway that lead to an ornate door with a gold door knocker in the shape of a lion. She knocked once and stood there in front of the door. Just how rich were these fucking people? She heard a series of locks being released and then the door opened, revealing a older man with salt and pepper hair, and strong jaw. He was obviously in great shape for his age, and she struggled to find the right place to look at him so she wasn't just shamelessly ogling her employer. He had a stern look about him and Brittney was happy that she wasn't late. She did not want to what he looked like when he was angry.

"Oh, uh. Hello, sir. I'm-", she started speaking quickly, trying to introduce herself but he cut her off.

"I know exactly who you are Brittney. Please come inside," he turned on his heel and briskly walked into the spacious apartment, not bothering to check and see if she was following behind him.

She squeaked in surprise and followed quickly behind him. The door immediately shut behind her and she heard a series of clicks as all of the locks fell back into place. It was the nicest apartment Brittney had ever seen. Everything was clean and white with the kind of modern minimalist furniture that only rich people liked. The best thing about the apartment was the windows. It had the best view of the city, that seemed to sprawl out like an ocean beneath them.

"We have much to discuss so why don't you get changed into your uniform and then we'll talk."

"Oh, I don't have a uniform. I thought the company was going to provide something but nothing ever came," she told him apologetically.

"I'd certainly hope not. We have a uniform for you here. It's in the other room there. It's based on your measurements so provided you did not lie, it should fit just fine."

Brittney looked at him baffled. She waited for him to provide more of an explanation but he did not so she walked into room to get changed. It was guest bedroom with an attached bathroom. Laid out on the bed was what looked like a slutty maid costume which was odd. She wandered around the room, looking for her uniform. Upon finding nothing, she poked her head out of the bedroom door.

"Excuse me, sir. I don't see my uniform," she told him.

"It should be on the bed," he told her, which would mean that the skimpy maid costume was her uniform.

"Oh, I'm sorry I can't wear that."

He looked at her for a moment with an expression on his face that seemed to communicate that he thought was was very stupid.

"Tell me, Brittney. Did you happen to read the contract before you signed it?"

Her face redden. She had looked at it but not very carefully. It just looked like a normal contract to her so she'd signed it without much thought.

"I see," he replied, voice cold." In the future, I would suggest you read contacts before you sign them and certainly before you show up at a clients house for a job. If you'd read it, you'd understand that employed in this capacity I own you - all of you. If you wish not to continue, please tell me now so I can send you on your way and we can stop wasting my time."

Her eyes widened as the reality of what she'd signed up for dawned on her. She'd figured that the job was weird but she didn't realize that it was going to be this. He was giving her an opportunity to leave and she should take it but she knew that if she did she could kiss her check good-bye.

"My apologies, sir. Please forgive me. I'll get changed right away."

She ducked back into the bedroom, closing the door gently behind her. She changed out of her clothes and into the skimpy costume. She'd original thought that it was one piece but it was actually three. It also came with a matching choker, tights, and high heels, as well as a little metal thing shaped like a tear drop with a heart shaped jewel on the end but Brittney couldn't figure what that was suppose to be for.

The top was something like a triangle bikini top with a matching shrug that only covered her shoulders. The triangles of the bikini top covered her nipples, which had come to points in the cool air and were visible under the thin fabric of the top, but little else. The skirt, which had a white apron sewed onto it, was equally immodest. It hugged her hips well but barely covered her shaved pussy. She'd looked around for underwear but found none. Brittney tried to pull her tiny skirt down to cover a bit more of her ass but it was in vain. She hoped that he wasn't going to have her picking anything up because she'd be completely exposed. With the addition of the accessories and shoes, she was (barely) dressed in her uniform. She walked back into the main room of the apartment where her client was waiting for her, holding the small metal object in her hand.

"I'm dressed, sir," she told. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do with this though."

He walked around her in a circle, looking over her body appreciatively.

"It fits you well," he told her, taking the item from her hand. "Don't worry. I'll help you. Now, I am going to tell you about this job and you are going to listen. Today is going to be unlike your other days here. Consider it an introduction to the job."

He slide the item in his pocket and with his hand free, he grabbed Brittney by the waist and pulled her towards him. She stumbled forward, landing with her hands on his broad chest. He cupped her ass with his big hands, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. Brittney gasped, at the sensation of his hands on her. This was bad. He was her boss, he shouldn't be touching her like this and she shouldn't be enjoying it. Despite her reluctance, she said nothing, afraid of pissing him off and losing her job.

"As I previously mentioned, while you work in this capacity, I own you and I mean this very literally," he told her, as he turned her so that her ass was pressed tightly against his thick cock. He ran his hands up and down her lithe body, groping her full tits and upper thighs.

"You are going to do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, and who I tell you to do it with," he continued. With one hand, he freed her tits from the confines of her tiny top, teasing her sensitive nipples with his fingers, and the other, he sneaks between her legs to rub at her little pussy. He runs two thick fingers against her slit, coating them in her juices, and then plunging two of them inside of her. Brittney moans in response, hips bucking to take in more of his thick fingers.

"You will not talk back, and you will not make me repeat myself. Do I make myself clear?" When she doesn't respond quickly enough, he pulls his fingers out of her cunt and roughly spanks her pussy, earning a yelp of surprise from Brittney.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," she replied, but she quickly learned that this was not the response that he was looking for as he delivered another series of slaps to her pussy.

"Not quite, try again," he told her, his hand hovering over her wet cunt ready to deliver another series of slaps if she fucked up.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, girl," he tells her and she shudder's at the praise. "Now, I am a firm master but I am not unfair. It is expected that you will make mistakes but you will be guided and corrected as needed."

He slips his fingers back into her waiting cunt, scissoring them to stretch out her hole and then adding a third finger, pumping them in and out roughly. While he fucked her with his fingers, he used his thumb to rub her tender clit until her legs began to tremble. He lets her get close to the edge but denies her, over and over again. To Brittney, it feels like her pleasure stretches into eternity. She has no conception of how long they have been standing here in his living room with his devilish fingers playing with her pussy. Letting go of her tit, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the object from before.

"This, my dear, is a butt plug and it is apart of your uniform. I expect you wear it whenever you are working in this capacity. I'm sure this seems daunting now but I'm sure you'll grow to love it."

He pulls his fingers out of her cunt and pushes the plug inside, coating it in her juices. Brittney whimpers at the sensation but offers up no resistance. Slowly, he fucks her with the plug until she's close to cumming but slips it out before she can. He carefully pushes the plug against the tight ring of her anus and watches with satisfaction as it stretches around the toy. Brittney groans as her ass is slowly stretched and filled by the unfamiliar object. With the body of the plug snugly in her ass, the only thing that can be seen is the twinkling heart shaped jewel between her ass cheeks.

"That's a good girl. I think, you've earned an orgasm."

With her ass filled by the plug, his thick fingers in her pussy and against her clit felt even more intense. She came with a scream, as her legs buckled and she sagged against her employer's broad chest. She'd never cum that hard before. She felt like she'd been shot into space.

"Now that you've cum, I think it's time that you show your appreciation, huh?" he told her, as he pushed her to her knees and pulled out his hard cock.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Ruin

Alexia Putellas x Pre-Teen!Reader

Jenni Hermoso x Pre-Teen!Reader

Summary: Your guardians fight for custody

You had dealt with lawyers before.

You had dealt with case workers before.

Nearly your whole life in the system meant you were familiar with both.

Seeing them never got easier as you sit outside the meeting room, hunched over as you stare at the phone battery that's rapidly depleting.

You'd plugged it in to charge last night but it hadn't.

The wire's been faulty for a while now, one of those chargers that you have to move to the right angle to make sure it works.

You suppose it must have moved in the night.

You can just about hear the low murmur of conversations if you strain your ears but you don't.

You don't want to hear what they're saying.

"Drink? Food?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

You turn away from your case worker, angling your body as far away as you can get without falling off your seat.

She'd been responsible for you for eleven years, right back to when you were a baby and your first set of parents had their rights terminated. You thought last year would be the last you would see of her.

"I'm fine," You insist.

"It's okay not to be."

"I know that. It still doesn't change the fact that I'm fine."

You both know you're lying.

She knows you well enough to not bring it up again, merely offering you a few of the hard boiled sweets from the reception desk.

"They won't decide anything without your input, you know."

"They're adults," You say dismissively," That's all they ever do."

"You're twelve now. Your wishes are taken into account."

"Only if it goes to court. Only in front of a judge. If they sign an agreement here and now, they don't have to talk to me about it."

Your caseworker looks like she wants to say something but a bang of a table has her stopping.

Jenni's voice in the meeting room is raised and Alexia's rises to meet it.

The fractures in the relationship were already there by the time you arrived. Small at first but steadily growing bigger and bigger.

You hadn't known it at the time but you know it now.

You had been adopted to salvage their relationship.

It's what a lot of people did. Have a child in the hope that it would bring the relationship together again.

It had worked, for a short while but the cracks hadn't healed. They'd simply been painted over for a little while. All it had taken was a little rock of the foundations, a little change in the norm.

They always came back and soon Alexia and Jenni were arguing where they thought you couldn't hear them and driving separately to practice.

Now, Jenni was moving to Mexico and the tender hooks they were on were failing.

You were hanging on a cliff and they were too busy arguing to notice your grip slipping, ready to plummet into the abyss below.

"You're not taking my daughter from me!"

You stand, unwilling to hear anymore.

"I'm going to the toilet."

It's a single stall, a door lock that you use as soon as you're inside.

You sit on the toilet lid, willing your shaking hands to stop as you clench them into fists. Your fingernails dig into the soft flesh until you're almost certain you've broken skin.

You hate this.

You hate the lawyers and their cool indifference towards you.

You hate your caseworker and her faux sympathy.

You hate Alexia and Jenni for putting you in this situation in the first place. You hate them for thinking a child would salvage an already broken relationship. You hate that they've made you their daughter. You hate that they've tied themselves into you in a way that you can't get away from.

Your phone dies, the music from your earphones cutting out instantly and you sigh, tugging them out of your ears and wrapping them around your phone.

They're an old pair, still wired and plugged in.

Jenni and Alexia have showered you in presents since the moment the adoption went through. You had a pair of Bluetooth ones but you've never used them, not since the presents stopped coming from them together and started coming separately.

They were always one upping each other.

If Alexia bought you Airpods, Jenni bought you a pair of Beats.

If Alexia bought you a Switch, Jenni bought you an XBox.

You blow out all your air noisily, the shuffling at the door alerting you to the fact that your caseworker is outside.

You flush the toilet to keep up appearances, washing your hands and stubbornly not looking in the mirror.

"They should be finishing up," She tells you and you glower.

"For now."

They're not finished up in the slightest and you slump in your seat.

There's no music to distract you from their raised voices, tension and anger building between them.

"And what about her training?! You'd take her away from all that? To what? Gallivant around in Mexico?!"

That's Alexia now, you'd recognise her anger anywhere.

You imagine she's standing now, palms flat on the desk as she gets as close to Jenni as possible. Her lawyer, a straight laced man in a fancy suit and a disinclination to children, probably sits back in his seat, arms spread in a 'how could you tear Alexia away from her child?' pose at the other lawyer.

"Mexico has pools, Alexia! They know how to swim! She can train there!"

That's Jenni.

She's still as angry as earlier, bubbling and boiling inside of her. She's probably standing up too, finger pointing towards Alexia in a brutal jab. Her lawyer pretends he likes kids, pretends to greet you warmly and act like her actually gives a shit about your feelings.

He doesn't and he doesn't even do a good job of pretending.

He's more condescending than anything, talking to you like you're five and don't understand why your guardians are fighting.

"And you'd have her make new friends? Put her in a new swimming club? Her life is here!"

"No, Alexia, your life is here!"

You've never felt more weightless than you were in the pool, just floating around on your back as the water laps at your skin.

You're the fastest swimmer in the region for your age group. Especially in long distance.

Your coaches say you have the stamina.

You think it's because you want to be in the water for as long as possible.

It comes easy to you, mindless, repetitive.

You like to do things you're good at.

The door swings open, slamming against the wall and you sigh.

The yelling has stopped.

Neither Alexia nor Jenni want to make a scene in public.

The meeting room is a free-for-all but outside they can pretend to be civil. Everyone will pretend they didn't hear them at each other's throats a few moments ago.

You stand, plugging in your earphones even though your phone is dead.

You've found that neither of them want to talk to you if you've got your earphones in.

"Say goodbye to your mother, y/n," Alexia says, already strolling over to wait for you by the door.

Your eyes linger on her before they flick to Jenni.

You shove your hands into your pocket and mutter," Bye."

She's still looking at Alexia too, eyes narrowed in anger before they softens a fraction as she turns to you.

Her hand rests on your shoulder, thumb rubbing ever so slightly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? You've got that competition."

"Yeah, I do."

"I'll be cheering."

You manage a weak smile.

Alexia and Jenni will be on opposite ends of the room, pretending that the other doesn't exist.

"I love you," Jenni says and you sigh.

"Yeah."

Alexia is waiting by the door, impatiently, foot tapping. When you join her, she starts off again, down the stairs and to the car parked up front.

"Not sitting in the front with me?" She tries to tease as you slip into the seat behind her but you're in no mood," I'll let you choose the music."

You hold up your dead phone, earphones in and her small smile turns into a frown.

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I'm sure."

"So..." Alexia drums her fingers on the steering wheel," That competition tomorrow...You excited?"

You stare out the window. "I guess."

You're in no mood to talk, clearly, so Alexia settles on looking back at you through the rear view mirror periodically.

"Don't worry," She tells you," This will all get sorted out soon."

You wish it hadn't happened in the first place.

You with you had never met them.

[porcelana-r0ta]

let the mourners come

Title: let the mourners come

Ao3 Link: Only available to Ao3 users

Word Count: 3045

Summary:

It started, as most things do with Danny Fenton, as a joke.

It ended, as most things do with Jazz Fenton, with things better than they were before.

xxXxx

When Danny finally gets a Twitter, it’s during Elon Musk’s shit show takeover. He’s able to secure a good Twitter handle thanks to people leaving en masse and fleeing to Tumblr. He knows about things that happen outside of Amity Park (he is terminally online rather than chronically, after all), but he still doesn’t think anything of using @TheJoker as his handle, even knowing about Gotham City’s clown troubles. It’s just going to be a shitpost account, anyway, one that dances in the chaos of Elon’s electronic graveyard. Nothing will come about him using @TheJoker when he’s merely posting things like, “Just grew a new row of teeth!!! very pointy but can’t go to the dentist anymore bc they might turn me in to the giw.”

So Danny honestly never foresaw The Actual Real Joker breaking out of Arkham Asylum all the way in Gotham City, New Jersey, and deciding to get a Twitter account to terrorize people online as well as offline. And he definitely never foresaw The Joker @’ing him on Twitter, demanding that Danny change his Twitter handle. But, well. Here he was. 

[Image Description: A screenshot of a Twitter reply chain, starting with the real Joker @'ing Danny's Twitter account, which uses TheJoker as his Twitter handle. The Joker, who has a verified account, demands that Danny "change your handle", and Danny replies with a simple "no" followed by red heart emoji. The Joker Tweets, "Kid you don't know who you're fucking with," to which Danny replies, "Ye I do ur some dude w/ poor fashion sense and lame jokes. Maybe try badjokesbyjeff bc originality is ugly on u" followed by a shrugging emoticon. The Joker responds, "Check your DMs." Danny then responds, "Perf [happy emoji surrounded by hearts] I've sent you a time and place. Can't wait to beat the shit out of another disgrace of a clown." Someone with the username "Gregg rulz ok" responds to Danny's last Tweet, "Bro is absolutely RATIOING the joker but the clown keeps responding [three skull emojis] embarrassing frfr too bad he's gonna die for realsies".

End ID]

Danny is quick to respond and then makes even quicker work of roasting The Joker. This soon results in The Joker DMing him his IP Address and a creative threat. Still, Danny isn’t about to cow to a clown with no respect for the art of clowning. He replies to the DM: 

Cool, meet me at the Nasty Burger parking lot in Amity Park IL on tuesday at 2am

The response from The Joker is quick:

Fourteen year olds are too confident these days

Danny rolls his eyes and ignores the influx of notifications from Twitter, and instead makes another Tweet.

Imagine beefing with someone over a Twitter handle lol acc so embarrassing for him

He blackens his screen and stretches in bed, letting his spine pop more than what is humanly possible. He runs his tongue over that second row of teeth, his lips curling into a grin. 

xxXxx

Gothamite Twitter is blowing up over The Joker’s social media beef with a faceless shitposting account. Jason, upon finding out about it, has a series of reactions: first, he looks up the shitposter and follows them. Then, he finds the actual chain between the poster and The Joker, and his vision goes vibrant green when he sees that The Joker’s profile picture is of the second Robin, beaten and swollen in an abandoned building in Ethiopia. 

When his vision clears and he can breathe without wanting to kill, he likes the shitposter’s replies, and he calls the Replacement to see if the other Bats know already.

“We know,” Tim says in lieu of a hello when the ringing cuts out. “We’re working on it.”

“What, you think anything’s gonna come of it?” But even as Jason asks, he already knows the answer. The Joker is unhinged and once he’s threatened something, he’ll follow up unless he comes up with a “funnier” option. 

Tim’s breath hitches, and he says, “I’ve hacked their DMs. Joker knows the kid’s IP address and sent it to him. He knows everything from that address alone.”

He pauses in the middle of suiting up, “Kid?”

He hears Tim swallow, “Yes, kid. He’s fifteen. And he gave The Joker a specific time and place to meet up to fight. In his own hometown.”

“Are— are you fucking kidding me?” 

“No. B is already calling Nightwing. We’re taking the Batwing to Illinois.”

“Jesus fuck. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Hood, I—”

“Shut up, I’m already in my gear.” He hangs up without waiting for a response. 

He refreshes the Twitter feed and barks a laugh at the newest Tweet:

Jason Todd votes, and the Red Hood leaves his safe house. 

xxXxx

A commercial flight to Illinois takes around two and a half hours. In the Batwing, they get there in an hour, and don’t even have to worry about the drive from Chicago to a small speck of a town like Amity Park. They spend the quick flight learning everything they can about Daniel James Fenton, the owner of the Twitter account, and they can all sense the growing tension from (and between) Bruce and Jason.

But, well. Jason doesn’t care. Let them be uncomfortable. It doesn’t compare to being ripped back into life and finding out his dad didn’t even get justice for his death. 

When they reach town, it doesn’t take long to find the Fentons’ home. This is in part because Amity Park is a very navigable town, and because of the giant neon sign proclaiming FentonWorks on the side of the building. 

“Is that a blimp?” Dick asks. “Why don’t we have a blimp?” 

“Where would we keep it?” the Demon Brat counters practically. “Goliath takes up all of the Cave’s extra space.” 

Jason rolls his eyes and knows veins would be popping out of Bruce’s forehead if it weren’t for the cowl. 

“Let’s go,” Bruce says instead, and they all make their way to the house. 

Nightwing, predictably, goes for the front door approach. Jason rolls his eyes as he takes one of the second-story windows and finds his way downstairs.

He gets down at the same time that a redheaded girl answers the door and nearly slams it in Dick’s face. Jason has to suppress snickers at the sight. 

“Wait, wait, wait, are you Jazz Fenton? We need to talk to your brother!” 

“...We?” she asks, then tenses and turns around to see the rest of the Bats in the hall behind her. Dick takes the opportunity to step in completely, closing the door behind him. “Wha— what’s going on?”

“Where are your parents, Jazz?” Bruce makes every question sound like a demand. Jason rolls his eyes from behind his mask—way to put the teenager at ease, B.

“Why do you need to know?” Her voice has a defensive edge to it. “What do you want with Danny?” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nightwing comforts. “He didn’t do anything too bad, just said some dumb things online. It’s not his fault.” 

This relaxes her, and her shoulders begin un-hunching. “Oh, s-so what’d he do?”

“He foolishly challenged The Joker to a battle in a ‘Nasty Burger’ parking lot tonight.” 

“You could’ve had some more tact, Robin,” Nightwing scolds. But the Demon Spawn just crosses his arms. 

“He did what?” Jazz shrieks. “Like, The Joker from Gotham? That Joker?”

“Are there others?” Red Hood comments dryly. 

Her face goes through several different emotions—disbelief, rage, fear, and then rage again, “DANIEL JAMES FENTON! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!” 

There’s a thumping noise, and then frantic footsteps down the stairs. 

“Wha? Who died?” asks the figure of a tiny fifteen-year-old, smaller than even Jason had been when he was alone with The Joker. He’s tiny and lanky. Zero muscle definition. Eye bags to rival the Replacement’s. Something ripples in the Pit, deep and distinct, but he can’t name what causes it.

Oh, this kid is so dead. 

“Danny,” says Jazz calmly while Danny blinks uncomprehendingly at the heroes in their hallway. She is solemn when she says, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you now.” 

“What did I do?” 

She stares at him, “Why have you scheduled a fight with The Joker?” 

“Oh, that.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Is he taking that seriously?”

“Of course he is, Danny! It’s The Joker! That’s what he does! He can’t differentiate between a joke and reality! He would tear off his own face for the bit!” 

“Oof,” is all Danny can muster. He digs his phone out and starts typing before Jazz yanks it out his hand. 

“You’re fucking TWEETING about this?” Jazz asks incredulously, and Hood’s hackles rise. She even reads the Tweet aloud, “‘Just found out @TheJ0ker is being fr about fighting me. Sad but i can take a clown.’”

“I was gonna add ‘i’ve done it b4,’ but like the letter and the number four. But yeah.” 

“You’re grounded forever.” Danny opens his mouth to protest, but the look Jazz cuts at him is so scathing that he shuts his mouth. Hood is reluctantly impressed—she had what could be cultivated into a fantastic Batglare. She pockets the phone, “You’re never getting this phone back. Taunting The Joker to Amity? Have you any brain cells? What if he brings Joker gas with him, huh? Or any of his goons? What if he starts hurting other people? Have you thought any of this through?” 

Danny’s face goes from tired to chastised, his lips drawing into a frown, especially at the mention of other people. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think that he’d take it so seriously.”

“He sent you your IP Address.”

“I thought that was just a random string of numbers?”

“Oh my god,” Jazz despairs. “Oh my god. Grounded forever. See, I know you're lying to me. I know you're lying because Tucker, the nerdiest tech nerd to have ever been born, is your best friend.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “I tune him out?”

“You’re still lying to me?” Jazz scoffs and turns to Batman, “Do whatever you want with him. I’m not going to defend him from this.” 

“Hey!” complained her brother, but Batman just continued on, “Where are your parents?”

“They’re in Sweden for a science convention,” Jazz answers. “They left this morning.” 

Damn, Jason curses to himself. 

“Jazz, seriously. You’re not gonna let Batman kill me, right?” 

“Do you want to be cremated or buried, Danny?” Jazz asks blasély, and Danny gulps, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. 

“It’s my Twitter handle,” he mutters petulantly, and Jason can’t believe the gall of this kid. Or maybe stupidity. Audacity’s a good one, too. “If he wanted it, he should’ve gotten it first. And he gives clowns a bad name.” 

“Not the clown thing again.” Jazz digs her palms into her eyes, sighs, then turns to the heroes. “He has a whole clown thing ever since Circus Gothica came to town and robbed a bunch of jewelry stores.” 

Danny gestures wildly with his hands, as if demonizing clowns was the real problem and not the egomaniacal mass murderer who wanted to murder him for his Twitter handle, “Clowning is an art form, Jazz, and people like Freakshow and The Joker make a mockery of the very serious societal statements that clowns make!” 

All of the Bats very carefully Did Not look at Nightwing, who has made very similar rants on quiet patrols.

“You are never leaving this house again,” she says serenely. “And I’m unplugging the wifi router.”

“You would punish even yourself?”

“Oh, little brother. I would watch the world burn if it meant knocking sense into your thick skull.” 

“Okay, Christ,” Red Hood finally interrupted the siblings’ melodrama. An unyielding redheaded girl and a mouthy black-haired, blue-eyed boy? They’d fit in a little too well back at the Manor, so Jason needs to cut this shit out before Bruce’s bat-doption instincts start tingling. “Stop. Just… Christ. Stop. Is this how you always interact with each other?”

“Sometimes there’s explosions,” Danny pipes up, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Jazz doesn’t dispute it. 

Fucking hell. God damn it. I can’t. I just can’t. 

Batman doesn’t give anything away, “Robin and Red Robin will be staying here with you until Nightwing, Hood, and I apprehend The Joker. First, we’re going to check the perimeter.” 

“Oooh, I get to give the lab tour!” 

Lab?

“No lab. You’re grounded. You’ll only be in there for cleaning duty now.”

“Wh– hey! No fair!” 

“What’s this lab you two are talking about?” Red Robin asks before Jazz can rip into her brother again. 

She sighs, “Our parents’ lab. I’ll show you, but someone needs to stay with Danny.” 

“You act like I’m gonna run off and start World War III….”

“I wonder why,” she says sarcastically.

Batman nods to Robin, who nods back, and the rest of them follow Jazz out of the living room to a metal reinforced door. She types in a code—Jason catches the numbers 03-14-99. There’s an assenting beep, and she opens the door, flicking on the lights and leading them down into what is apparently a basement lab. 

A stone settles in Red Hood’s stomach, cold and heavy. 

The basement is large, likely the floor size of the entire building. There are several work tables, filled with miscellaneous blueprints and spare parts and weapons and tools. Against the farthest wall is another armored door, but what draws Hood’s—and the entire Batclan’s—attention is the south wall, where a circular hole in the wall was glowing a toxic Pit green. 

The stone shattered in his stomach, splintering into his body. Is it harder or easier to breathe? Jason can’t tell. 

“Wow,” says Nightwing. His voice is cheerful, but Jason can feel the stress beneath it. “Do I even want to know?” 

Wasn’t this supposed to just be typical Joker bullshit?

“Our parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz explains nonchalantly, walking further into the lab. “As in, ghost biologists.” She pauses at one of the work tables, picking up a green and white thermos. Pretty boring, considering the rest of their surroundings. 

“Ghosts.” Red Robin’s voice is carefully neutral. 

“Ghosts,” Jazz reaffirms. “I know. I thought they were crazy at first, too. But I can prove it, if you like.” Then, without waiting for a yes or no, she untwists the thermos, and there’s a bright flash of white, and a whole entire body sprouting out of it. 

“WHOO! I’M FREE!” cries the…being, pale and floating and lanky and entirely too big to have fit into a fucking thermos, of all the fucking things. “....And not in the Realms? Wait.” He stops stretching, descending to rest closer to the ground, but still hovering a few inches from the floor. He’s got green eyes and lifeless (ha) blond hair. He’s wearing a trenchcoat and a green skull necklace. Overall, he looks like the type of thug he’d arrest in the Bowery. 

“Hello, Johnny.” The man’s—ghost’s?—eyes flicker around each person in the room, his gaze becoming more and more confused and panicked as he takes in each Bat, before settling on Jazz Fenton. 

“Why are the fucking Bats here?” 

“The Joker’s coming to Amity,” she says. The ghost’s eyes widen. Jazz tilts her head, “How many ghosts would you say passed away in Gotham, Johnny?” 

As Jason and the Bats tense, this Johnny guy lets out a wicked laugh, “Oh, Doll, you have the best surprises. Why did we break up?” 

“You did try to have my body possessed. That ruins any good relationship.” 

“Man, but Kitty’ll love this. Thanks for letting me out of Soup Time, Doll.” He floats higher, “Any advice?” 

She throws him the phone she’d confiscated from Danny and he catches it easily, “Everything’s on here. Have fun.”

“What exactly are you planning?” Batman scowls. 

Johnny laughs, “Aww, don’t worry, Bats. Peace and love on Planet Earth, or whatever. We’ll make it quick.” Then, as the Bats leap into action as one, Johnny turns invisible, the Batarangs passing harmlessly through where he’d once been floating. 

“Where did he go?” Batman turns his scowl, angrier than ever, to Jazmin Fenton, who stares back unflinchingly. “He’s going to solve the problem.”

“You mean he’s going to kill The Joker.”

She shakes her head, “Oh, no. That’d just be asking for him to come back as a ghost. Could you imagine a Joker with powers like invisibility, intangibility, flight, and more? Johnny can be impulsive, but he’s smart. None of them will kill The Joker.” 

“Then what are they going to do?” Red Robin asks. 

“My parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz repeats from earlier. “But I am more of an anthro-ectopologist. I am concerned with the study of ectoplasmic beings’ societies and cultures. And while it is very ancient, there is protocol in the Infinite Realms—that is, where you go when you die, should you remain after death—to prosecute living criminals who have killed a certain number of Realms citizens. So you don’t have to worry about your moral code, Batman. The Joker will be tried by a much fairer court than Gotham can ever hope to have. No offense.” 

Jason stares at Jazz Fenton, who he’d pegged as the sane sibling. He’s not so sure now, but he can’t say he hates it.

“And how do we know it’s a fair trial?” Nightwing asks. 

She waves her hand, “Oh, as Gotham’s Knights, you’re key witnesses. I’m sure you’ll be summoned to testify. You will see then. And don’t worry about your secret identities—the dead don’t care much for that sort of thing.” 

“So if this is a ‘fair’ trial or whatever, The Joker’s going to be locked up forever?” Jason asks. “I mean, that’s the only option for shit like him.” 

Batman sends him a look, but he ignores it. 

“Well, there are several different punishments that could be deemed appropriate, but he’ll never be able to set foot in the mortal world again, yes.” 

Jason Todd grins, “Oh, I’m glad your brother’s stupid, kid.” 

She sighs, long-suffering, “Well, that makes one of us. Still, there’s more important things we should discuss now that you’re here.”

“More important than The Joker trying to kill your brother over a Twitter handle?” Red Robin asks doubtfully. 

Jazz smiles, sharp and dangerous, and asks, ”Have you ever heard of the Anti-Ecto Acts?” 

xxXxx

Several months later when Danny is finally un-grounded, he Tweets his last three Tweets before Twitter can become the foolishly named X: 

Imagine bullying the Joker so hard that it not only lands the Joker in ghost prison BUT it also leads to major law reform in the US lmao someone make the domino effect meme about this pls

Y’allre replying to me with thanks like i did anything other than be an internet troll. My sister literally manipulated local, federal, and interdimensional law so you should be thanking her. 

i just a babie 🥺🥺🥺

xxXxx

Thanks for reading! This is the whole fic, so pls do not ask for tags! Thank you :)

[ms-demeanor]

Hi there! Firstly, wanna say a huge thank you: your blog has inspired me to become more educated about cybersecurity and nutrition, and it’s the reason my brother and I now use Firefox! I came across this article and… it seemed to raise a lot of valid points about Mozilla, but I have no idea if they are true or not since I’m not that knowledgeable about tech, and they go against everything I’ve ever heard about Firefox. Wanted to ask if you wouldn’t mind giving it a quick read, if that’s not too much trouble, and explaining why it’s false/true? If you can, ofc, I realise that is a weird request, and I promise it&: not something I’d usually ask someone. I just thought I’d ask since you’re the only sort of ‘tech’ person I can think of whom I’d trust to know stuff about this. https://digdeeper.neocities.org/articles/mozilla

So this is a great example of someone reading a ToS uncharitably and extracting the most paranoid bullshit possible.

Aside from the absolute classic "oh noes they are storing info about what devices you use" (if you use firefox logged in mozilla will collect information about what device and OS you use to connect; they do this for a lot of reasons like figuring out what stuff the bulk of their users are using but also because *they can't display on your device without that data*) I want to zoom in on this as an example:

BTW, there is one really funny thing inside the account ToS (MozArchive) that I just have to mention: "We may suspend or terminate your access to the Services at any time for any reason, including [...] our provision of the Services to you is no longer commercially viable." The fuck? If you stop bringing them profit, you're gone. They really said that! To me, this is a roundabout admission that your data is being sold. And if it's not worth much (for whatever reason), then you get kicked out.

This person is highlighting the idea that they may cut you off from services if the provision of those services is no longer commercially viable. This author is saying "FIREFOX WILL BOOT YOU WHEN YOU STOP BEING A PROFITABLE LITTLE PAYPIG FOR THEM"

But. Okay. Let's go look at that section of the ToS:

These Terms will continue to apply until ended by either you or Mozilla. You can choose to end them at any time for any reason by deleting your Mozilla account, discontinuing your use of the Services, and if applicable, unsubscribing from our emails. We may suspend or terminate your access to the Services at any time for any reason, including, but not limited to, if we reasonably believe: (i) you have violated these Terms, (ii) you create risk or possible legal exposure for us; or (iii) our provision of the Services to you is no longer commercially viable. We will make reasonable efforts to notify you by the email address associated with your Mozilla account or the next time you attempt to access the Services. In all such cases, these Terms shall terminate, including, without limitation, your license to use the Services, except that the following sections shall continue to apply: Indemnification, Disclaimer; Limitation of Liability, Miscellaneous.

Bud. This says "we are not obligated to provide services to you and we may stop providing services that cost us more money to maintain than is viable." This isn't about selling your data, this is about backwards compatibility and sunsetting projects. They don't have to keep providing access to services they're no longer developing nor bend over backwards to make sure that you can keep running a version of the browser that uses the extensions they dropped support for ten years ago.

Ugh. I got to the section where they talk about cucking for manifest3 and jesus this asshole. Manifest 3 is a defacto set of web standards that are changing because google has so much market share as a browser that if they do something everybody else has to follow or they're going to break basic functionality; if they don't make these changes eventually a shitload of websites just will not work on firefox. WAY more than currently experience this problem. Nobody is happy about manifest 3 and the fact that mozilla put out a press release about coming manifest 3 changes (that was not positive!) doesn't mean they're happy about getting dragged along by the nose; this blogger would prefer something like them refusing to adopt those standards, but all that would happen is that they'd lose more users because less shit would work on firefox browsers since people write their sites for chrome first and anything else second if at all.

This writer also gripes a lot about things like "mozilla took away this functionality for the sake of security and SURE you can change that by going into the configurations but it should be an option right in the first panel of the settings what are they really trying to hide???" and they're not trying to hide anything bud they're trying to make a functional browser with intuitive menus for people who aren't power users.

Like they want to be able to do everything they want and they want to be able to see the option in front of them at all times. It's a weird combination of "I know how to configure everything about this browser" and "if a setting is ever hidden behind a readmore it's a dark pattern and is an attack on user privacy." Like they gripe a lot about privacy and then link to a bunch of pages on mozilla where they explain their privacy settings and link to tutorials on how to hide the data that they just explained they collect.

Yeah this is someone I would walk away from in order to avoid getting into a fistfight.

"FOSS licenses are nice but they don't ensure quality" nobody said they did.

"FOSS licensed softwares don't always accept user participation in development" nobody said they did

"I can't change the actual code of firefox to remove things that I don't like don't tell me to fork it it has to be all or nothing mozilla specifically has to do what I want or it's user hostile" I can see why it would be hostile to you as a user fuck you dude this is why forks *exist* (also the "spyware" discussed is basic browser tracking stuff, the realistic necessities of how email work that make it not private by default like the PROTOCOLS are not private you can't get around that, and a lot of the stuff is opt out but improves functionality for day to day users, AND a lot of the tracking is specifically for people with logged-in accounts which are not necessary to use firefox like if you hate pocket don't use it my friend! I also hate pocket it is quite simple to never use it thanks)

"There's no justification for making the source code unavailable" my dude. https://hg.mozilla.org/mozilla-central/

"If they really cared about an open internet they'd work toward killing capitalism." Friend. I think there's very little more that a web browser could do to undermine the capitalist nature of huge chunks of the web and maintain a broad userbase than what firefox is doing.

I'm reminded of the time that I saw someone losing their shit about a linux distro that included chrome as *a* browser - not the default browser, but *a* browser.

It is an unpleasant fact that a lot of firefox's funding comes from google. That's part of why google is still the default search engine in Firefox and I read some similar articles decrying mozilla's residence firmly in Google's pocket a few years ago. I don't think there's anyone at mozilla who is genuinely pleased that their cheques are signed by google, but there are a ton of people at mozilla who are happy they can keep the lights on because getting paid by google means that they can do as much as they possibly can to create a functional browser that has a significant interest in privacy by default and that can be made *VERY* private by a dedicated user.

Anyway a lot of the stuff on this post is things like "a certificate expired five years ago and broke extensions and that means that mozilla is incompetent and hates users" or "eleven years ago there was a slapfight in the bug reporting forums between a user and a mod and the fact that the user was kicked after repeatedly being told his fix wasn't going to get made is censorship."

The big beefs at the center of this post are:

Mozilla collects data on users

Mozilla limits functionality that should be up to the users

Mozilla takes money from google

and my refutations are:

it does, and it is less than any other mainstream browser and is much much more transparent about what data is collected and how to prevent that data from being collected

A lot of the functionality they're discussing is still there and the stuff that isn't is allowing unsigned extensions which, dude, put a fork in it. They're not going to budge on unsigned extensions but the bar you have to clear to get signed is really really low; like this guy is LITERALLY saying "allow the installation of malicious extensions."

Yep. They do. This point reminds me of a lot of the people on tumblr who hate ads but also hate it when people pay for tumblr. As it turns out making things costs money, and making things used by millions of people costs *A LOT* of money.

I mean FFS one of the things this writer complains about is that Mozilla has a YouTube page.

This isn't just letting perfect be the enemy of good, it's letting perfect be the enemy of *functionally existing as a large organization in the modern world.*

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoy my blog, thank you for letting me know!

[oliversrarebooks]

a good grade in being brainwashed: the perfect pet

tw: pet whump, bbu, dehumanization, brainwashing, memory wipe

Previous > Masterlist

"You need more than good looks to get the lead part, you know," said Toby, casually coming up behind Vinay and leaning against his chair. "That's why they'll undoubtedly go with me. No hard feelings. If you're very lucky, though, you'll get to play a supporting role in helping my star shine that much brighter."

Vinay suppressed the urge to point out that it was Toby who convinced him to sign up for theater in the first place, knowing full well that he was the idiot who let Toby talk him into things. "I'll have you know I've been practicing for this audition all week. You shouldn't assume it will be easy."

Toby sighed and rolled his eyes. "You've been practicing all week and yet you're still so stiff. Stiff as a board!" He shook Vinay lightly as if to make a point. "The lead role isn't stiff. He's adventurous. Dashing! Charismatic! And right now you look like a tired accountant three years from retiring, whose idea of adventure is to buy medium salsa instead of mild."

He scowled, because unfortunately Toby was probably right. He wasn't sure he was cut out for acting at all, and the thought of going up on the stage and delivering his monologue before a judging panel… "What do you suggest, then?"

"Here, I've got it." Toby circled around behind him and put his hands on Vinay's shoulders. "You have to let your muscles relax."

"What are you doing?" said Vinay with considerable alarm.

"I'm helping with your stiffness, obviously." Toby was kneading at his shoulders, and unfortunately for Vinay's resolve, it felt amazing.

"You're just trying to get a rise out of me."

"And even though you know that, it's still working."

Of course it was. Vinay never knew what Toby was thinking, giving him a massage in front of everyone gathered for the audition, not that anyone was really noticing.

Actually, no. Vinay knew exactly what Toby was thinking, because it was what Toby was always thinking. He wanted attention, and as usual, Vinay was a convenient source for it.

"Let all that tension out of those muscles," said Toby in a tone that might have been soothing if it weren't Toby. "Just let your mind go blank. And think about what it would be like if you weren't terminally boring."

"Thanks," said Vinay, dripping with sarcasm. "I'll do my best."

"You're so very welcome. I'm always happy to help a fellow thespian!"

Vinay knew he had to do something to take his mind off of warm hands on his shoulders, lest he start to get uncomfortable feelings for his irritating roommate. "I wanted to ask you, have you studied for organic chem yet?"

"Eh, nah. I don't need to. I see organic chem as more of an art than a science really."

"…It's very literally a science."

"So I can probably intuit all the answers. I'll be fine."

That's right, Vinay needed this reminder of how absolutely infuriating Toby could be. He didn't take anything seriously but acting and inflating his ego -- although Vinay suspected there was more going on there, a lot more.

Ever since the very first day they'd been paired together in the dorms, he had an uncanny knack for getting on Vinay's nerves. He seemed to have a supernatural ability for pushing Vinay's buttons just enough to drive him up the wall, but never quite enough that Vinay could truly dislike him. Whenever Vinay wanted peace and quiet, there he'd be, demanding attention. And whenever Vinay was lonely… well, he'd usually be there too. And perhaps that wasn't so terrible.

"You should really study after this. I'll help you."

"Hmm… I suppose I could help you study, if you really want me to. But only if we order Chinese. I can't study on an empty stomach, you know."

"Fine. Deal."

The auditorium went quiet as the director got up on stage. "All right, we're going to begin auditions. Everyone auditioning for the male lead, please head backstage now. When your name is called, you'll have five minutes to deliver your monologue."

"Oh, here we go!" said Toby, cracking his knuckles and grinning. "Time to shine!"

"Right." Vinay tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as he followed Toby backstage. He probably wasn't going first, so at least he'd have five minutes to take some deep breaths and calm down before --

"Vinay? You're up first."

Shit.

"Knock 'em dead," said Toby, clapping him on the back. "Break a leg. Break both your legs."

"What?"

"Shatter your collarbone. Suffer third degree burns to over sixty percent of your body."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Well, if breaking your leg is lucky, more injuries must be extra luck."

Vinay groaned and brushed Toby off as he walked out onto stage with a stride he hoped was confident. He turned to the front and looked at the director.

And his mind went immediately blank.

---

Vinay's mind went immediately blank when he saw the discount pet in the case in the corner, B211.

Toby. It was Toby. But that wasn't possible.

He looked so different from the last time Vinay had seen him. His hair was neatly done and he was wearing a tailored uniform, nothing at all like the tousled hair and loud colors he'd normally preferred. But the most striking thing about him was the smile. It was no longer that cocky grin he always wore when he'd gotten your attention. It was a customer service smile, a meek and submissive smile, a smile tinged with desperation.

But it was Toby. Even though that didn't seem possible, there was no mistake.

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend that one," said the salesman. "He's a bit more high maintenance than our other Romantics, and you're looking for a pet that's very independent, right?"

Vinay nodded and let the salesman lead him away to a different pet on display, but his mind remained behind.

How the hell did Toby end up as a pet? Vinay had spent so much time with him in college and never suspected that he might be a pet. Sure, he struggled with his grades, and was a bit on the unstable side, but surely that didn't mean he was a pet. Had he signed up voluntarily? Had he gotten himself in trouble, the sort of trouble that got him designated a risk to himself? Did he have a nervous breakdown?

And did he remember Vinay? No, he couldn't possibly. Pets all had their former memories erased through what was said to be a very humane process, to ease their transition into a better life. Toby likely didn't remember anything at all about him.

And that thought made him slightly ill.

"I can tell this one's not to your liking," said the salesman, and Vinay realized he'd been making a disgusted look in the vague direction of the pet the salesman was showing off. "Well, I think you're going to like this pet. He's low maintenance and is trained to cook…"

"That sounds interesting," said Vinay, trying to regain his focus.

He'd come here to find a companion pet on the recommendation of his therapist. His job left him with plenty of money but even more stress, he'd had little luck with making friends or dating, and he'd been getting desperately lonely and touch-starved. His therapist quite reasonably pointed out that that was one of the primary functions of pets, to ease loneliness.

Vinay had never considered it before. He'd never been fond of his family's Domestics. His father had preferred them unseen and unheard, so they tended to flit around the house like ghosts. Vinay certainly didn't want a pet like that. He wanted a pet with some personality, who could brighten his days and give him something to do other than work and sleep.

And he absolutely could not buy Toby, not that he would even consider it. However Toby had ended up as a pet, it was not his business, and Vinay was a stranger to him now anyway. Even if he didn't have his memory cleaned, Toby would no doubt hate being stuck with Vinay again. Most importantly, there was a rule in the Pet Owners' Handbook warning against keeping pets that the owner knew before they were pets. After all, pets had their memories erased so that their training would take well and so they wouldn't experience any unnecessary duress. Digging up those memories could cause psychological harm.

There was another customer in front of Toby now. Vinay had no reason to worry about him - he probably made a great pet, and would be bought up quickly.

That thought didn't make Vinay feel better at all.

The salesman directed him to the largest case at the end of the show floor. "And I've saved the best for last. This is a premium model, one of the finest we've had in this showroom. He does it all, and does it in style."

The premium pet was perfectly coiffed and very handsome. His smile looked much more natural than some of the other pets', warm and inviting, as though he truly wanted to be your companion. The salesman eagerly listed his attributes: independent, intelligent, capable of being a personal assistant, eager to please…

This one was everything he had wanted in a pet, just the sort of thing he'd been looking for. The pet was expensive, but Vinay could easily afford this indulgence. He'd be the perfect addition to Vinay's lonely condo, one he'd be proud to have.

"If this pet is within your budget, I think he'd be best suited to your needs, sir."

"He does seem like an ideal fit…" said Vinay with a lack of enthusiasm that surprised even him. After all, wasn't this exactly what he wanted? An ideal pet, perfectly trained, quiet, obedient, affectionate.

Just the right boring, corporate addition to his boring, corporate life.

"Would you like to spend a little time with him? I'm sure once you do, you won't be leaving this showroom alone."

Who was this premium pet before he was a pet? He wasn't meant to worry about that. They were all supposed to be volunteers or those who otherwise couldn't live a normal life, and the pet process was supposed to be humane and gentle. It was good for them, and good for pet owners.

But when he glanced over at Toby's blank and docile face…

"Maybe, but I'm still interested in that one. The one I saw when I first came in."

What was he doing? He couldn't buy Toby. That pet wasn't even Toby any more. He wasn't the roommate that drove Vinay up the wall at every given opportunity. He no longer knew any of Vinay's secrets, shared with him in late night conversations. He was a pet, now, and this premium pet was much better suited to Vinay's needs, just like the salesman said.

His needs. How often did he really think about his needs? What were they? Was a premium pet really what he needed?

Every rational part of his mind was screaming "bad idea" as he walked back to Toby's case. As he approached, a tiny spark of light appeared in Toby's dull eyes, and Vinay knew, against all of his sensible judgement, that he wasn't going to leave here without his old frenemy.

It had to be delusional, leftover feelings from his college years, all the time spent tutoring Toby and trying to get him to take his work seriously, all those times they'd spent laughing and talking about subjects both deep and ridiculous…

Vinay didn't really know what he needed, but he couldn't help but feel that Toby needed him.

"Are you sure?" said the salesman, clearly confused as to why Vinay had gone back here after being shown the premium model. "This one's a refurb. That's why he's on a discount."

A refurb. Someone had previously owned and sold Toby. He'd had his memories wiped at least twice now.

"Do you know why he was returned?"

"Ah, his original owner simply found a new relationship, and was displeased with the amount of attention this Romantic required. He's been wiped of those memories, and we've done our best to train out his unfortunate need for attention, of course…"

Vinay made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a choke. Of course Toby was attention-seeking as a pet. If there was one thing Toby couldn't stand, it was being ignored or bored.

And his previous owner hadn't appreciated that. He could imagine Toby's desperation as his bids for affection were rebuked by a busy owner. Lonely. Rejected. They surely didn't know how to handle him. Vinay knew, though. He always had.

"I want to buy this one."

The salesman was as surprised as Vinay was, going on about how they don't accept returns on refurbished pets. That hardly mattered. Vinay wasn't going to be returning him.

He was actually going to go through with this. He was going to own Toby.

No, he was going to own the pet that was once Toby. He wasn't the same, and Vinay couldn't treat him that way, lest he damage his new pet.

It would be fine. He'd stick to the rules in the Pet Owners' Handbook, the thick tome he'd already read half a dozen times, and it would be fine. He wouldn't bring up old memories. He'd give this pet a good life and all of the attention he deserved, at least when he was off work. It'd be fine.

And so he'd ended up in the sales office, signing mountains of paperwork to make him the legal owner of B211.

"We'd be happy to offer you any of our very affordable add-on packages," said the salesman. "We have additional skill training, discipline courses, and a wide variety of modifications we can make to your new pet before he goes home with you. For this particular pet, I would strongly recommend additional obedience and docility courses, to make sure he's well suited to your busy lifestyle."

"No, that won't be necessary," said Vinay, thinking of Toby's -- no, B211's -- eyes. Vinay had never seen him so quiet and docile. More obedience training seemed like the last thing he needed.

"Very well. If you change your mind, you can always give him discipline and obedience refreshers as necessary, although it might be more difficult for the pet once he becomes attached to you."

"I understand," said Vinay, signing another packet of papers. His brain was already swimming with how best he should welcome his new pet into his home. He'd planned for it extensively, read all the books, and of course Toby -- no, no, B211, damn it -- had to throw a wrench in his plans.

He was sure of one thing, though. B112 would be safe and happy with him if it was the last thing he did.

Previous > Masterlist

I'm sure this will go well.

@there-will-always-be-blood @kisa-writes @andithewhumper @handsinmotion @whumperhive

@eventide-triptych @pumpkinsncoffee

[kimpossibly]

THE CHAIN -> e. roundtree PART ONE: drummers' curse

PAIRING: eddie roundtree x fem!reader WARNINGS: mentions of minor injuries (NOTE: some warnings for this story include MAJOR spoilers for this series down the line, so I'll put those beneath the cut. If you don't want to get the story spoiled, then just ignore it ― but I did want to provide the chance for you to get an idea of how the story will go later down the line if you have any sensitive topics you'd like to avoid. please prioritize your mental wellbeing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies in advance for making Y/n the drummer and putting Warren on rhythmic guitar. I just loooooooove female drummers. Also can you tell that I love Karen and Camila? Because I love them with alllllll my heart and soul. Another sorry in advance because this one may break your heart a little ― it sure broke mine. NOTES ON THE WORK: I used the timeline from the book, mostly because I couldn't keep track of it in the show haha. I read the book twice before watching what episodes of the show were out, so the lines may blur between the two. For your convenience (and mine, tbh), I'll put the year all the characters were born underneath this note so you can reference it when you need to. I just couldn't keep track honestly. I think in the show they start the band when Graham is fourteen, but in the book he's around 18 when they add Warren on, so it's kind of confusing?? I decided to stick with the book because it was a more physical timeline. Anyways, enough talking, here's your guide! ― YEARS BORN (in order of age) Billy Dunne -> 1947 Camila Dunne -> 1949 Graham Dunne -> 1949 Warren Rhodes -> 1949 Eddie Roundtree -> 1949 Daisy Jones -> 1951 Y/n L/n -> 1951

WARNINGS (SPOILERS INCLUDED): reader has a terminal illness. Discussions about death and loss, depictions of grief, hospitals

It's no secret that the renowned 1970s band Daisy Jones & The Six went through its fair share of ups and downs. Until their inexplicable split on July 12, 1979, they were undeniably one of the biggest bands in the world. While a more detailed account of the band's history will be recounted in a more thorough transcript, this advanced edition will focus specifically on two of the band members: Eddie Roundtree and Y/n L/n. More specifically, it will focus on their individual and combined roles they played in the band's eventual downfall.

THE RISE OF THE SIX (1965 - 1972)

GRAHAM: Y/n grew up next door to us. She was a little younger, two years or so, so we never really gave her a second look. Until the day she wandered into our garage during band practice out of nowhere. She practically ripped the drum sticks out of Chuck's hand and just started...wailing on 'em. I mean, she could make your head spin. Here was this thirteen, fourteen year old girl next door, this kid, and she was the best fuckin' drummer we'd seen. I mean, in the neighborhood. She wasn't Mitch Mitchell, but she was the closest thing we had. And she was too good to be shoved in the back with a tambourine. But we couldn't just take Chuck's spot away and hand it over to the new girl.

CHUCK: I knew right then and there that they wanted to give my spot to the new girl. There was no doubt in my mind. And, you know what? I got it. This chick was good. Way too good. Did I feel threatened by her? Hell yeah, I did. And at the time I probably wanted to tell her to screw off, but now...now I get it.

EDDIE: She was good. Amazing, actually. Graham and I looked at each other and knew that she was something we'd be stupid to pass up on.

BILLY: When Chuck told us he wanted out, we were pissed, of course. We were heading off to open for Winters that week. It felt like things were going to look up, just like I always knew they would, and he was ditching. I know now that that wasn't really what it was ― he'd gotten into college, fan-fucking-tastic. It was a good opportunity for him, a sure thing. But right then it felt like a betrayal.

WARREN: So he ditched, and Billy just turned right to Eddie and said, "Go tell Y/n she's in." And he was just...terrified.

EDDIE: I said, "why me?" You know? It wasn't my band, it was Billy's. And here he was, ordering me to tell some new girl she was in. I was fifteen and could barely ask a waitress for ketchup. At the time, that was probably the last thing I wanted to do.

GRAHAM: He asked why it had to be him, and I told him the truth: he was the least intimidating. Billy, you know him. He had a tendency to get too focused on the task at hand and could get a little...harsh. And Warren? He had one of the biggest personalities you could find. He'd scare her off before we had a chance to offer her the spot...[Pauses] I probably could've done it, in all honesty. I just didn't want to screw it up. Eddie was better with words than I was, and we needed her in our band. Badly.

EDDIE: And I remember thinking, "Here goes fucking nothing."

The doorbell ringing was what got her attention. No one ever used the doorbell. It was always a knock ― that, or someone just walked in. The L/n's front door was hardly ever locked back then. Y/n's mom was a nurse, formerly a school nurse. She didn't want to risk the chance that some kid took a spill and had to limp home on an injured leg. So all the neighborhood knew, if you got hurt playing outside, you could march on over to Miss L/n's place to get yourself fixed up.

Y/n had her own share of walk-ins, too. By the time she was ten, she had seen her mom help out enough kids that she was practically a nurse herself. She could disinfect and bandage and stitch up any old case that walked through her front door. And if someone who was too busted up for first aid? She knew where the keys to the family Winnebago was and how to drive herself and them to the local hospital. She was only fourteen and didn't have a license, but it didn't matter. She was a safer driver than most everyone else on the road.

So when someone rang the doorbell, she assumed that it was someone too injured to knock. She grabbed the car keys and made sure her suture kit was within reach.

When she opened the door, she didn't see the blood and broken bones she was expecting. Instead, Eddie Roundtree stood on her front porch, hands shoved anxiously in his pockets. He looked all right, but that didn't stop her from asking: "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Um. No," Eddie said quickly, taking his hands out of his pockets.

"Okay," she said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah, sure."

Y/n turned and walked further into the house, prompting him to close the door and follow her. She led him to the kitchen. "Lemonade? I made it this morning," she offered, already opening the fridge.

EDDIE: That jug of lemonade was bigger than she was. [Laughs] I could barely watch her get it down. I was afraid she'd drop it on her foot. But she just took her time getting it from the fridge to the table. I found out later that her mom bought a pound of lemons a week because Y/n wanted something to offer every kid that came through their front door. [Pauses]. She was just like that.

He gave a nod. Y/n stood on her toes to grab two glasses from the cabinet. She poured one glass, hands shaking from the weight of the jug, and Eddie realized that this awkward silence was probably the best time to transition into his real reason for visiting.

"Chuck left the band."

"Oh," she said simply. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

She paused, looking confused. And Eddie, who's will to live was slowly draining from this conversation alone, raced to finish what he had (awkwardly) started.

"I just mean that...you're in. The band. If you want to be our drummer, you're in."

Y/n paused mid-pour, setting the pitcher down on the counter carefully. She turned around until her back pressed into the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her chest. "And you thought I'd jump at the chance to join?"

"No. No," Eddie said quickly. "We just wanted to offer you the spot if you still wanted it."

"Did I say that I wanted it?"

"No, but―"

"Okay, just making sure," she handed him a glass and hopped up onto the counter, crossing her legs underneath her. "So you need a drummer?"

"Yes. Badly."

She took a sip from her glass and paused, as if weighing her options in her mind. She swallowed. "Are there any other girls in the band yet?"

EDDIE: Yet. Like she knew it was going to happen. It was just a matter of time.

"No, not yet." he replied.

"Then be honest with me: are you guys sleazeballs?"

EDDIE: Sleazeballs. She didn't sugarcoat things. She wanted to know if we were creeps or if we'd let her play drums in peace. I get that, one hundred percent. but back then, it felt like she was trying to accuse us of something.

"No," he said quickly, "Well...Warren can be a little much, but he means well."

She took another slow sip, once again weighing her options in her mind. "When's your next gig?"

"We play pretty much every night, wherever we can find. It might take us a bit to teach you the songs, but―"

"I can learn them," she said confidently. "How soon do you need someone?"

"Soon as possible."

EDDIE: By then, I was terrified she'd say no. All these questions and never once did she seem really interested in joining. I was already trying to figure out which of us would be the least shit at the drums.

"Okay. I'm in."

EDDIE: And that was it. She said yes. I didn't appreciate how much she'd saved our asses right then, but I was relieved. That was for sure.

GRAHAM: Eddie came back, told us she said yes. She couldn't join practice until her mom got home ― she didn't want the house to be empty if some injured kid wandered by ― so we had about an hour and a half to teach her every song.

BILLY: She picked 'em up like [snaps] that. Never doubted it for a single second, either. Once she knew it, she knew it.

EDDIE: She showed up to the first gig in overalls and sneakers. She let Camila put a little makeup on her, too, but we could all tell she hated it.

CAMILA: She was sweet. And, surprisingly, a little shy. I could tell she was a little scared of the boys. That's why she was a little cold to them at first. But she was just the coolest kid. I mean, fourteen years old and joining a rock band? She was a little rockstar, right off the bat. She asked me to put some makeup on her before her first gig with the band. When I gave her a mirror after and asked her what she thought, she said, "I like it, but it makes me feel like a doll. Not a drummer." She liked the glitter the most, though. It became her trademark. She put it on her cheeks, in her hair, everywhere that would catch the light. She'd come off stage and you'd see a little pile of sparkles behind the drum set.

EDDIE: Right off the bat, first gig. It was enough to freak anyone out. She joined the band six hours ago, learned the songs three hours ago, and now she was playing in a club to a couple dozen people. It seems so small now, but back then? It was like starting at Wembley.

Y/n shook out her hands for the eighth time. It wasn't about loosening up for the gig anymore, she just needed something to do that didn't involve throwing a punch or screaming at the top of her lungs. She looked up at Billy, standing at the front of the group, cool and calm as ever, and she had the distinct urge to kick him in the shin. Why did he get to be so calm when she was right behind him, on the verge of throwing up?

She turned to anxiously twisting a single drum stick between her fingers, around and around, faster and faster. Eventually it became so mindless that she barely noticed as the stick slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She bent to retrieve it quickly, hoping no one had noticed.

But, of course, someone did.

"Hey," Eddie said, looking back at her.

"Warren knocked it out of my hands." she said quickly.

Eddie glanced over at Warren, who was a solid two feet ahead of her, physically unable to have knocked a drum stick out of her hands. Y/n knew from that glance that he could see right through her lie. Now she really wasn't in the mood to talk.

EDDIE: She was terrified. And she was lying her ass off about it. I didn't want to run the risk that she choked up in the middle of the show and screwed up our set. So I figured I'd just, talk. And if she wanted me to screw off, she'd tell me. She had a way of saying exactly what she wanted.

"You've heard of the Drummer's Curse, right?" he asked.

She frowned in a way that told him no, she did not.

"First, there's the obvious stuff: drummers have to lug around the most shit out of anyone in the band. Drums sets are heavy and expensive, so there's that. But the worst part is that they're easy to overlook, you know? They're at the back of the stage behind all this shit, everyone stands in front of 'em. Drummers can fade into the background real easy. The best drummers can outshine anyone else onstage. You'll do that one day, but if you're freaked out now, just let yourself fade a little. You'll play better than anyone up there and the crowd'll know it, but you can let them focus on someone else if you want. You get what I'm saying?"

EDDIE: For a second, I thought she was going to punch me.

But then she nodded, wiped off some of the pink lipstick Camila had put on her with the back of her hand, and pushed her bangs to the side. "Drummers' Curse, huh?"

"Some people believe in it, some don't."

"And you?" she asked, turning to him. "Do you believe in that kind of stuff?"

Eddie paused. Shrugged. "Sure. Seems true enough to me."

Y/n nodded. "I don't. It sounds like bullshit to me."

Eddie frowned. She looked up at him. "I'm not going to let myself fade because I'm scared. I signed up for this, you know. The least I can do is own my place. If I outshine you, it's just because I'm that good," she said matter-of-factly. "I will need help carrying the stuff, though."

EDDIE: I didn't know what to say. I mean, [laughs] what the hell do you say to that?

He felt like he'd had the rug pulled out from under him. And then, he surprised himself: he laughed.

And Y/n surprised herself then, too ― she smiled.

EDDIE: That was just...[Shakes head. Smiles.] I don't know.

"I think we can manage that." he said with a smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen...The Dunne Brothers!"

WARREN: If I were still the guy I was back then, I would completely undersell her to you right now. I'd tell you she was an average drummer who was more in it for the thrill than the craft. But that wasn't it at all. She got up there and she just...shined.

GRAHAM: We all knew she'd be scared before the first gig. In fact, she looked about ready to throw up when they announced us on stage. But the second she hit those lights, it was like she was a different person. She waved and smiled like she'd done it a hundred times. The only other person I'd seen do that ― I mean really become another person on stage ― is Billy.

BILLY: That first show with Y/n was a little bit of a trainwreck. We were at least a half beat behind the entire show. And I'm not saying I blame her, but she was new and shiny. We got through it just fine, but I think we all felt it wasn't our best show.

WARREN: That show was bitchin'.

GRAHAM: It was a great show.

WARREN: Back in those days, we'd get off stage and start cheering for ourselves like we'd just won the goddamn lottery. Somewhere along the way, that stopped. We'd just pat each other on the back, say 'good job,' and that was that. But when Y/n got backstage? She was screaming and yelling like it was the best night of her life. And all of us joined in without a second thought ― well, maybe all of us except Billy. He was kind of a hard ass, even then. None of us had ever heard this girl talk louder than a glorified whisper, and then she came out of nowhere with this full-body scream. And who did she run to? Well, I think you can guess.

CAMILA: She just about jumped into Eddie's arms.

Adrenaline is a funny thing. For one, the effect is had on different people can be vastly different depending on who it was. Some people mellowed out, some people amped up. Y/n fell into the second category.

The second she got off the stage, a giddy laugh ripped from her chest, turning more into a scream of triumph halfway through. She was buzzing. Literally. Her hands felt numb ― or, more accurately, they felt like they felt more. Everything she touched was sharp and blinding.

The next person to join in on the screaming and jumping around was Warren. Then Graham. Then Eddie. And then, reluctantly, Billy. Eddie was the last to come off stage, slinging his guitar off his shoulders, and Y/n, without thinking much about it, ran straight to him, leaping directly into his unsuspecting arms.

The others were too hyped up on their own adrenaline rushes to notice that anything out of the ordinary had happened. She wrapped her legs around his waist hanging onto him like a koala. And Eddie, who couldn't deny adrenaline, held onto her back without a second thought.

After a moment, she leaned back, arms still wrapped around his neck, faces inches apart. "Drummers' curse, huh?"

EDDIE: She didn't fade. She couldn't, not even if she tried.

Eddie just smiled and shook his head. "Sounds like bullshit to me."

[franki-lew-yo]

Worst year of your life so far

It's hard not to feel like every time a moderately good and nice or even great thing happens to me I ought to expect and inconvenience or a TERRIBLE thing to happen right after. This is genuinely why I'm afraid to be happy. I don't have an exact religion, I'm just certain that I am in fact an evil person or at least some evil person's revitalized soul. Since November of last year my life has been, in this order:

>Receive notice that I might owe SSI 15k because a miscalculation says they're overpaying me. I don't have 15k or stashed away 15k. I've been using every cent of money given to survive and pay back overdue fees. Life coach is sure I won't have to pay anything. I don't believe her.

>Find out that the location of my jobsite is being terminated within a week before the site is closed down. Can not be moved to a new location. The chain is dying. No location has room for me.

>Spend the days up to Christmas helping my coworkers who were a lot of times my only non-family communication, tear apart our store and then become strangers. The worst part is when they have me throw out hundreds of dollars of boutique clothes because the company wants to write it off as a reduction, DIRECTLY into a garbage bin. We'll be terminated from any further locations if we're caught trying to save or sneak away with anything. It's Christmas time and here's some clothes for needy people and my company is literally throwing them in a landfill. I just watch.

>Is repeatedly told by my job coach, REPEATEDLY, that I will get a job at a place which shares my old workplace's union. Nope. I don't. They string the both of us along for four months. By the time we move on to a new place in mind THAT job opportunity fizzles out after too many tries. My job coach and I have a fight and he doesn't talk to me or wants to see me. I feel nothing but shame. He and his wife are going through their own crisis.

>While ALL of this is happening I'm watching an active genocide a take place in real time. I try to do my daily clicks and boycott as much as possible. Come August I use up the rest of my unemployment money donating to any vetted fundraiser I can. I hope, I HOPE every time that THIS MONTH must be the last month of this slaughter. The powers that be have to do something...the answer is a resounding no. More and more innocent families are butchered. I can't offer anything really substantial.

>TWICE. TWICE IN ONE YEAR- my EBT gets cut off until I repeal it.

>My sister and I are both unemployed and in mental (in her case physical anguish). We blow up at each other more than once, especially over politics. She gets a job that she hates and is dangerous before the thankfully quits. She gets another job and is layed off for no reason in the same week she gets it.

>Can't afford a real dentist. Have to do a dentist-intern who tells me to watch my cavities that I have but no they can't do anything about it.

>My laptop's mouse stops working. It's fine for tablet but it means I need to use an external mouse for everything casual and writing. I'm already avoiding doing too much digital artwork on account of not wanting to wear down my system. Oh also my screen has a shadow on in.

>My mom is evicted from the house she and her boyfriend have lived in for years now and is forced to live in my grandpa's house which HE'S been forced to move out of. It was also a house I had lived in for awhile as well and so all of my sister and my own childhood things have to come back with us to our apartment. We don't have room. I'm going to have to downsize so many of my things.

>Catch covid because I was too stupid to bother with a booster. It delays getting me my new job and tasting anything for a month. Also delays me getting to work on the art I need done by September/October.

>Dog gets a bad flea infestation almost immediately after this because of summer heat. Also she wasn't on flea medication when it happened.

>My new job is two days a week rather than three. Lesser pay than what I used to have. All throughout October my schedule is cut to one day a week. I can never truly finish my job for my supervisors like they need to of me.

>Life coach assigns new job specialist; the one who got me my job. New specialist tells me all about Tiktok and how I need it and how I ought to download and post more on there. When I ask her for help navigating the platform and for her to help me on my social media art campaign; she shuts me out. Tells me repeatedly she's not versed in social media and tells me to instead take an online class. That's not what I want from her I want her to support me as an artist and that means occasionally just following my pages. She gives me a hard "no". Literally all my plans for a semi-active youtube, tiktok and instagram campaign fall apart. If I can not be supported even emotionally what's the POINT??

>I learn just this night how I unintentionally deeply hurt one of my oldest friends on the platform when I get the courage to ask if she's really upset with me or not. She blocks me mid me trying to ask for more information on the incident that hurt her. I do think I wronged her, but it's that I didn't even know I did that HURTS. Another one of my friends is right in the way of a frikin hurricane.

>Sister/Roommate is diagnosed with a condition that makes drawing difficult. I try not to draw near or around her as much as possible. It hurts. We are both still artists.

>Next door neighbor who's made creepy sexual comments about me to my sister throws dog poop on my sister's car at night. He thinks it's our dog even though I'M THE ONE picking up our dog's poop every single time.

and finally

>Country elects the same admitted fascist we kicked out for starting a riot.

Art, fandom and my dog is literally all I have. It is my one and only escape and happiness. I would be proud of myself and how much I've matured since just last year, but I can't. I can't be because I'm too miserable and so is everyone else around me. People tell me it's my fault or not my fault, people tell me I can help but won't or that I can't help at all. It's never enough. I wish I could be a better friend towards every one of you. I wish I could be a better creator. I wish I could find the time in my schedule to find a time in my therapists' schedule to see me again. All I ever feel like is an entitled garbage heap for even complaining when so many people are suffering to such an insane degree. Even the campaign people coming to me about how they want me to reblog their posts trigger me on account of how so many seem to forget they've already talked to me before. The fact that I am forgotten by circumstances where people can't remember anyone's username hurts me when it shouldn't.

I just want it all to stop.

----

And, for the first time, I actually want to thank you if you somehow read any of this. This is going to get deleted soon (or maybe not) because it is a trauma dump and TMI.

And yet I genuinely needed to get all of that off my chest. I am INCREDIBLY stressed out and hate to feel bad for myself because that just makes me hate myself and then feel more bad for myself AGAIN rather than do what I keep saying I want to do and help people. I wish this clarity and odd inner-peace wasn't brought about by such turmoil and inner pain. I wish that so much. I guess to quote Art Spiegelman quoting someone else: "Samuel Beckett once said: 'Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.'...but then again, he did say it."

[commissions4aid-international]

Hello, 🌹🇵🇸🍉🍉 I hope you are well. Im Reem shehab from palestine gaza. My Tumblr account has been terminated. This is my daughter account, which I use to send and receive messages I've created a gofundme campaign To collect donations to get my family out of Gaza Please visit my account (blog) and watch my daughter Sahar’s videos in which she talks about the situation in Gaza Could you please help me reblog the post on my account to save my family from the war in Gaza? 🙏 This is one of the videos in which Sahar, my daughter, talks about the situation in Gaza. https://www.tumblr.com/malakshehab/752252542231134208/donate-to-save-my-family-and-children-from-the?source=share Can you help me spread the campaign among your followers https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-sahar-and-her-family-to-evacuate-gaza

Our campaign is vetted by : @el-shab-hussein https://www.tumblr.com/el-shab-hussein/749777880017502208/another-fundraiser-i-trust?source=share I hope you can support and stand by me at the beginning . I hope everyone will donate even a little. I am confident that you will stand with me and support me until I reach my goal and remove my family from the danger of war. Share my story. Pin my story to your page. Everything helps. Can you share some of my posts from time to time? Maybe the internet will be cut off in my area. Please do everything you can The campaign fell into a state of stagnation and inactivity Perhaps with your help, the campaign will return to activity and we will reach the goal and save my family with your help. I'm really tired of spending all day sending messages and asking people to repost in an attempt to save my family. I miss sitting with my children 😞 I don't know how to reach donors, please help me 😞 Send my message to anyone you know who has a lot of followers and ask their followers to donate and share the link. You may save our lives by doing so. For the sake of my children please do something😞🙏🙏🙏 Please share the new post that I published on my blog https://www.tumblr.com/fahedshehab-new/755696669631414272?source=share Please write some words to your followers along with the post urging them to donate and participate. I need that because the campaign is progressing very slowly. I don't want to lose hope, please Thank you ♥️ .

[Verified by el-shab-hussein | €23,701 of €50,000 goal]

Hello Reem! We have shared your post, and we would love to help ♥️

Hey everyone, please take a moment to share and donate to Reem's campaign! She and her family of 7 other people - 5 of which are children - are nearing the halfway point of their goal! They have €1,299 to go, so let's aim to get them there by the end of the week. You can even get the chance of winning a special edition of the Wrinkle in Time series if you donate!

[ccryptidccreek]

HiHello, 🌹🇵🇸🍉

I hope you are well.

Im Fahed shehab from palestine gaza

My Tumblr account has been terminated.

This is my new account, which I use to send and receive messages

I've created a gofundme campaign

To collect donations to get my family out of Gaza

Please visit my account (blog) and watch my daughter Sahar’s videos in which she talks about the situation in Gaza

Could you please help me reblog the post on my account to save my family from the war in Gaza? 🙏This is one of the videos in which Sahar, my daughter, talks about the situation in Gaza.

https://www.tumblr.com/fahedshehab-new/754901997665370112?source=share

Can you help me spread the campaign among your followersI am new to Tumblr and also to GoFundMe.🙏

Our campaign is vetted by :

@el-shab-hussein

https://www.tumblr.com/el-shab-hussein/749777880017502208/another-fundraiser-i-trust?source=share

I hope you can support and stand by me at the beginning .

We still very far from the goal. I hope everyone will donate even a little. I am confident that you will stand with me and support me until I reach my goal and remove my family from the danger of war. Share my story. Pin my story to your page. Everything helps.

Can you share some of my posts from time to time?

Maybe the internet will be cut off in my area.

For the sake of my children please do something😞🙏🙏🙏

Thank you ♥️ .

These are messages I received from @fahedshehab-new You can go to his profile to watch the videos he mentions here yourself.

Please, please donate, or share, be it with friends, or even just a reblog. Don't ever let anyone tell you it's not doing anything, or it doesn't matter. The desert is made individual grains of sand.

[splatoonusna]

Okay y'all I found a work around for the Deep Cut Banners if you have to have them NOW and can't wait for Nintendo to update other regions.

Don't worry, this doesn't involve hacking or anything. I tried it myself just now and it worked. It will also not mess with your Nintendo Online Sub (I don't think it will work if you have Automatic Renewal on though, that's what I read. I don't have mine set to Automatic Renewal. )

So you're going to want to go into your Nintendo Account here -> https://accounts.nintendo.com/

You are going to Change your Region to Japan and Accept the Terms (I'm not sure how this will affect Gold Coins. It didn't mess with my Platinum ones & I didn't have any gold ones so be sure to read the Terms if you're worried about it.)

2. Once you've done that go onto your Switch and into Nintendo Switch Online, you will need to Login again to change over the Region. You won't need to do anything else in there.

3. Then go back out and into News and go to the Splatoon 3 Channel & View All Available News if it isn't already the first post on their Channel. Just click on the Article and Scroll all the way down and Click on This:

4. Your banners should be at the Terminal in the Lobby!

You can change your Region back as soon as you're done receiving your Banners the same way you did it the first time. And you will also need to Log back in to Nintendo Switch Online on your Switch.

Happy Banner Getting!

[silver138]

Perfectly Flawed - Chapter 26

word count - 2.2k warnings - gun and gunshot wound (hypothetical) mentioned Summary: The team wraps up the case, and Lina gets an offer.

Once we're back at the office, I finally start to relax a little, shaking a little as the adrenaline wears off. When we head in to brief the rest of the team, Hotch asks, "Give us a quick rundown of what happened, and then you can start on the paperwork."

Spencer starts by describing the interview of Ms. Sadler, from the reasoning behind the details of the crime scene, on through to her eyewitness account of the unsub and her actions. As he gets to us splitting up to interview Ms. Waters and coming across the unsub by gunpoint, Hotch's face gets unreadably stonier. After Spencer finishes up from our point of view, everyone's attention goes to Derek for his portion.

Explaining that the duffle bag was effectively a decoy, and after he and the rest of the police there headed towards where Spencer and I were, he related everything that happened from his perspective.

"And just as the unsub raises her gun, I aimed a shot at her arm, causing her to drop her weapon. I don't think Aschebrooke realized I was the one that fired a weapon, though, because she then dove at Reid to get him down and out of range of any gunfire," he says, a smirk becoming visible as he finishes.

Hotch looks over at me and says, "So, a weapon is aimed, and you assume fired at, your partner in the field, and your first thought is to minimize the chance of either of you getting a gunshot wound, am I correct?"

I nervously look from Hotch to Penny, back to Hotch, then say, "Um...yes? I mean, I know I could have probably tried to knock the unsub down but, uh, I kind of figured that would have easily backfired. I thought that making sure Dr. Reid didn't get shot meant a better chance of the unsub being subdued, as he wouldn't be slowed down by an injury."

Hotch flicks his gaze from me to Spencer, to Derek, to Penny, then back to me before looking over at Gideon and saying, "You all can go ahead and get a start on paperwork." They then walk off to his office, talking to Gideon along the way.

"Nice going, Supergirl," Elle says as she walks past on the way to her desk, and I smile and flush, walking back with Penny to start our parts of the report.

"You jumped in front of gunfire?!" Penny whisper-shouted as we got settled in the computer room. 

"I-" I start, but am quickly interrupted by a knock on the door. 

"Garcia, if I could speak with you for a few moments..." Hotch says, then looks at me and gives me a nod and a neutral facial expression.

"Sir?" Penny starts, and begins to follow Hotch out of the room, then turns and gives me an incredulous look, then scurries after Hotch.

I get to work on my file, trying to be as detailed as possible, and about halfway through, Penny comes back in and Hotch says, "Aschebrooke, if I could see you in my office, please?"

I gulp and nod, quickly saving my progress, then hurry to follow Hotch. Worried thoughts race through my mind, and all I can think of is that my internship will be cut short due to recklessness, or attempting to do something I'm not supposed to do.

Once inside, he indicates for me to sit down, and he closes the door and goes around to sit at his desk. I immediately launch into an apology. "Sir, I'm sorry, I know I wasn't authorized to do, well, probably any of what I've done on this case, save for the computer work, and I completely understand if you want to terminate my internship, but-"

Hotch raises a hand for me to stop, a small half-smile on his face. "I'm not terminating your internship, Aschebrooke. And you aren't in trouble," he says.

"Oh." I breathe out and try to relax.

"In fact, I was hoping that you could join us full-time, assisting Garcia with the tech work. While she is our resident computer specialist, it's obvious that you have some skills that would benefit this team as well, and I would be remiss if I didn't offer you a place to work alongside the rest of us," he says matter-of-factly.

Surprised, I haltingly ask, "You want me to be an additional tech analyst?"

He nods and says, "Or an agent, if you'd like. You seem to have what it takes, you've already shown you can keep a cool head under pressure."

I try to speak, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth, so I take a breath and smile at Hotch, then say, "I would absolutely love to join as a tech analyst. Um, I might have to think about the 'agent' part, but, uh, I don't want to rule that out quite yet, if that's ok."

"Either way, we're glad to have you on the team long-term," Hotch says, standing up and opening the door. "I can have the paperwork drawn up and ready within a week, if you'd prefer a permanent spot sooner."

"I-yeah, sir, yes, that would be wonderful!" I say as I leave his office to head back to Penny.

As I walk back into the room, I let out a subdued squeal and say to Penelope, "Pen! I can help you permanently! Hotch just offered me a job as an additional tech analyst!"

She gets up and hugs me, smiling broadly, then sits back down and says, "That's awesome! Now, you jumped in front of a gun?!"

Grinning, I sat down and explained my thought process. "Well, I tried to appeal to Daph-the unsub as a fellow bullied kid, but when that didn't work and I saw she was getting ready to shoot Spencer, I had to get him out of harm's way. I figured he'd have a better chance of stopping her than I would, and he'd have a difficult time doing that if he had been shot."

She looks at me, her head tilted, mouth bunched up, and giving me a side-eye, then sighs and says, "Yeah, that's...pretty sound logic, actually. Just...I hope you never do that again."

I give her a small grin and turn back to continue on my paperwork, softly saying, "Well, I might not be able to guarantee that if I take Hotch up on the offer to be an agent as well..."

I hear the chair wheels squeak as she comes up beside me and stares at me. "What?" I say, shrugging and going back to my report.

"I don't think I could be a full-time agent. I wouldn't mind doing it every once in a while, I'd much rather help from here for the most part. But if there's a chance I could be helpful in the field sometimes? Yeah, I could do that." I say, and Penny nods, then wheels back over to do her work.

Finishing up and saving my report, I then stretch in my seat, leaning back and looking at the clock as Spencer appears in the doorway. I grin and say, "Uh, hey, Pen, I'm gonna take my lunch, ok? I've finished up my part, it's already saved. If any folders come in for us to type up, I'll get to it as soon as I get back."

She looks up and gives me a quick salute with two fingers, acknowledging what I've said. I grab my purse and say to Spencer, "Ready, Doc?" getting a nod from him.

Walking towards the cafeteria, Spencer asks, "So, how did your conversation with Hotch go?"

I look at him dumbfounded for a moment, then ask, "How did you know he talked to me in his office?"

He says, "I mean, we can see it pretty clearly from our desks..."

I let out a very small, "Oh," which garners a chuckle from the man. "Um, he...he...offered me a job," I said finally.

He gives me a small smile, and asks, "So, what did you say?"

"I said I'd be happy to join, of course. He also offered the option to be an agent, but I'm not so sure about that one." I said as we got in the cafeteria line.

His smile growing wider, he puts some things on his tray and says, "I mean, you were pretty calm with a gun unexpectedly in your face. And I know you'd have your fellow agents' backs. It might be something to think about."

I bite my lip and look down as we make our way to the cashier, and pay for our lunches. I stay silent until we sit down. I finally look up at Spencer and say, "I don't know. I'm good with being on the team as a tech for now."

Spencer nods and says, "That's fair. And I know Garcia has enjoyed working with you these past few weeks. And I think it's safe to say that the rest of us have, as well."

I smile at Spencer, grateful for his kind words. We continue our lunch, talking about the books we've read lately, while laughing and joking. When we finish, we head back in our respective directions, and he asks, "See you for the ride home?"

I grin and say, "You know it, Doc." 

Walking back in to continue working, I see two folders on the desk next to my computer. Penny spins in her chair to look at me and says with a grin, "So, I guess this officially makes us a crime-fighting duo. Are we Batman and Robin?"

I smile back at her as I get situated, and say, "Honestly, I think this is more of an X-Men kind of deal than Batman and Robin. Or maybe Justice League, but I gotta admit, I'm more of a Marvel girl, so I'm not entirely sure about the last one."

Earning a giggle from Penny, we get to transcribing the folders we have. After maybe an hour, Derek comes in and drops off a couple more, and it isn't long before Penny and I are finished working and we start packing up.

"I hope we have an actual day off before coming back in on Monday," Penny says with a small sigh.

I hum in agreement as we make our way to the elevators, Derek and Spencer not far behind us. After a bit of small talk on the ride down, Spencer and I break off and start heading to the front doors, and I wave and say, "See you guys Monday!"

"Hopefully," Spencer mutters under his breath, and I can't help but laugh.

"You weren't kidding when you said you get called in a lot with this job," I say as we walk towards the station.

"Yeah, not much chance for an active social life, I'm afraid," he says, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Ah, well, good thing I don't have one," I say with a giggle, which draws a smile from Spencer.

He sighs and says, "Yeah, can't really say I have much of one, either."

I laugh again and say, "You know what? I think I've gone out more since my internship started than the entire time I've been in college."

Spencer's eyebrows raise and he asks, "What, you've been more social these past few weeks than the previous 4 years?"

"Probably for close to all of my college years, actually. I didn't do karaoke all that often, quite honestly. And the last time I went to a bar was for my 21st birthday, and Val had to drag me out!" I say.

With a small grin, Spencer says, "Well, if there's one thing the team enjoys doing after finishing a case, it's heading out to let off some steam."

"I know you said that you guys play cards sometimes, do ever play board games?" I ask as we sit down to wait for the Metro.

"Sometimes," Spencer says, a playful grin on his face as he continues. "Trivial Pursuit got banned from being played shortly after I started, though."

I giggle and say, "Gee, I wonder why!" which makes Spencer give a small laugh as well.

Still chuckling, we board the vehicle and sit down. As the Metro rolls along, we chat about what we hope to do on our day off. It isn't too much later that my stop comes into view, so I signal to get off, then turn back and smile at Spencer and say, "I'll see you Monday, Doc."

He returns my smile and says, "See you Monday, Lina." I step off the Metro and head home, still smiling. 

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[eeveecraft]

Guess Who's Back

That's right. It's us, the Dragonheart System. We're fucking back.

[Rylazide] Hi, everyone, I hope everyone is okay and is having a good day!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, our blog got terminated without warning:

Just... out of the blue, no warning, no reason given. As you can imagine, I was kinda freaked out, but I calmed down and contacted support.

We were stuck, waiting for Tumblr to do something for multiple days, and as you can imagine, it wasn't fun, not knowing whether or not 4+ years of our system's history, informative posts, and more were just... gone for good! Well, they're not.

And from some people who were looking out for us (you know who you are, thank you for being thoughtful towards us) basically let us know that sh!t kind of hit the fan in the Plurality space on Tumblr because of it. This is because the timing of our account termination was just... too suspicious. Literally soon before our blog got fucked, I reblogged a reblog from Sophie about that one system who said some pretty sh!tty things about us in an attempt to counter this post, and all my addition to the post was was just asking Sophie if she could provide evidence for her claims. Because what she was saying about that system would explain a lot of their behavior in the "tulpa = appropriation" discourse and would basically out them as a fake endogenic-supporter, but then... our account was nuked after that reblog was made.

Look, I'm going to be straight with every system here:

Tumblr Trust and Safety never stated WHY our account got terminated. Not when our account was initially terminated, nor when it was reinstated. In posts on both our Youtube and Plural.Cafe accounts, I said it could've been possible that we were mass-reported by sysmeds. I said this because that's exactly what happened to @sophieinwonderland over a year ago, and given the timing, it's not a crazy assumption to make because of the circumstances and history preceding it.

It just seemed a little odd for our account out of the 4+ years we've had it to be nuked during the height of what can metaphorically be described as a war in the #tulpa tags. Especially after we criticized the 'counter' to our original post, or the post by that one syscourse blog we have blocked to name-drop us could've absolutely stirred a bunch of sysmeds to witch-hunt us. It's happened before, it absolutely can happen again.

But, I can't say for sure because Tumblr decided to be frustratingly vague. However, I think a good way to know for sure is to see if these sysmed fucks try that sh!t again, then we'll know for sure. Because again, when Sophie's account was brought back the first time, sysmeds got it taken down a second time. It was so bad that Sophie had to personally ask Tumblr Trust and Safety to whitelist her account from mass-flagging. If we get terminated a second time, we're going to do the same thing Sophie did.

Also, please, please do NOT go after the system who originally criticized my post. After Sophie called them out for potentially being the reason our account got terminated and for spreading disinformation, they were apparently so stressed that they got hospitalized because they have trauma over having disinformation spread about them (you'd think they wouldn't do that if they personally know how harmful it is, but sadly, the abused are more likely than the average person to continue the cycle of abuse and become abusers themselves. It's really sad.).

Does it excuse them saying blatantly false things, spreading harmful disinformation about several users, and potentially (cannot confirm) encouraging sysmeds to mass-report our blog by name-dropping us and saying things that would absolutely encourage sysmeds to mass-report and silence us? Nope. There's no excuse. I don't care how traumatized they are, being traumatized is NO excuse to turn around and do the same to others. Plain and simple.

But still, it sucks that this happened to them, and I hope they're okay. Like, sure, I fucking hate sysmeds, anti-endos, whatever the fuck, I hate the harm they've done to not only us, but so many other people, and how they actively tear the community apart when we need to stick together and look out for each other. However, I don't wish any harm on sysmeds, only that they eventually let go of that bitterness and learn that what they did was wrong and stop doing it. We don't need to stoop to their level; they're just a loud minority that doesn't have any actual footing to stand on besides pure emotion and bigotry.

Anyway, I'm rambling and am going to shut up now. I'm sorry our account getting fucked caused such a stir in the community. Let's just hope it doesn't happen again.

7-31-2023

[whirligig-girl]

Ooze that's learned how to pilot

Eaurp held up the bright yellow disk cassette with one hand and shook their other hand until their fingers threatened to fling off. They emitted a high pitched whine, and a hissing sound, in addition to the sounds of wobbling jello from their shaking body.

"What is it?" Slamtha said.

"ITS! MY VERY OWN COPY!!!" They said, still vibrating with an intensity that never failed to amaze her.

"Of..." Slamtha said.

"Whuh? Oh! I told you about it!" Eaurp said. "During History class?"

"Oh right. Starship simulator?"

"SHUTTLECRAFT SIMULATOR!" Eaurp said. "Come on! Let's get to a library computer!"

"Oh... I dunno," Slamtha said. "I'm not sure I'd be very good at it."

"Oh pleeeease Slamtha? I'll go clothes shopping with you even though thinking about clothes for too long makes me want to dessicate!"

"Hmm. Alr--"

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Eaurp said, grabbing and tugging Slamtha's hand so hard they almost melded together.

Slamtha laughed. "Ok, ok, fine, let's go."

At the library, Eaurp plugged the disk cassette into the disk drive, and opened up their account on the desk terminal. Slamtha scooted up next to Eaurp with a laptop terminal in hand.

"I got to try this before, at the Starfleet booth at the job fair. Apparently they don't even distribute these for personal use, I had to write a letter to Starfleet's public relations department, and then I had to use the disk burner in the computer science lab."

"Oh, why didn't we just go play in the computer lab?" Slamtha said.

"They're running on like 15 year old mainframes. I think it might still work, but only if I set the computer up as a single partition. And I don't want to get kicked out."

After the disk drive lit up green, Eaurp grinned at Slamtha, who stared back with a neutral gaze.

The menu loaded in as a faux-LCARS display. Eaurp had already been through the training level on a Type-9, so they skipped it and went right for the Class-F, the vintage shuttlecraft that they used to use on the original Enterprise.

There was a barebones character select function, since they were in multiplayer. Slamtha chose a generic human woman. Eaurp figured they may as well do the same. The session began, and Eaurp walked their character around the shuttle, taking in its details. The graphics were so realistic, they must have been based on original schematics to look this good.

The mission was simple--land the Class-F on the M-class planet in a storm, drop off supplies, then take off and return to orbit.

Slamtha and Eaurp's characters sat down. Eaurp leaned over Slamtha's console, pointing out all of the individual displays and controls. Eaurp sat to Slamtha's left, so they couldn't see her frown.

"I... don't think I'm cut out for this," Slamtha said.

"Oh come on, you haven't even tried it yet," Eaurp said.

"Ok, well, don't say I didn't warn you."

Eaurp flicked the internal power switch, then used the communicator item to call for the airlock doors to be opened, and then engaged the antigrav tractor-pressor, and slowly rose the shuttlecraft off of the hangar deck. Eaurp looked around, scanning for the manuevering thrusters. She flicked a switch, and the simulated computer made a satisfying clickit-a-clickit-a sound. She pressed the arrow keys on her keyboard and the translation joystick on the shuttle moved forward.

"As soon as we get out of the shuttlebay, we'll be outside of the Constitution's inertial dampeners. Be prepared to keep us pitched right. Crossing through space doors in three... two... one..."

"Ah!" Slamtha shouted, as the stars suddenly lurched and spun.

"Woah! Woah!" Eaurp said. "Turn on auto-inertial dampeners!"

Slamtha frantically looked across the simulated console and the keybind popups and grimaced. She settled on hitting the spacebar. Both character's views got thrown back into the seat as the impulse engine was activated. From there, it all happened fast. The game lagged a few frames, then the warp nacelle got larger and larger, and then the shuttlecraft clipped into the nacelle. The shuttle shook and vibrated violently as horrible collision sound effects overlapped.

"Woah, look!" Eaurp said, switching to the external camera. The shuttlecraft was clipping through the great big cylindrical warp nacelle, with the impulse engine still firing. "They simulated the reaction control system on the Constitution!" Manuevering thrusters shot bursts of gas from the ends of the Consitution's warp nacelles, from behind the covered grates, fighting the impulse engine exhaust from the shuttle.

"WHAT DID I DO?" Slamtha shouted.

"Haha! I think you mixed up the stabilizer key and the impulse engine ignition, right at the same time that I mixed up the ventral translation key with the throttle keys!" Eaurp said.

"So... it wasn't my fault?" Slamtha said.

"It's both of our faults!" Eaurp said.

"Oh. Hah. Hahaha!" Slamtha said. "Ahaha. I thought... nevermind."

"What?" Eaurp said.

"I... I dunno. I was nervous because I knew you'd be so much better, but, ahah, we both just really suck at this!" Slamtha said.

"Let's go back to the tutorial level and try again!" Eaurp said. "The LCARS layout of the Type-2 is a lot simpler, and they do a pretty good job of simulating it here!"

"Ok, ok."

5 years later

Tears and melted sclerae rolled down Slamtha's cheeks, dripping onto the command console. She was pretty sure she still remembered how this thing worked.

Why had Eaurp left her. Why had Slamtha's kin turned their backs on her. Why had everything fallen apart so quickly. Things were finally good. They were finally good. She was a glob-dam astronaut candidate for the United Mellanus Space Program. She was going to get to do archaeology on another planet!

But! She tore it all apart! This little psychological episode was gonna make sure she'd never see the inside of another spacecraft again. So she'd better make this one count.

Slamtha sobbed, barely able to see the LCARS display and the front window. She saw the mellanoid space program safety officers running back to the shuttle. Now or never. She tapped the impulse engine control and the engine ignited. The shuttlecraft slid on its nacelles like skids, until she pressed her fingers to the steering widget, just barely managing to pitch up in time to avoid hitting the wall at the edge of the spaceport.

Ascent to orbit usually only took a few minutes, but Slamtha had other plans. She tilted straight up, climbing in a straight line path out of the atmosphere, rocketing ever higher and faster. She wiped her eyes clean and tried to reform them, and got one last look at the planet below.

"Alright," sniffled Slamtha, "which one of these is the warp engine?"

Slamtha swiped up on the main control panel and then found a promising looking button, then tapped it. The rescue shuttle jumped to warp, aiming no particular direction except for far, far away.

Slowly, Slamtha's cardiovasculature calmed down, and her skin softened, and she thought about what had just happened. Then she started crying all over again. What had she done. Maybe... maybe if she just turned back now and explained what she had been through, then... no. She'd just stolen one of the only warp capable ships on Mellanus, and taken it on a joyride. She'd never be able to go back. What was she going to do? Set a course for San Francisco and run into Eaurp? Slamtha didn't even know what star Earth orbited. Maybe the LCARS in the shuttle did.

She didn't want to see Eaurp again. That backstabbing good-for-nothing so-called "friend" who abandoned her just because she couldn't handle a fraction of the transphobia that Slamtha had to put up with her whole life.

She had her own ship. She could go anywhere. She could go places that didn't care if you were a woman or not. She could find some... alien university, maybe? And finish her archaeology internship somehow? But... but... no, no, none of this makes sense. Eaurp got to escape! Why couldn't she escape? Why couldn't she--a red alarm flashed on the screen, indicating a ship was approaching. They were hailing her.

"Fuck." Slamtha said. "It's probably the Feds come to arrest me. Ok, ok, act natur--"

The ship shook violently as a bright green light fired at her.

The display panel read "shields down."

A green tractor beam locked on. Slamtha tilted her head to look up above her. That wasn't a Federation ship. It was huge, dark green and orange, winged, with glowing red spikes coming out of the hull.

"Computer, identify?" Slamtha said, her voice shaky.

Vessel is a heavily modified Orion Class-II freighter. Klingon derived engines and type-V disruptor strips.

"That doesn't sound like a freighter."

It wasn't.

[graciliss]

seraphina shaw - character information

EDIT: this reference sheet is old and I no longer use this account (for now). for seraphina's latest reference sheet, click here

HELLO EVERYONE IT'S FINALLY HERE. ignore how I said this'd be finished by halloween bc that turned out to be a fucking lie

anyways <3 new OC. this is seraphina and she's been stewing for a pretty long time. she's a part of the hellcrew (which is lead by @sanityisforlosers but I'm sure you know. check his shit out if you don't know though please and thank you)

info below the read more cut! please click the image for higher quality.

GENERAL

name: seraphina shaw alias: N/A nickname(s): sera gender: female (trans, mtf) pronouns: she/her

age: 24 (agelocked), 41 (actual age) date of birth: 7 november, 1981 date of death: 13 september, 2006 location of birth: glasgow, scotland location of death: glasgow, scotland cause of death: two gunshots in the back

race: white ethnicity: scottish species: human (formerly), entity (current) sexual orientation: pansexual relationship status: single. seraphina claims to be ‘above’ romance

TYPE OF KILLER

seraphina shaw is a demonic entity primarily known for her knack for prolonged torture, which in most (but not all) cases leads to death. all harm inflicted upon her victims is done within a torture room she herself has set up. 

seraphina has no particular type in mind when picking victims out, but they most often are individuals in the range of 18-25. they can be older, but are never younger. within the captive time, the victim will endure physical, psychological and sexual torture. oftentimes, the victim either succumbs to their attained injuries or due to neglect.

notably, seraphina keeps track of how long she has kept her victims in what would be angel numbers if it weren’t for her victims not making it past double digits. these would include days 11, 22, 33, etc… while the anguish caused does make seraphina stronger, what she does is purely with the goal of satisfying her whimful desires, and the primary reason for it all is for her own enjoyment.

while she has amassed plenty of tools to her disposal, her go-to weapon remains a blade that, while closely resembling a flat-ended carving knife, appears to be several inches longer than the average blade of that category. a gun does the trick if necessary too, though.

PERSONALITY

loud, crass, hedonistic. all words that describe seraphina accurately. she is the kind of woman who puts her own needs first before thinking of anybody else (if she does at all). such attitude would normally not pass, but seraphina carries herself with enough swagger and is charismatic enough to often get away with her often ludicrous endeavours.

she can be alarmingly easy to get along with, her natural charisma and flirtatious personality making her less desirable traits appear more like manageable quirks at first. 

seraphina has a notable disdain for authority and deeply dislikes being told what to do. tell her to do one thing and she will do the opposite purely to spite you. paired with this rebellious nature is her urge for excessive, lethal indulgence; sex, booze, drugs, murder. little is off limits in her books, and her inappropriate behaviour could nearly equate to insanity. however, seraphina thinks clearly, is self aware and instead simply does not care for her amorality or its consequences.

despite her seemingly outgoing personality, seraphina is surprisingly closed off. while amiable on a surface level, getting to know her on a more personal level is incredibly difficult due to her refusal to speak of her past, or to open up emotionally. this is due to a lot of her zaniness heavily being played up and exaggerated, nearly as a character of sorts. in reality, she is rather dry and especially terminally bored with a lot of things. this leads to a negative feedback loop in which she continues to edge towards further extremes just to keep herself engaged.

APPEARANCE

from head to toe, seraphina strives to exude one thing, and that is sex appeal. she wouldn’t actually have to do much, as her appearance already is quite striking: albinism renders her chin-length hair a near-white blonde and her skin as pale as can be. her eyes are a lilac colour, the hue taking up the entirety of her eyes, leaving no distinguishment between sclera, iris or pupil (a feature inherent to entities).

much taller than average, she stands at 6’3”, and her height can often vary depending on the high heeled boots she wears. while appearing feminine, dainty would be the wrong word to describe her. being robust in build, however, does not subtract from her grace, instead serving to embolden her boisterous demeanour.

choices of clothing either fall under the following: leather or latex, and the tighter-fit, the better. contrasting her complexion, she most often wears black, but isn’t afraid to wear a splash of colour (the colour of choice often being purple, which matches her eyes, or red). despite seemingly dressing to impress, there still seems to be a modicum of practicality to some of her outfit choices. enough space in her clothes to conceal a weapon, heels often sturdy enough to be able to run in. most importantly: she exudes an intimidating aura.

a notable feature is a pair of bullet wounds on her upper back, which appear to be aligned surprisingly symmetrically. she jokingly claims it’s ‘where her angel wings used to be’.

RELATIONSHIPS

in life:

unspecified mother and father (deceased) several unspecified romantic partners (status unclear)

in hell:

seamus wrynn (© me lol) - the man seraphina died to. despite all the events that have happened between them previously, they both seem alarmingly unbothered by their history and instead are friends. seamus claims that she was one of his ‘favourite’ helpers.

julius doherty (© @sanityisforlosers) - the demon seraphina is a proxy to. the two of them appear to get along quite well.

killian lynch (© @sanityisforlosers) - fellow proxy. weirdly enough, the two get along decently. however, due to the both of them being the way they are, they aren’t particularly close.

kelly duffy (© @sanityisforlosers) - fellow proxy. despite past seamus-related incidents, they seem to get on just fine.

BACKGROUND

having grown up in poverty-stricken glasgow in the 90’s, life was destined to be rough for seraphina. being born in a run-down neighbourhood and surrounded by heroin exposed her to hardship early on, and it played a big part in the way she is today. she was a troublemaker from the start, frequently getting into physical altercation and consuming substances at a relatively young age.

having realised that something wasn’t quite right in her teenage years, she still suppressed feelings of gender incongruence both out of denial and a fear of being fully expelled from her social circles.

at 19, she eventually came out and started living her truth as a trans woman, effectively leading to her being cut off from everybody she knew. due to her consumerist tendencies and severe addiction to gambling, seraphina got into pretty bad debt and lives in a financially precarious position.

desperate for money, she took up a rather suspiciously well-paying offer in which she was required to assist in unspecified photography. this later turned out to be help with seamus wrynn’s latest snuff-adjacent project. initially horrified, she considered opting out. however, much to her initial horror, money ended up not being the only thing that enticed her into staying. as she was beginning to enjoy this more and more, her behaviour became increasingly more out of line and more difficult for seamus to manage. now inconvenienced, seamus killed seraphina by shooting her twice in the back after she attempted to sexually assault him.

due to unclear reasons (presumably because seamus considered her to be one of his favourite ‘assistants’), seraphina was brought back from the dead as an undead entity and now is a proxy to julius the dressmaker.

MISCELLANEOUS

🌟 seraphina has albinism. as a human, she struggled quite a bit due to the condition and a lack of general accommodation. as a demon, however, the drawbacks of her condition are rendered null.

🌟 upon being brought back from the dead, julius assisted seraphina with her medical transition, being the one to give her gender affirming surgery.

🌟 seraphina was initially intended to be written as a cis woman. however, upon examining her involvement with seamus and the events leading up to it, I sniffed out a metaphor for queer self-discovery (although under very dark circumstances). however, if she had been written as such not much about her character’s base premise would have actually changed.

🌟 her name was initially supposed to be seraphine. however, it was changed to seraphina because it flowed more nicely into her surname

🌟 she wasn’t actually supposed to be a standalone horror character at first. her initial role was to serve as a protagonist for one of the stories planned for seamus, but I grew attached to her quite quickly and found that she had more potential.

[snapesshylittlebadger]

Well... 2024 has been the worst fucking year ever.

Since the start of April, when I got terminated from my job of 2 years, getting rejected from places I've been applying to, to my now ex-boyfriend of 8 years breaking up with me 4 days before the Hozier concert in September to him being very manipulative to gaslighting as well as loveboming me in an attempt to get me back. To top it all off, he said he had been cheating on me the whole time we were together (I shared the screenshots with friends on my main account and spam.) He said he kept turning her down when she wanted to sleep with him, which funny thing is he can't get "it" up and keep "it" up for long so... last laugh for me. 😌🤭~🎶

I've been making art but not as much. What I have been doing is clearing out the house of items we don't need anymore, trashing old art pieces, getting back into old crafts, hobbies, and comforts. This is nothing new for me to go through a horrible time towards the end of the year. I've noticed that it starts around the middle of fall to the end of December.

Despite all this, I am happy to be cut free, and the "trash" has taken itself out for me.

I hope everyone who sees this has had a far better experience this year than me and that if you didn't, I do wholeheartedly hope that next year will be kinder if not more tolerable for you.