#this was long deleted but I was encouraged to post it here

[metalomagnetic]

cut scene from it runs in the blood

(this happens well before the resurrection)

He goes to his first concert since ‘81.

It’s good. Mary was right. Metallica is really great.

But it also destroys Sirius. He wasn’t ready.

He has a complicated relationship with music, anyway. His mother is teaching Orion to play the piano, tells the boys Sirius used to play so beautifully, but Sirius refuses to touch it.

He can’t even be in the same room when Orion plays. It just fills him with anguish.

He can tolerate music at parties, the fast and cheerful tempo, but otherwise he wants to kill himself if he hears a sorrowful piece on the piano.

And there are a number of songs, muggle songs, that would break him if he listened to them. Songs he played for Voldemort.

He actually checked to make sure this band, Metallica, did not use a piano. However, he severely underestimated the talent of the songwriter. He was so focused on avoiding pianos, he forgot how mournful a guitar can be, too.

Sirius hasn’t gone through a drunken rampage in years, but it comes so easily to him, and he embarks upon it the second ‘Fade to Black’ ends.

Complete black out.

He wakes up four days later, in Voldemort’s bed, and he’s not sure if it’s dawn or sunset, orange light spilling through the windows. He’s a mess, his clothes- and the sheets- are bloody, and he went to bed with the guitar, because it’s right next to him.

He smoked there, too, and for a second he winces, imaging what Voldemort would say if he were to see the sheets with burn holes in them, cigarettes stubs all over the floor, beside empty muggle alcohol bottles.

But whatever he’s been doing for the last four days, it must have exhausted him, because Sirius can’t feel anything. He’s numb, and tired, and it’s good.

He cleans himself up, and the house, puts the guitar back in the dresser, where Voldemort kept it, gives up on the sheets, there’s no saving them, so he vanishes them, replaces them with new ones.

Or tries to. He realises he never made a bed in his life, and he’s too tired to read about it in Voldemort’s household charm’s book.

Who’d have thought it would be so complicated?

It’s by no means perfect, but he does his best with it, throws the pillows and a blanket over the sheets and calls it a day.

When he checks under the bed to make sure there are no more cigarette stubs, he finds a piece of parchment, in his writing, stained with blood.

He finds the quill and the inkpot, too.

He has a flash of memory, writing down the lyrics that started this madness, trying to recall them, because he felt the masochistic need to sing them.

He puts the quill and inkpot back on the desk, where Voldemort kept them.

And, instead of throwing the paper with the lyrics away, Sirius shoves it into the drawer where Voldemort put all the lyrics Sirius used to write down.

He truly is tired, too tired to feel anything, but he gets a twist of vengeful satisfaction, imagining Voldemort coming back, hopefully once Sirius is long dead, years into the future, and finding this paper.

Getting lost within myself Nothing matters, no one else I have lost the will to live Simply nothing more to give There is nothing more for me Need the end to set me free

Things not what they used to be Missing one inside of me Deathly loss, this can’t be real I cannot stand this hell I feel Emptiness is filling me To the point of agony Growing darkness, taking dawn I was me, but now he’s gone

[byanyan]

ㅤat this point, they're beyond wasted and vibing out to music that's too loud with several substances on standby for when the buzz starts wearing off. happy new year!!

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"This is me trying"

Prologue.

ok yall!! so i'm in a bit of writers block for IBDL and the older AU after tumblr deleted the chpaters I spent days writing. Butttt I did come up with this, reader is still neglected bc she can never be happy, but it's a darker Mafia Au. This also sucks bc it also got deleted but i really wanted to post something and get feeback on this concept. This is the prologue! Hope yall enjoy! Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments make my day and encourage me to write more. Send in aks!!

TW: BRIEF SA, IF IT TRIGGERS YOU, DONT READ!

The Wayne Manor was a sprawling gothic monstrosity perched on the edge of the Gotham skyline, a dark and looming silhouette against the backdrop of a city that never truly slept. It was a place where secrets festered, where power and control were everything, and where the lives of the people within its walls revolved around wealth, influence, and fear. For the people who lived in it, this was home. For you? It was a prison.The Wayne family was Gotham's most powerful mafia family, maybe even in all of North America, an empire built on crime, manipulation, and ruthless control. At the top of it all was Bruce Wayne, the cold and calculating godfather. Your actual father. Beneath him, each of his children had their role to play. But you, his biological daughter, were no more than a ghost within the house. You were a byproduct of a two-night stand with a whore, as your family called her, that had long since faded into shadows, and your presence was barely tolerated by the very people who were supposed to be your family.

At least, that’s how it felt after nearly a decade of living here.

You had arrived at Wayne Manor when you were just seven years old, dragged from the wreckage of your mother’s overdose by a man who was nothing more than a stranger. Bruce Wayne—cold, distant, and unforgiving. A man who ruled over the city with an iron fist and a heart as cold as the marble floors beneath your feet. He wasn’t your father, he never had been. He had simply become the man who was tasked with your care, but that wasn’t much of a care at all. Bruce’s love had always been reserved for the empire he had built, not you. You were merely another complication in his already fractured world. He told you that your mother had left you, that you were his responsibility now, and that you needed to prove you were worthy of the Wayne name. A name that, for the longest time, had been nothing but an empty echo in your mind.

Your mother was your hero, a military hero who realized how fucked up America was and retired. She, like most veterans, got hooked on drugs but that didn't mean she loved you any less. When she died, she took your happiest parts with her.

“Prove you deserve the last name Wayne,” Bruce had said when you were first brought into the manor, his eyes hard, his tone colder than the mansion’s marble floors. He’d looked at you like you were nothing but another part of the vast empire he controlled, a problem to be solved, a name to be earned.

And that’s what you did. You worked. You tried to prove yourself, to be a part of this family—this business. But it didn’t matter. You were invisible to them, a shadow in the background of the Wayne Empire. A ghost that haunted the halls of a mansion that never felt like home.

The moment he had taken you in, he’d told you to keep your head down. "Wayne’s don’t cry. Wayne’s don’t show weakness," he had said, his tone dead and devoid of any warmth. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to you unless it was to reprimand or scold you for something minor. You learned quickly that to Bruce, you didn’t exist.

He was the head of the Wayne Mafia and Wayne enterprise, the mastermind who controlled everything from the shadows. He was feared, respected, and never showed weakness. He wasn't your father. He was your boss, distant, cold, and authoritarian. To him, you were nothing. He barely acknowledged you unless you were needed for some mafia-related task, which was almost never. You were neglected in the deepest way possible, emotionally invisible, yet physically present only when it was required.

You learned early on that any attempt to gain his affection was futile. He was too busy running his empire, and any sign of weakness—like wanting to be close to him—was met with disdain. His affection was reserved for his empire and all his other children.

At 15, you had spent eight years in the mansion without a single ounce of affection from him. You were a tool to him, nothing more. And yet, despite his coldness, you still wanted to earn his approval. You knew it was futile, but there was still something inside you that clung to the hope that one day, maybe, he’d look at you like he did the others. You became top of your class, played volleyball, did cheer, ballet, theatre, became student council president, won every award under the sun hoping he’d notice, that one day he’d show up at your award ceremony and bring your siblings. They’d all be grinning at you proudly, they’d make sure everyone knew you were part of the family, they’d let you sit with them at dinner and let you tell them about your most recent tennis match. But that was always a fantasy.

And maybe that was what broke you the most: knowing that he would never see you as a true part of the family.

Earning the Wayne name felt like a distant dream, like something only the others could ever attain. Bruce made it clear when you arrived at Wayne Manor was that you didn’t belong here yet. His blood ran cold when he looked at you, as though you were a mistake he’d have to clean up. There was no room for kindness, no words of comfort. Just a cold gaze, and then the hollow command to stay out of his way.

As you grew older, the cruelty only deepened, and it wasn’t just Bruce.

When Dick Grayson entered the scene, you were still just a child, struggling to make sense of your place in the mansion. He was everything Bruce wasn’t, charming, always smiling, and the golden boy of the family. The way he spoke to you, with that practiced air of kindness, made your skin crawl.

But the smile he wore to the rest of the world was never the one he gave you. The moment the doors closed behind you two, that smile would disappear, replaced with a smirk that spoke volumes. His jokes about you, his casual jabs, it was like nothing you did would ever be good enough. He was always pushing you, always finding ways to make you feel small.

“You know, if you weren’t so weak, Bruce might actually notice you,” Dick would say as he walked by, his eyes flicking over you like you were nothing more than a nuisance. "But don’t worry. Maybe you’ll prove yourself one day. Maybe.”

His words, though they came with a laugh, always carried the sharp edge of cruelty.

The eldest of the children, the perfect golden boy, the one who could do no wrong in Bruce’s eyes. Dick was no different than the rest. As a leader of a section of the family’s operations, he was a busy man. He had his own goals and ambitions, and when it came to you, he cruel.

To Dick, you were a lost cause, someone who wasn't worth the effort, the butt of the joke. While he didn't mock you as often as Damian or Jason, he certainly didn’t love you, he didn't even like you. He was more likely to ignore you entirely, but if you caught him in a bad mood.........He never tried to be a big brother, and in moments when you needed comfort, he’d either brush you off or simply laugh at you and make you feel worse.

Damian—Bruce’s biological son. Your little brother who seemed to have it all. The heir to the throne, groomed for greatness, your father's love. It wasn’t hard to see the resentment and hatred in his eyes whenever you crossed paths. At 13, Damian was already a lethal force, training under the most dangerous men in the world. But what you hated most about him was that, despite the bitterness, he always seemed to find ways to put you down.

your younger half-brother, was the perfect assassin in training, and he hated you. He hated how you existed in his space, how you took up time and energy that could have been spent on his training. To him, you were a nuisance, a shadow in his way. He didn't care about family bonds or affection. You were just the member of the household that didn’t belong.

Damian's cold demeanor was the product of years of indoctrination into the Wayne family’s brutal world. He was protective of the family, of Bruce’s approval, so any sign of weakness or attachment from you only made him more disgusted. He’d learned to use violence as a way to control people, but when it came to you, he was especially harsh, never lifting a finger to defend you, but constantly mocking, hurting, and ridiculing you, making you feel small and insignificant.

Damian never missed a chance to make cruel remarks about you, as though any attempt at closeness with you would be seen as weakness.

"You're nothing more than a distraction," Damian would sneer as he walked past you, his green eyes glowing with disdain. "Father is wasting time on you. You’ll never be one of us."

His words sliced through you like a blade, and it only made the ache of rejection burn deeper.

Tim was the one who ignored you the most. He had a sharp intellect, a mind for strategy, and an indifference to almost everyone around him, including you. You had tried to talk to him once, hoping for some sort of connection, you were around the same age after all, but he just stared through you as though you weren’t there.

When he did speak, it was never pleasant.

"Could you be quieter for once?" he snapped one evening, his gaze never leaving his laptop screen. "Some of us are trying to work."

It was a pattern, one that left you feeling invisible, like you didn’t even exist in his world. On rare occasions, when he was in a particularly bad mood, he’d throw a cutting remark your way, something meant to remind you that you were just a nuisance in his eyes.

"You think you’re important just because you’re here?" Tim would sneer. "Get over yourself. You’ll never be more than a side character."

The family’s strategist, and tech genius, was the quietest of the bunch. Tim was obsessed with perfection, everything had to be meticulously planned. When it came to you, he was condescending. He believed you were too naïve, too soft for the harsh world they lived in. It was clear that he didn’t consider you part of the family in a meaningful way. To him, you were just another piece in the game, and you were never treated like an equal.

Tim would lecture you about what you should be doing, constantly putting you down in subtle ways that made you question your worth.

Jason was the worst of all, next to Damian of course. Where the others merely ignored you or made snide comments, Jason was outright cruel. He made it clear that he didn’t want you here from the moment you arrived. He’d watch you with a sneer on his face, like you were something he had to tolerate rather than a part of the family.

“Do you ever stop being pathetic?” Jason growled one night, cornering you in the hallway. He was older than you—by eight years—and his presence was always overwhelming, his anger like a shadow that clung to him wherever he went. “You’re nothing but a waste of space. Bruce should’ve left you on the streets where you belong.”

You could never forget that night. The venom in his words, the way he towered over you with that sick, twisted smile that barely concealed the disgust he felt for you—it stayed with you, festering in your mind.

Your older brother, was once a wild and rebellious soul, but after his brutal experience with the Joker, he became even more distant. He had built walls around himself, and those walls excluded you. To him, you were nothing more than a symbol of the dysfunction that ran through the Wayne family. He didn’t care about you, he resented you for simply existing.

Whenever he interacted with you, it was laced with sarcasm and cruelty. He would always mock you in front of the others, tearing down your self-esteem at every opportunity. Your attempts to reach out to him were met with disgust, and sometimes even attacks. If you tried to talk to him about anything personal, he’d brush you off with an eye roll or sarcastic comment.

He was a silent witness to your pain, and he didn't care to acknowledge it.

The girls—Steph, Cass, and Barbara—were no better.

Stephanie would occasionally feign interest in you, only to turn it into a mocking session. "You really think Bruce cares about you?" she’d ask with a smirk. "He just likes having more bodies around to do his bidding. And you? You’re nothing but a backup plan, a mistake."

Cass, though quieter, was no less cruel. She had a way of looking at you as if you were beneath her, like you didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air. Her silence was more suffocating than any words could be.

Barbara, though, was the most calculating. She used her intelligence to manipulate, twisting everything into a game of control. She’d often mock you in front of the others, making it feel like you were a joke.

“Do you really think you’ll ever be anything but Bruce’s charity case?” she asked one day, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You’ll never be one of us. Don’t kid yourself.”

They were mean in every sense of the word, they made fun of your looks, your weight, your height, they gave you insecurities you never would’ve thought of.

Alfred, the Wayne family’s butler, was perhaps the only one who ever showed any genuine care, but even that was limited. Alfred's soft-spoken nature meant he was there for you, but he was more like a caretaker than a father figure. He was more interested in making sure you were fed, safe, and well taken care of, but he never pushed against Bruce or the others to make sure you were emotionally okay. Alfred was loyal to the family and followed Bruce’s commands, no matter how cruel they were.

And then there was Duke.

Duke, the one who never even seemed to acknowledge your existence. He was polite—always saying "hello" when he passed by, but that was the extent of it. He didn’t hate you. He didn’t love you. He just… ignored you. It was almost worse than anything the others did. At least when they made fun of you, you existed to them.

But Duke? He acted as if you weren’t even in the room.

In the end, you were just a shadow in Wayne Manor. There was no love here, no family. Just a constant, searing reminder that you didn’t belong.

You were nothing. You were nobody.

But you’d change that. You had to. You had to prove yourself worthy of the Wayne name. Even if it meant enduring their cruelty.

Because deep down, you knew that in a family built on power and fear, only the strongest survived.

And maybe, just maybe, you could become something more.

At Gotham Academy, you were untouchable.

There was no other way to put it. You were awkward and lonely in middle school but that changed as soon as you hit puberty in high school. Suddenly you were the girl everyone wanted to be or be with. Effortless grace and charm, the kind of girl who seemed to have it all together. You were the captain of the cheer team, the student body president, the girl who could throw a party, lead a project, and still ace every test. The guys chased after you with varying levels of persistence, but none of them knew who you really were. They didn’t know you were a Wayne.

They didn’t know you were just a forgotten child in the massive, shadowed halls of Wayne Manor.

At school, you were alive. Teachers fawned over you, praising your work ethic, your achievements, and your positive attitude. "Your essays are brilliant," Mrs. Summers would say, always raising her eyebrow in surprise when she saw your name at the top of the page. "You never fail to impress, your parents must be proud." You smiled, the words coming easily, just as they always did. The praise felt good, almost like an escape from the emptiness that waited for you when you returned to Wayne Manor.

But the truth was, you were dying for something real, something that made you feel seen at home.

When school let out, you gathered your things, avoiding the usual parade of admirers by slipping through the back doors of the school to your waiting car. Today, there was no stopping the swarm of boys who followed you from class to class. Josh from the football team had been practically suffocating you all day with his relentless compliments, while Lucas, the track star, was constantly finding excuses to "study" with you. Both of them seemed to think your "no" was just another challenge. But despite their attention, you were still the one who didn’t belong.

Because once you left Gotham Academy, once you stepped into Wayne Manor, you were nobody.

Bruce never cared to acknowledge your presence, let alone make you feel like part of the family. He was always wrapped up in his business empire or his “other life,” never bothering to check in on you. The closest thing you had to a father was Alfred, the ever-loyal butler, who was the only one who seemed to care about you. But even his affection was distant, a courtesy reserved for a child who didn’t quite fit.

Damian, Tim, Stephanie, and Duke all attended Gotham Prep, the elite school for Gotham’s privileged. Bruce had never bothered enrolling you there, and you wondered, sometimes, if it was because you weren’t good enough, weren’t worth the effort.

And yet, despite their indifference, you longed to be seen by them. Maybe if you earned their respect, earned Bruce’s approval, they would start noticing you.

But it was always the same: emptiness.

The one place you could truly escape to was Grace's house. Grace was your best friend, your sister in every way that mattered. She was the one who saw the real you, the one who didn’t care about your last name or your family’s wealth. She was the only one who knew you were the unwanted daughter of Gothams most infamous mobster. She accepted you as you were: a girl who was as talented as she was misunderstood.

At Grace’s house, you felt alive. It was a normal, cozy home, filled with laughter and love, the kind of place that had never been offered to you at Wayne Manor. Her parents treated you like their own daughter, and her two older brothers—Isaac and Nathan—had taken to protecting you like you were their little sister. Her youngest brother, James annoyed you as much as he did Grace and somehow, you loved him for it. It was nice being a big sister to someone who was actually normal and didn't try to kill you all the time.

Grace’s oldest brother, Daniel, was another story, he treated you like a sister even though you've had a crush on him since you were 10.

You flirted with him constantly. It wasn’t anything serious, but Daniel had a way of making your heart race in a way that the boys at Gotham Academy never could. He was a older than you, maybe 21, with a confident charm that made him irresistible. Tall, blonde, jacked, he was the perfect All-American boy. You knew he wasn’t ever going to see you as anything more that a little sister but that didn’t stop you from trying. Every time he walked into the room, your heart did a little skip, and you couldn’t help but turn into a blushing mess. Grace teased you endlessly for it. Daniel was your first ever crush and that feeling would never really go away, no matter how much you saw him or how sisterly he treated you.

Most nights, you stayed over at Grace's. It became a regular tradition—weekends spent in her house, sprawled out on her couch for movie marathons, stealing her clothes, gossiping about school, and stealing snacks from her kitchen. You loved it there. You could forget about Wayne Manor, forget about the neglect and the loneliness, and just be a normal teenager. You came over for Thanksgiving, your birthday, and for Christmas they even had a stocking with your name on it.

One night, after a particularly grueling practice, Grace invited you to another sleepover at her house. As usual, you packed a bag with the essentials, pajamas, a change of clothes, and your phone, just in case. You already had most things at her house, you practically lived with her at this point. The moment you arrived, Grace’s dad, Thomas, greeted you with a warm hug, his hearty laugh filling the room. “Here comes trouble!” he said, ruffling your hair in that easy-going way he did every time you showed up.

You felt the pang of longing for a real family, but you pushed it away, embracing the warmth of the moment. You wanted to be part of this family, a normal family.

Grace’s siblings were equally welcoming. Nathan tossed you a snack and winked. “You ready to get your ass kicked at Mario Kart again?” he teased, knowing full well that you were unbeatable.

James groaned "I knew I smelled another loser walk in" You gasped dramatically and put him into a headlock, ruffling his hair till he apologized.

As the night went on, and you all sat around Grace’s kitchen table, laughing and joking, you couldn't shake the feeling that your life at Wayne Manor, and the family that barely looked at you, was a shadow that still loomed over your heart.

But then, as if to prove that life couldn’t just be simple for you, the front door of Grace’s house swung open, and your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced at it, your stomach dropping as you saw the name.

Alfred.

You knew what it meant. You couldn't sleep over tonight. Bruce was having people over and you had to be there in case the guests asked about you. Another night where you'd sit at the table in the maids kitchen, listening to your family get along without you. Pretending that Bruce’s absence didn’t eat away at you, didn't make you feel less than. You ignored his message. You didn't want to go home, really the guests never even knew Bruce had a biological daughter, they wouldn't ask about you. This was just Alfred's way of trying to make the family bond with you.

It was always the same. Bruce only ever reached out when he needed you for something, when his empire demanded your presence. But never for the reason you truly needed. Not for affection. Not for love.

You stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the laughter and warmth of Grace’s home. You didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to go back to the place that always made you feel so… alone. But you had to. You had no choice. You already ignored Alfred's text long enough, you missed dinner so you had to get home or else Bruce might actually kill you, if he even noticed you weren't there.

No matter how far you ran, how many awards you won, or how many boys followed you around at school, the question remained: when would you finally be seen by the ones who mattered most?

That night, your prayers were answered, your bravery caught the entire family's attention just when you had gotten okay with their negligence, began to enjoy doing whatever you wanted from the shadows.

The rain was fucking relentless.

It hammered down from the heavens, soaking you to the bone as you walked through the backstreets of Gotham. The kind of rain that made you feel like you were being baptized in cold, dirty water. You pulled the hood of your jacket up, not that it did a damn thing to keep you dry. The city’s grimy streets were slick with water, reflecting the neon lights like a damn funhouse mirror. You kept your head down, trying to ignore the chill creeping through your clothes.

Grace’s house had been a brief escape from the cold, suffocating grip of Wayne Manor. For a few hours, you’d felt like a person again. Like someone who could actually live, instead of just existing as a piece of forgotten furniture in the mansion. But that was before Alfred had texted. Before you saw his name flash across your screen, making your stomach twist in a knot.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, shoving the phone back into your pocket. Not today. Not now. You needed more time before you went back to that suffocating place. But you knew it wasn’t a choice. Bruce would be pissed, and when Bruce Wayne was pissed? Everyone knew about it.

Still, you had to push forward. It was Gotham, after all. A rainstorm in this city could mean anything from a mugging to a full-on shootout. Every step felt heavier as you neared the looming silhouette of Wayne Manor. The mansion stood there like some kind of ancient titan, always watching, always waiting, and never giving a damn about who you were.

The door creaked open, and you slipped inside, trying to make as little noise as possible. Maybe you’d get lucky and Bruce would be too busy with whatever the hell was going on to notice you sneaking in.

Fat chance.

The foyer was dark, and the mansion smelled like dust and expensive wood polish. You should have felt comforted by the familiarity, but instead, all you could feel was that gnawing sense of isolation. The Manor had always felt like a prison to you, and not the kind you could escape with a couple of well-timed sprints or clever words. This was a cage built with stone and glass, and you were stuck inside it.

You started down the hallway, the faint sound of voices growing louder as you passed the dining room.

And then you stopped. Something in the air changed. The hairs on your neck stood up. You were too close to the dining hall, and the moment you looked in through the door, your breath hitched in your chest.

There, at the long grand dining table, sat your family—or, well, what was left of them. Every one of them was slumped forward, tied to their chairs with ropes, blood trickling from their ears, noses, and mouths. The first thing you noticed was that no one was moving. No one was breathing. They all looked... dead.

Bruce. Damian. Jason. Dick. Tim. Cass. Duke. Steph. Barbra, even Alfred was slumped over in the corner where he usually kept watch. All of them.

Your stomach dropped to your feet as you backed away slowly. This was not happening.

“No fucking way,” you breathed out, stepping back, trying to backpedal before anyone heard you. But your mind was already working overtime. Who did this? Why?

The answer came quickly. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. The guests, it had to be them. The rich assholes who had “business” with Bruce. Except now, you were figuring out that the business they were conducting didn’t involve any stock markets or deals. It was murder.

And then the realization hit: whoever these people were, they weren’t here for some petty robbery. They’d been in the house long enough to take down the entire family without a sound.

Fuck.

Your mind went blank. For a second, you thought you were dreaming. But no, this was real. And this was not happening.

You were about to turn on your heel and haul ass out of there, but that’s when you heard it. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Two of them, moving fast, and definitely not the quiet kind. The air around you felt thicker. The kind of thick that made your skin crawl.

You darted to the side, taking cover behind a marble pillar. From the sound of it, someone was coming this way. Your heart pounded in your chest as you held your breath, praying to God they didn’t notice you.

You needed to leave. Now. Run. Go.

But just as you turned, desperate to bolt before anyone saw you, you froze.

Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and moving fast.

There was no time to think, you stayed hidden watching them walk around the room. They were wearing crisp black suits, and all three looked like they shopped in the"Big and tall" section. There was no way you could fight off all three, yeah you had some muscle but nothing like Jason or even Tim. Even Bruce would break a sweat facing these guys. They seemed to be checking Bruce's pockets right now, looking for something.

While they were distracted, you took deep breathes, trying to calm down. Who the fuck were these people? How did they manage to trick the infamous Wayne Family? What did they want? How could you get out of this and save your family?

Did you even want to save your family?

You shook the thought away quickly; of course you wanted to save them, they were cruel and horrible but who were you to decide their fate without trying to help them? Who made you judge, jury, and executioner?

Then you saw it, Bruce's emergency button, hidden on the wall. Only noticeable to someone who's wandered these halls for years. You almost fell to your knees in relief as you sneakily crawled over to it and pressed it.

Help was on the way and the intruders didn't know you were here! You smiled feeling pure relief at your quick thinking.

How's that for useless huh Damian? You wanted to taunt him as you looked at his unconsious form. He was so much better this way, they all were. They were silent.

Then, you heard it, the loud blaring of alarms and sirens. "Emergency." "Emergency." Alfred's voice rang through the whole manor and the sirens alerted the men that you were in the dining room.

You groaned, eyes burning with tears, "Who's the fucking dumbass that made the silent alarm LOUD?"

The men came rushing into the dining room yet it seemed to be your lucky-unlucky day. Only one of them had a gun.

Time seemed to slow as he aimed it at Bruce's soon to be lifeless head. You don't know what came over you as you tackled Bruce's unconscious body out of the bullets way.

You regretted it as soon as you did it, your vision went white with pain as the bullet hit you shoulder.

You pushed through the pain and grabbed a butter knife as one of the unarmed men approached you. You punched and ducked but the pain slowed you down. He hit you hard right in the ribs, so you did him one better and gouged his right eye out with your butter knife. Those boxing classes really did do some good, no wonder your mom insisted on them.

More shots rang out and it was out of pure adreneline that you were able to pull almost each and every member of your family under the table. Damian was the only one left and as you stood to pull him down too, you saw the armed man pull the trigger of his gun. He was going to kill your baby brother, he was aiming at the 14 year old's head. No matter how cruel or vicious Damian was, he's still a child, still your little brother.

You couldn't let him die. Maybe that's why you threw your self on top of his body, protecting him from the two bullets aimed at him.

Fuck.

This hurt. No wonder people hated being shot. This hurt more than cheer warm ups, did you think you were bulletproof?

You decided that you would just allow the next person to be shot. The man's footsteps were coming closer and you were getting more light headed from the pain. You turned to Jason's unconscious body and punched him. "Wake up you fucking loser! I can't fight this guy."

Obviously, Jason didn't wake up, why did you even think anyone in this family would ever try and help you?

As you shook him and panicked even more, you noticed something shining in Bruce's pocket. So much for "No weapons at the dinner table."

A sleek black gun, any other day you would've marveled at the custom design on it and focused on the monograming, but right now all that mattered was getting it before you bled out and the man killed you. You crawled and those five steps felt like eternity and when you finally grabbed the gun out of Bruce's armani suit pocket, the scary man was standing above you with a cruel grin.

Your heart dropped as he knelt next to you and stroked your hair, "Hey, pretty." He breathed out as he knelt next to you, his hands wandering around your body and up your skirt. Bile rose to your mouth and your heart dropped. No. This isn't happening. "If I had know Bruce had such a pretty thing, I would've been come here. You're certainly the looker compared to your sisters." He said as he began smelling your hair.

You don't know how it happened, but suddenly he was laying on the floor with blood coming out his throat. You looked between your hand holding the gun and his now lifeless body in horror. The last thing you heard before passing out was a flurry of boots and gunshots and a man that sounded like your father yelling for a doctor. The last thing you saw was a tall boy lifting you up, his eyes as blue as the sky, and you genuinely believed you died and went to heaven.

The room was cold, sterile, a sharp contrast to the emotional storm raging inside you. The pain in your shoulder and stomach was nothing compared to the weight on your chest, the realization that no matter what, you couldn’t escape this life anymore. You had made your choice, whether you liked it or not.

You woke to the soft beeping of machines and the scent of antiseptic in the air, your vision still blurry. It didn’t take long for the footsteps to reach you—slow, deliberate. The door creaked open, and one by one, they walked in.

Dick entered first, his expression calm but unreadable. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and instead of his usual mocking smile, there was something more restrained about him now. The newfound respect he had for you was obvious, but there was a subtle weight behind it. He didn’t say much, just gave you a nod.

“You’re still breathing, that's good,” he said softly, his voice low, a simple acknowledgment. “We all owe you for that. For what you did.” The words weren’t a compliment, they were recognition, quiet and heavy. The respect was there, but so was the unspoken truth: You were one of them now.

You expected to feel happier. You imagined this day so many times before, you prayed for it, so why were you sick to your stomach now that it's happened? Why didn't you want it anymore and why hadn't you realized it till now?

Damian was next, stepping in with his usual, stoic expression. His eyes flicked over you briefly, but there was no anger in his gaze, only a quiet understanding, maybe even admiration, hidden beneath the surface. He didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Your actions saved all of us,” he said, voice flat. “You’ve earned your place here. Just don’t forget it.” His words weren’t harsh, but there was no room for doubt. You had proved yourself. And that meant something far more permanent than any spoken affirmation could express.

Ungrateful brat. You took a bullet for him and he couldn't even thank you. God, you hated him. You were starting to wish you weren't a good person and let them all die. The inheritance would've been insane.

Jason followed suit, and though his rough edges remained, there was a faint softness in his expression as he looked at you.

“Damn, princess,” he muttered, his eyes scanning you with quiet intensity. “You really pulled through. You did what most of us couldn’t.” His gaze softened for just a moment, and then he leaned against the doorframe. “Didn't realize I had such a badass as a little sister. The knife move, the way you ducked and punched? Sick."

Jason, of all people, was praising you. Treating you like his sister rather than dirt at the bottom of his shoe. The nickname, princess, he once used to ridicule you, was said with a quiet revrance; like he actually thought you were a princess now. You couldn't help but feel good, this was all you wanted all these years. And in that moment, you would get shot again without hesitation if it meant you would get that everyday.

Tim entered next, and though his face was stoic, his eyes betrayed the flicker of respect, maybe even admiration. “We all saw it,” he said, his voice steady, but tinged with something quieter. “What you did… It wasn’t just about surviving. It was about protecting us. You earned the right to stand beside us. We all thank you.”

Well, it's not great but at least someone is appreciative. None of them would've done the same for you.

Cass entered, silent as always, but the look she gave you spoke volumes. She didn’t need to say anything—her eyes, sharp and understanding, told you that she saw your sacrifice, saw what you had done for them. She gave you a slight nod, acknowledging your place among them.

Then Duke and Stephanie stepped in.

Duke’s eyes were calm, but you could see the flicker of something more behind his gaze. The weight of what had happened didn’t escape him. His voice was steady as he spoke.

“You did what we couldn’t,” he said, his tone quiet but unshakable. “You kept us alive. All of us. And that means something. You’ve earned your place in this family.” His eyes softened, just the slightest bit. “Just don’t forget... that this family doesn’t leave anyone behind. Not anymore.”

And then there was Stephanie. Her usual energy was gone, replaced with something more somber. She didn’t crack a joke or make a snide remark. Her eyes scanned you with something like respect, but more than that, a quiet understanding that you’d been forced to prove yourself in ways none of them had ever been asked you to.

“Guess you really are one of us now,” she said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, but it wasn’t lighthearted. It was tired. “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad you’re still here.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pulled herself together quickly. “You’ve got our backs. We’ve got yours.”

Barbra stood next to her in agreement, looking hesitant to say something. She was the only one who noticed how much you resented them even though you were desperate for their love and approval.

What. The. Fuck.

No way this is happening. This is not real. Who knew saving someone's life could have them do a complete 180. Stephanie said she had your back. Duke acknowledged your existence. Jason didn't make you cry. Damian didn't attempt to kill or maim you. It's like the sky turned pink.

Finally, Bruce.

He stepped into the room, his presence overwhelming. The familiar weight of his gaze was on you immediately, but today there was something different—something almost proud in the way he looked at you, as if he finally saw you as more than just a forgotten name in the Wayne family history.

He was quiet for a moment, his hands folded in front of him. And then he spoke, his voice steady, unyielding, but carrying an undertone of something that almost felt like respect. “You did more than survive. You saved our lives. Every single one of us.” His eyes didn’t leave you. “You’re part of this family now. You’ve earned it. You earned the name Wayne.”

The words hit you harder than anything else. Part of the family.

It was like a weight dropping onto your chest—something heavy, something that couldn’t be easily brushed away. There was no turning back. You were one of them now, and that scared you, you hadn’t anticipated that.

Bruce’s eyes softened, just slightly, but his voice remained firm. “From this moment forward, you have a curfew. Midnight. You may have earned your place here, but you’ll follow the rules, just like the rest of us.”

You didn’t say anything. How could you? His words settled into your chest like stone, the finality of them carving out any space for protest. There was no choice in the matter. You were in this life now, whether you wanted to be or not. Midnight was late for a curfew anyway, Grace had to be home by 9.

“We all owe you our lives,” Bruce continued, but there was no gratitude in his tone, only a recognition of the debt. “But that doesn’t mean you’re exempt from the responsibilities we carry. Understand?”

You nodded once, slowly, the words caught in your throat. You wanted to speak, wanted to scream, to tell him that you weren’t sure you could do this, that you didn’t know if you were ready to live this life—the life of a Wayne, the life of this family.

What did a mafia family even do? Did you run around being Bruce's useless henchman, or did you have to go around trying to kill people? Could they be more specific about the pros and cons?

But nothing came out. There was nothing you could say that would change anything now.

Jason gave you a crooked grin,“Guess you’ve got to start following the rules now, huh? Welcome to the real family business.”

Tim’s gaze lingered for a moment, his eyes unreadable. “We’re all in this together,” he said quietly. “Whether you like it or not.”

Damian’s face softened, but only slightly. “I expect you to keep up,” he added, before turning to leave. “No slacking. We all carry our weight in this family.”

Cass’s presence remained, her silent approval almost suffocating in its quiet intensity.

Duke gave you one last nod before he turned, the weight of his gaze a reminder that you couldn’t slip out of this, no matter how much you might want to. He wasn’t angry—just silently resolute in his understanding. “You’re one of us now. That means something.”

And Stephanie? Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, before she gave you a small, tired smile. “We’re with you. All the way.”

Bruce? He gave you one last look, his eyes still holding that rare spark of approval—but it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t warm. It was measured, like a general overseeing a soldier. You were part of the mission now.

“We’ll train,” he said, his voice unwavering. “We’ll teach you everything you need to know. But it’s clear you’ve already proven yourself.”

You lay back against the pillows, the silence that followed hanging heavy in the air.

This is so weird. Why are they all being nice? How do you react to it? How do you interact with them? Is it genuine gratitude for saving their lives or is it a cruel joke to make you feel like you're important.

As they left, one by one, you stayed there, immobilized by the weight of it all. You’d earned your place here. But what did that mean now? What did it mean to be part of this family? You weren’t sure you even wanted it. But it was too late to turn back now.

OK YALL HERES THE PROLOGUE!! LMK WHAT YALL THINK AND HOW I SHOULD/ IF I SHOULD CONTINUE THIS FIC!!! HOPE YALL ENJOYED!! SEND IN ASKS! SORRY IF IT SUCKS LEAVE ME ALONE!!

[sugaredrhubarb]

A QUICK GUIDE TO AO3 CUSTOMIZATION FROM SOMEONE WHO KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT CODING

ft adding pink to everything and my secret to writing long comments

note: I originally posted this to twt but if that place burns in a fiery pit I spent too long on this for it to disappear, so I'm putting it here too :)

so many people know way more about this than I do, but this is a step-by-step walkthrough of the changes *I've* made, and hopefully it works as an introduction people can build from for whatever they'd like to do

There are a lot of images in this post! (click to enlarge)

to start, AO3 skins

site skins change how the AO3 website appears when logged in (even on mobile), mine is pink and blue!

I'll have my skin turned off throughout the post so the guides appear as they will for you

to create, edit, and view skins, go to the "skins" tab from the left-hand menu. you can also view public site skins from there or from the button in the preferences.

public site skins are made by other users. i would really encourage previewing and exploring them to become familiar with the possibilities (maybe you just want to use one of them and now you're done!)

to create your own skin

on the skins page, click "create site skin"

if you don't know CSS (same), use the wizard! clicking on the "?" will give more information about each option

I only use the colours section you'll see a link right there for hex codes I use pink as a header colour and bue for accent but lots of people change the background colour and that looks really cool!

submit

The next step (optional!!!) is to add CSS from a public skin to your own. I use "ByLine" by Branch. this separates the tag categories and adds spacing to make them easier to read.

here is a before and after using the fic "Landslide" by @roosterbruiser as an example

to see the CSS of a skin, click the title

copy all the text below the CSS heading

in the skin creator/editor press the custom CSS option and paste all the text into the CSS box

you can have both wizard and custom CSS settings, in mine you can see the header and accent colours as well as the CSS

level up: USERSCRIPTS

userscripts are small pieces of code that modify a website. for AO3, this may involve adding shortcuts and buttons or even advanced tagging functions (computer people, I'm so sorry if this is wrong, I'm trying). I use Greasy Fork and Tampermonkey.

This is how I write long and formatted comments!

Greasy Fork is an archive of userscripts and Tampermonkey is a browser extension and userscript manager. You don't need to use these two in particular. please use your common sense when downloading anything or adding permissions to your browser.

Greasy Fork guide on installing scripts

Install Tampermonkey on Chrome

there are TONS of user scripts for AO3. This is another good opportunity to explore all the possibilities. there are lots of more complicated options I haven't explored.

scripts for AO3

i use this floaty review box

and this comment formatting

EDIT: if you use chrome you might need to turn on developer mode in your chrome extension manager - you can google "tampermonkey developer mode" and it should explain that :)

to install (once you have Tampermonkey installed):

open the script you want in Greasy Fork and press install

Tampermonkey will open, press install again

clicking the Tampermonkey extension will let you toggle scripts on and off, and opening the dashboard will let you view, edit, and delete scripts

i find i can only have a few turned on at a time before they cancel each other out, but that depends on which ones you're using and someone more savvy might be able to fix that

how to use the floaty review box - write more comments!

there will now be a "floaty review box" button at the top of the work, it will open a floating text box you can move anywhere on the page. highlighting any text and pressing the insert button will paste the text with italics into the box

anything you type in the review box will appear in your comment at the bottom of the page!

if you have also installed the comment formatting script, you'll be able to highlight any text in your comment and use the new buttons above the comment box to format it

thats all ive got! Hopefully this is a good starting point to get familiar with some of the terms and basics for skins and scripts <3

if you want some inspo for how to comment on fics i made a whole fic rec list on twitter based on comments I've left, it's here. i have a masterlist of recs there mostly for darklina/reylo and similar ships.

the tag #reading with ru has cod recs and me talking about books

:)

[manikas-whims]

More evidence on the situation with @dollgxtz stealing zombie’s works

i’m omitting the usernames of the people who have provided the evidence, as per their request for anonymity.

Someone who's been in both Resident Evil as well as Love and Deepspace fandom, has revealed that @dollgxtz used to be in the RE fandom and that her fic mirrors entirely a Yandere Leon Kennedy fic as well a fic titled “something permanent”

Secondly, here's just one snippet of @dollgxtz stealing word for word from zombie Leon K. story for their popular Sylus Fanfic

there's minor tweaking but otherwise, it's copy-pasting, and you can see it for yourself.

Thirdly, on top plagiarism, @dollgxtz works have also shown the usage of AI in their writing (upto 66% AI generated)

Lastly, as of now, their other “Sylus x Reader” and “Zayne x Reader” one-shot fics that @dollgxtz copied from zombie HAVE BEEN DELETED.

..which clearly shows that @dollgxtz is scurrying around, clearing evidence of their stealing, instead of coming clean and apologizing 😒

After what happened to A*y*mi, I don't think Love and Deepspace fandom should further encourage and support such thieves who'd rather steal and use AI instead of actually working hard to create a beautiful plot.

And this is merely evidence based on how much they've stolen from one person’s works (who clearly talked about it in a post from back in November, showing that dollgxtz has continued to copy from their works for a long time.)

For all we know, they might've stolen from other writers’ fics as well.

[thrumbolt]

So, I cancelled Nyxlin Week and deleted the event blog. Edit to clarify: I DELETED THE BLOG MYSELF! IT WAS NOT TAKEN DOWN BY TUMBLR BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY THERE WAS NOTHING ON THERE THAT WENT AGAINST TOS.

I originally wanted to do this event mainly because me and Copy have a bunch of Nyxlin art planned anyway and that way we could also encourage some more content out of a few other peers.

I expected SOME people to get miffed, maybe some angry anons, some hate posts, because we all know this fandom has lost all its hinges somewhere long ago (if it ever had them) and people are absolutely incapable to just ignore something they don't like. At first we thought a super silly banner might help against that, but clearly that was a big lapse of judgment on my part lol Either way, I wasn't too worried because there's nothing people can really do that bothers me and once the event would roll around everyone would realize there's nothing actually sinister about it, so I figured it would be fine.

What I did not expect, however, was the absolute insane behavior that ended up taking place, where people got targeted and their posts mass reported to take advantage of tumblrs shitty report system over absolutely fucking nothing. People who were not even involved in the event, just happened to write for the same pairing. So let me ask this very plainly: What the fuck is wrong with you? Because something definitely is and I hope you all are getting it checked out.

So I decided to call it quits because people getting hurt over it is obviously not worth it. And again, no wonder this fandom lacks a nice variety of artists who participate in events. What's the point? You canon obsessed pea-brained pearl-clutchers don't understand fan spaces or creativity. All you seem to be here for is virtual signalling, hate, bullying and demonstrating a severe lack of reading comprehension. I've had months of this high school bullshit now and I've really had enough.

I'm still gonna post my art (oh and all that Nyxlin stuff is not going anywhere, don't worry), but I am taking a step back from participating in fandom weeks and fandom discourse and whatnot. You guys can rip each other apart on your own.

[inuiiwonderland]

Hewwo :3 sooo I was wondering if you wouldn't mind writing hcs for the characters' reaction to reader(MC) being a 10-12 year old girl?? Like a slightly bratty, but endearing and energetic type. Think preppy Sephora girl💀 that would be super great, don't push urself tho💚

Twst characters with a 12 y/o Mc!

A/n: Hellooo! So sorry for the wait but here it is! You didn’t tell me which characters so I hope you don’t mind about the ones that I picked!🤍

Characters: Vil, Ace, And riddle!

Platonic! Twst x fem!reader

-

Vil Schoenheit

“Aren’t you too young to be wearing that?” “And aren’t you too old to be wearing that ton of makeup?”

Yeah vil didn’t like the slight attitude you had when you two first met.

But after getting to know you better during the VDC and after his overblot, you two became good buddies.

He treats you like a little sibling so just know that he will check up on you every now and then. (Especially if you’re out with the first year gang, he doesn’t want you to get in trouble or worse, hurt)

Will scold you from time to time when you act slightly bratty to him or anyone else. He can’t have you acting like that to anyone and will make sure you are respectful.(If it’s neige though…he might encourage you from the sidelines…)

Definitely will take you out to buy some clothes. Seriously headmage, how can you have a young child running around with used up/torn clothes? The media will for sure have a field day with this if they were to find out.

Shows you how to do make up. BUT, he still thinks you’re too young to be wearing it so he will only do it when he wants to experiment or when you want to take pictures together. (Which will only be light makeup)

Has rook look after you when he’s too busy to do it himself. You are a magic less girl from an unknown world so of course he’s going to be scared for your safety.

Makes sure you are stocked up with sanitary products. Big brother vil will make sure you are doing alright and have everything you need.

Girls night after a long day or exam week!

Tries not to post you too much on his magicam. He either posts you on close friends OR has a secret magicam account that only his close friends + you know about. He can’t have you being bothered by paparazzi or crazy obsessive fans.

Ace trappola

“Whose annoying little sister is this?” “Whose dumb son is this?”

Yeah…you and ace did not get along at first.

The two of you cannot go a second without arguing with one another about random stuff.

But after some time. The two of you get close and tada! You now have an annoying protective older brother ready to fight anyone who dares to insult/hurt you!

You two are a NIGHTMARE when you guys are together.

You guys will tease and make fun of people when the two of you are together.

PRANKS. DEAR LORD THE FREAKING PRANKS.

Poor deuce is a victim because of all the pranks you and ace pulled on him.

You guys both got collared by riddle this one time because the two of you decided it was going to be a good idea to switch riddles shampoo with pink hair dye.

He’s the type to literally burp or fart on you when you’re trying to do homework or just scrolling through twisttok.

Like it’s not even funny but HE thinks it’s the most hilarious thing in all of twisted wonderland.

And you think it’s the most annoying and disgusting thing ever.

Shares his snacks with you but starts complaining the moment the others asks for some.

He always makes sure you are safe when you guys are facing another overblot.

Invites you to his games and always brags about how awesome and cool he is. (Typical older brother behavior)

Will steal your snacks when you are not looking. Hey! He shares his food with you so it’s only fair you do the same.

Movies Nights with the first year gang is a must! Will literally laugh and record you as you scream and jump at every jump scare the movie has. (You always smack or throw a pillow at him. Demanding for him to delete it)

You force him to wear face masks and have a girls night with you. Will complain and whine but stills does it anyway to make you happy.

Riddle Roseheart

“Excuse me but that was very rude of you” “Eh? Why is a child trying to scold me”

Instant collar

Riddle will not tolerate such behavior and disrespect. Especially from a child!

Will take some time for him to warm up to you.

The constant rule breaking and the talk back was enough to turn him red and collar you every chance he gets.

But once he starts warming up to you, he stops and starts to treat you like a little sister.

You also stop with the rule breaking and the talk back. (Welll you stopped talking back and you TRY not to break as many rules)

Will help you study for any upcoming test or exams.

He can’t have you failing and having poor grades. So you better thank him for the good grades you currently have.

Invites you to unbirthday parties.

You for some reason love painting the roses red. So when you’re over at heartsalbyul, you help with painting the roses.

You wanted to make riddle happy so you spent a whole month learning the 810 rules of the Queen of hearts to make him happy.

And boy was he happy

Literally almost shed tears of happiness

Ace should learn a thing or two from you

Buys you cute tea cup sets! And also tried baking a tart for you with the help of Trey. (It turned out alright!)

Also protective of you

Gets mad when Crowley has you running around doing errands for him which he can clearly do HIMSELF.

You give him a heart attack every time you are out with the first year gang. He has both ace and deuce promise him nothing bad will happen to you when you are out with them. Or else it will be an instant collar.

Let’s you play and help him take care of the hedgehogs

-

A/n: This was so fun to write! Sorry if some are ooc🥲

[ginnyruin]

Altered State by ginnyruin announcement:

TL;DR: I’m rewriting my fic and will be posting two chapters a week until we reach the new update, Chapter 55. I’m excited to share the changes, including new characterizations and scenes, and new artwork by Nurchie.

long message:

Hi everyone,

I’ve been working on a rewrite on and off since I took a break last year. There were times when I wasn’t sure I’d continue — burnout can be tough— but revisiting the old chapters slowly drew me back in. What started as fixing a few things I wasn’t happy with eventually turned into a full rewrite. 

I initially intended to release Chapter 55 without sharing the rewrite first, especially since I know some readers have been waiting for a continuation of the story. I really didn’t want to disappoint. However, I realized that wouldn’t do the story justice.

I thought it might be best to release two chapters a week until we reach the new content with Chapter 55.

Subscribers on Ao3 won’t be getting any emails about these updates.

Just one email when the fic is first taken out of the collection because Ao3 does that automatically, and another when Chapter 55 goes live. I’ll be updating the date of the fic whenever a new chapter of the rewrite is posted, so it may appear in the tags for anyone who’s looking for it.

I might post update news here... but I really don't want to annoy people.

I won’t be deleting the original chapter webpages (since I deeply treasure your comments), but for now, they’ll serve as temporary pages even if it's empty. I know the word count and chapter count might look odd, but I hope you all understand.

I’ve deleted and rewritten entire chapters, reworked characterizations (Abraxas Malfoy for one, is so much more the original Death Eater you expect him to be). The atmosphere has become a little darker, everyone is slightly more miserable, but there will be some more humor too. While the essence of the story and most of the narrative progression remains the same, it feels like a deeper, more complete version now.

I’m also incredibly excited to share that Nurchie has repainted some of the older artwork, adding new details that reflect how her art and the story have evolved together. She’s also painted some jaw-droppingly gorgeous, brand-new pieces for the rewrite scenes, which I can’t wait for you to see. I’ve been eagerly following her progress with each new piece, and her work never fails to inspire me. She’s also my beta reader and has been such a huge source of encouragement and joy, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

Nurchie and I are both doing this purely for the joy of it in our free time. It’s a passion project for us, and we’re genuinely excited to share it with you. We’re not active on social media and aren’t making any money from this. It’s just something we love to create. 

Thanks so much for your ongoing support—whether you choose to revisit the rewrite or wait until it’s all finished, or not read the rewrite at all, I truly appreciate every bit of engagement. Your comments and thoughts here and on Ao3 have motivated me more than you know, and I’m excited to share this updated version with you.

[littlegreenfag-archive]

Regarding @littlegreenfag

Tldr: Adina, known by the Tumblr urls littlegreenfag and prksoda, has spent the past several years lying about many facets of their life. The list of lies includes, but is not limited to, being half manouche Romani, being Jewish, and being descended from Holocaust survivors.

I never wanted to have to do this. I’ve spent months trying my best to encourage Adina to come clean themself. My methods were not ideal. I should not have used anonymous messages. I used to be friends with them, I should've talked to them openly as their friend. I also should’ve attempted to be less aggressive at times, even though I think it is incredibly reasonable to have felt the way I felt when I was sending some of those messages. I understand and regret both of these things. Unfortunately, since Adina has deactivated @littlegreenfag, I cannot provide links or screenshots to every ask of mine that they responded to, only those I saved at the time. I will do this later, upon request. This post is already going to be enough of a monster without them.

Though the last day has been a complete nightmare, I am satisfied with one thing: Adina came clean about everything, even if not publicly. My worry was always with the though of having to reveal their personal information, as many of the things they’ve lied about would require me to, functionally, dox them. Though it's technically all public, I would much rather that no one who doesn't already have access to this information gain it.

So, why am I writing this post? For those of you who were on Adina’s blog last night, you may have seen this post. I was also able to save a capture of their blog on the Internet Archive. Here is a screenshot that I took around when the post was first published. Apologies for the formatting.

To summarize, Adina begins to by admitting to a small lie, that they were born in Chicago, before admitting that they had been lying about their race. Though it was not present at the time of the blog's deletion, I would like to note that Adina had the phrase "jewish and half-romani" in their blog's bio for a very long time. This phrase was quietly removed after I sent the first anon message telling them that I was aware of their lies, on March 16th 2024. This can be seen on the Wayback Machine, by looking at the capture taken on March 5th, 2024, in comparison to the capture taken on March 24th, 2024.

That is what you may have seen. However, it is not the only major lie Adina has told. After suggesting Adina should turn off anons, I sent them another ask with my blog name visible, telling them that I could tell everyone about the other lies for them, if they wished to log off and be done with it. They messaged me privately, and this is the resulting conversation.

I apologize for the block of images, but I figured it was necessary to include the entire conversation. Here, Adina openly admits to not being Jewish. Adina has spent months receiving social benefits for claiming to be Jewish, and they've even used this claim to support arguments. Truth be told, Adina has one Jewish great-grandfather. How Adina expected me to believe they would know about this without knowing his surname, I will never know. However, I should emphasize that Adina is not Jewish by the standards of any main movement of Judaism. Orthodox and Conservative look for an unbroken line of Jewish women, while Reform asks that you be raised Jewish by a Jewish parent. Adina is descended from a Jewish man who converted to Catholicism and raised his children Catholic.

Regarding the Holocaust claim, I understand hat Adina did not directly address this. I will say that I find it suspicious that they deactivated as soon as I mentioned it, but they technically never confirmed it was a lie. However, with the information that:

The ancestors they mention as being survivors or victims quite literally do not exist and

Their Jewish ancestor was born in the United States well before WWII

I believe it is quite safe to say this was also a lie. My screenshots of their claims come mostly from their Reddit account, which is now deleted.

It is absolutely ghoulish to me to create fake relatives so that you can pretend they were tortured and killed during the Holocaust. All to receive sympathy.

Though there are many, many other lies Adina has peddled, such as being a child of divorce and having a dead biological mother, I don't think any of them matter much in the grand scheme of things when these are the other lies that have been told.

It is also worth noting that this is a pattern of behavior from Adina. As some of you who followed them may know, back in 2019, a blog was created with the intent of calling them out for lies. Frankly, this blog, @prksodalies , is what put me on to Adina's trail in the first place. Though I believe that several of the things Adina was accused of on this blog are downright cruel to accuse someone of without evidence, the fact that there were so many smaller obvious lies made me very uneasy. What specifically made me curious was the post, here, where Adina claims that they are half Lebanese. Obviously, this did not make a ton of sense with the half Roma and half Ashkenazi Jewish Adina we all knew. As it turns out, this was one of the very few shreds of truth from Adina. They're a quarter Lebanese on their father's side, and other than that and a Jewish great-grandfather, are of mostly Polish and German descent.

This being a pattern of behavior, alongside the way Adina behaved in messages with me, tells me that this will likely unfortunately not be the last time this person creates a Tumblr blog with a fabricated life story. I feel immense guilt at the thought that they may continue to swindle and hurt people, and that I will never know or be able to help again.

To everyone who was friends with this person and has been hurt by their actions, I am truly, truly sorry. This has been an absolutely miserable experience for me and I can't imagine it's much different for any of you. If you have questions, I'll be available for a least a few hours. I do not want to share any of their personal information, but I will share what I need to (privately) if some of you need or want more information.

[neechees]

Raisedeyebrowemojii Scamming information post

So as some of you know, it's been revealed that @raisedeyebrowemojii was a scammer, and for those of you that don't know, I'm sorry you had to find out this way. This is going to be an information post on raisedeyebrowemojii's scamming, lies, the evidence, and where they stole from, and the debunking of all their claims as comprehensively as possible to help the people they scammed and manipulated get some closure, and hopefully to provide insight on how you might spot them again.

I carried out an investigation on the now confirmed scammer, and now deactivated user @blktransdyke, who deleted within hours of my callout post. On that post I connected blktransdyke as being the same person behind raisedeyebrowemojii due to the information both of them had posted for alleged fundraisers, which you can see in the post here. For a short recap, both blktransdyke and raisedeyebrowemojii "Jay" both had the exact same story of allegedly being trans/homeless/disabled and posted photos of the exact same brown tabby cat named "Trouble", both claiming that it was their "best friend's cat" and raisedeyebrowemojii created a patreon for Trouble the cat, only for me to find that Trouble the cat is a hyperpopular cat vlogging/fanpage with 42K followers on facebook, and both of these blogs stole from this page and neither of them were affiliated with this famous facebook.

Moving on, with some help, ive also found more evidence that raisedeyebrowemojii was a scammer. I know many people were already convinced by the callout post I already did, but I think it's important to debunk a lot of raisedeyebrowemojii's claims due to the fact that so many people thought they were genuine, that they had died, and due to the fact that they stole pretty much every detail of their alleged life from somewhere else, and I can prove it, so I want to clear things up, and maybe allow some people to gain peace in the knowledge that "Jay" did not die, and was never in danger of dying to begin with.

The rest of this post will be under the cut because again, this is going to get long. I encourage everyone who was approached by or donated to raisedeyebrowemojii to reblog to help get the word out, thank you. Image descriptions will be available in alt text.

For starters, raisedeyebrowemojii went by the name "Jay", and on the donation posts of theirs (scams), they used the paypal name "Jay Baldwin", and Jay claimed to be disabled (allegedly they had tourettes, autism, cerebral palsey, were deaf, in a wheelchair, had a terminal kidney disease, and allegedly other undisclosed disabilities), Canadian, that they lived in the city of Toronto (in Ontario, Canada), and a trans lesbian. Screenshots for that below

Misuse of terminology & racefaking

Let's talk about their bio first. I suspect that the scammer behind this blog is neither Black nor Canadian, due to the fact that, as I mentioned in this post, 1. Black Canadians don't really refer to themselves as "African American" as much here in Canada, partly due to the fact that a lot of Black Canadians actually have roots from the Caribbean & not directly from Africa or America, 2. "Jay" claimed to be Canadian but also said they had an uncle & grandparents still living in South Africa, which means they're implying they're either a first or second generation African Canadian immigrant, so why would they call themselves "African American" if they have no national/ethnic ties to America, and they are Canadian? So, like the blktransdyke blog, who i proved is most likely the same person as raisedeyebrowemojii, both of these blogs are using incorrect/strange terminology for the ethnicities they claim to be, thus indicating racefaking and a falsified Nationality.

Falsified Nationality

Here I also have reason to believe this person is not Canadian, or in the very least, did not live in the city of Toronto, or likely the province of Ontario. Partly due to the evidence ive just given above, but also due to the reasons I'm about to give & the connected next point I'll get to soon. For one example, "Jay" made the donation post in the first screenshot i gave where they claimed they were scared they were going to freeze to death, and that they could hardly even type on their phone due to the absolute insane cold temperatures of Toronto.

However, I took a look at the Toronto weather forecast for the day that raisedeyebrowemojii posted that update (February 12th, 2023) and found that the temperature had gotten up to 6°C (or 42.8°F), with very little wind, and it didn't even get below freezing temperatures that day, and only got two degrees below freezing the night before (which is when they claim they were staying in a shelter). Canadians will know that this type of temperature in FEBRUARY is actually very very warm and pleasant. Like, unseasonably, weirdly warm. Screenshot for that below.

Now, for an actual homeless person, being outside in the cold, even if it's warmer than usual, this is still difficult and harsh conditions to live under. However, this is still a large exaggeration from what Raisedeyebrowemojii claimed it was, and youre not very likely to freeze to death in this kind of weather compared to the usual Canadian temperatures. The way "Jay" described it makes me think that it is not a Canadian who made this post, and is someone who was not in Toronto to actually know what temperature it was that day, but just assumed it would be very cold.

Impersonation of the real Jay Baldwin

Thanks to some help (of people whom I will keep anonymous for their safety & as a precaution of the scammer harassing them), i managed to locate the identity of the REAL Jay Baldwin, and was able to concretely find out that this person is who raisedeyebrowemojii was impersonating. So, who is the real Jay Baldwin you ask?

Jay Baldwin is a Black, disabled (who uses a wheelchair and has Cerebral Palsey) nonbinary Canadian and the founder of the private Facebook support group "Disabled, Queer, and Fabulous" with over 1.1K members, and is a student at Carleton university in Ontario, Canada, and this Jay Baldwin has actually been doing really well for themselves, and has gotten pretty famous in the Ottawa area. And, as you can see, the raisedeyebrowemojii "Jay" apparently has a lot in common with THIS Jay Baldwin, including their names, being Black, a disabled wheelchair user with Cerebral palsey, nonbinary, Canadian living in Ontario, and both use they/them pronouns. But let me show you how I know they've been stealing from this person.

One way I can tell that raisedeyebrowemojii definitely was not THIS Jay Baldwin is their faces. On the screenshot to the left is the icon that raisedeyebrowemojii (of allegedly "themselves") used for their blog, taken from the webarchive screenshot of their blog, and to the right is a cropped portrait photo of the real Jay Baldwin, taken from this information page on the official Carleton University website, which also lists most of the information I just listed about the REAL Jay.

Obviously these two people look absolutely nothing alike. And we can tell that raisedeyebrowemojii meant for their scamsona to look like the person on the left, because they also used a photo of another dark-skinned Black person in ANOTHER donation post. So they stole these selfies from a different person altogether, although I haven't yet been able to locate where they'd stolen them.

One of the reasons that raisedeyebrowemojii's lies were so convincing though is that they were stealing or misconstruing some of Jay Baldwin's life experiences almost in real time, and I believe that raisedeyebrowemojii was keeping tabs on Jay in order to harvest their life details. For example, on a Facebook post, Jay Baldwin mentioned the death of their father a few times, but also on June 26th 2022, made the memorial post below about the death of their uncle

and meanwhile, on August 25th 2022, raisedeyebrowemojii ALSO suddenly started saying that their dad died, which you can see on the screenshot of their tumblr profile, which as webarchive screenshot shows, was not there before. While they changed the dates, raisedeyebrowemojii was clearly pulling from the real Jay's life, so it looks like we can see around the time that the dcammer decided to randomly incorporate this into their scamsona. As far as I can find, raisedeyebrowemojii never made a donation post regarding their "Father" and said that he was abusive, so adding this detail from the real Jay's life shows that it was unnecessary except to look more real and to manipulate people into believing them.

In the ways that raisedeyebrowemojii misconstrued things, they also of course constantly used the story that they were either homeless or on the verge of being homeless. Where Jay would post facebook updates of doing very well and being happy in life and even doing & hosting events for disability rights, raisedeyebrowemojii around the same time would post about needing money due to either allegedly starving, of dying, needing medical attention, or being homeless.

Below are screenshots of, in the order that they appear (so we're going chronologically in time that these were posted by both raisedeyebrowemojii and Jay Baldwin respectively) from left to right, raisedeyebrowemojii asking for money on February 16th 2023 talking about being in allegedly horrific conditions, then Jay Baldwin posting a peppy update on facebook, looking very happy and having a drink with the caption "Cheers to life!" on February 22nd, and then another donation scam post by raisedeyebrowemojii begging for money saying they're "on the streets" and "will die", posted on February 26th 2023.

You'll be happy to know that the real Jay Baldwin is not homeless or food insecure, and seems to have had a good relationship with both of their parents and is in an accepting home, unlike what raisedeyebrowemojii claimed THEY had, and claimed they were being abused. Raisedeyebrowemojii likely falsified all that while still impersonating Jay and keeping tabs on them in order to create a false sense of urgency whenever they wanted money at random.

Normally I wouldn't go into this much detail about the people who were stolen from in scams, but I feel like this case in particular it was important to point out where the scammer was pulling from to debunk their lies, but also because the real Jay Baldwin has become quite an iconic figure in their area, and all this information was taken from multiple publicly available sources, and so I can only assume that Jay is comfortable with this personal information being known.

Little to no life details, interests, or personality outside of the impersonating Jay Baldwin, and manipulation

As I'm sure many of you know by now (as ive mentioned it in previous posts, and that some of you currently reading this were victims of the scammer), but raisedeyebrowemojii contacted multiple, predominantly Black users to attempt to befriend them, and they did this in order to appear more legitimate, and most likely so that they had "friends" to call upon should any of their scams have been questioned. We've also seen this with multiple other scammers where a new blog will appear and suddenly start tagging mostly Black users to ask them to (unknowingly) reblog their scam posts.

And as a more famous example, we've seen this with the famed scammer Laura Deramas where she befriended multiple users to get them to stick up for her.

But to get down to the title's point, outside of the life details they were stealing or misconstruing from the real Jay, Raisedeyebrowemojii didn't have much of their own personality or traits, which is common in scams. Say, for example, a scammer will create a scamsona who is a lesbian and loves cats and is making a fake donation post for a sick cat, and so in order to make their blog look more convincing, they will randomly reblog popular posts from tags about cats or lesbianism.

In Raisedeyebrowemojii's case, we had one user mention that while Raisedeyebrowemojii was trying to "befriend" them, Raisedeyebrowemojii would only answer very generic questions asked of them despite the fact that they sent the messages first appearing to try to get to know that user, like answering "I like reading!" Instead of answering what their favorite books are if asked about their interests. Below is a screenshot of that conversation. This user emphasizes that they never got an answer to the last question they asked.

"Kidney disease" and alleged "death"

I stated on my blog that I believe raisedeyebrowemojii randomly said that they were diagnosed with a "terminal kidney disease" (allegedly chronic kidney disease) specifically with the view that they could leave, deactivate, or abandon their blog and then move onto ANOTHER scam blog (and likely this was the blktransdyke blog) without looking suspicious or weird, because then people would just assume they had died, which is exactly what happened.

Raisedeyebrowemojii stopped posting around June 2023, and the blktransdyke blog appeared in early April 2023, which makes me think this is when they started to move to that blog or potentially even another blog we don't yet know about. Funeral scams, or scams where the scammer pretends their persona has "died" in general is not new and is actually pretty common. It's possible that raisedeyebrowemojii was going to (or may still attempt) to return on another blog and pretend to be a family member or "friend" of the raisedeyebrowemojii in order to ask for alleged "funeral money", which we've seen with blogs like the now deleted blog @destrawberry.

But the main reason I think why they stopped posting in specifically June is because that is around the time the real Jay Baldwin was gaining popularity again, doing multiple public events, and was doing very very well, so I think the scammer became aware there was now more of a chance of people discovering their scam. In June, Jay won an award at an LGBT film festival for a documentary they had made ("Supporting Out Selves") and an Academic Hospital wrote a piece on their success, and in August they announced that they teamed up with ASE Community Foundation for Black Canadians with Disabities to host their 3rd student summit in September. You can find evidence of this by googling or by looking at Jay Baldwin's facebook, but of course, please give respect to the real Jay Baldwin & do not pester them.

Conclusion

All in all I hope that this clarifies a lot of things for those of you that were confused by all this, and again, I extend my dearest sympathies to those who donated to raisedeyebrowemojii and were manipulated by them, I know the feeling and I'm so terribly sorry that it's happened to you too. I advise any Black users especially to be very cautious about any new blogs with a donation post up that is new, and this new blog is trying to ask you to reblog their donation post: it's common for scammers to retarget anybody who may have donated to them, talked to them, or even just barely interacted with them before.

I'll put some of raisedeyebrowemojii's old paypals, gfm accounts, etc in either the replies or another reblog, because for now I'm running out of space. If you donated to them at any point, i suggest you report their accounts where you did the donating. And in the mean time, my colleague @kyra45 is taking testimonies on raisedeyebrowemojii, so if you have an experience with this scammer and would like to share that experience with us so we can document this scammer's behavior, please send Kyra an ask.

[catboybiologist]

Wanted to ask about this for a while but you had asks off, you mentioned having experienced hetero(ish) relationships from "both sides", so like, do you have any interesting observations or perspectives you think most people don't know about?

Ah yes, the bisexual transgender eye. There's lots to say here, and I don't think much of it hasn't been said before. I don't think my observations are limited to what I'm rambling about here, but here's some surface level ones.

Btw, this is probably going to be my post with the most weirdly gendered thing of anything I've posted here. I hope its abundantly clear that I don't think any of this intrinsic or morally good, its just my observation on how heterosexuals act towards each other while dating. This isn't about the boxes men and women should be in, its about the boxes that society has put them in.

I think that dating apps are intensifying stereotypical "masculine" and "feminine" dating roles in heterosexual relationships. Eg, encouraging men to "take the intitiative", oftentimes enabling harassing behavior in the process. This, in turn, forces women to screen and shut down men extremely harshly. Except, because of the entire dynamic that's being set up now, this makes a lot of men think women are "playing the game", and again, enables harassment from them.

I recently deleted all my dating apps, but even before then, I had them set to women and enbies/other only for a long time. Her was my primary app, but it has a very small userbase where I live.

Irl, men absolutely take the initiative more than women, but less aggressively than online. There's a huge added element of fear because of the in person aspect, however, and when meeting up, men can be extremely pushy.

The "toxic girlboss" angle of this is that this is often fun to play with. If you're clearly communicating in a serious context, and have established systems of consent that extend to communication as well as the bedroom, playing with "the chase" is... intoxicating. Having a man wrapped around your finger is really fucking fun. It has to feel safe and fun for both parties involved, though. You need to be able to "break character" at any point and have direct conversations, either about boundaries or directly communicating a want or need.

Obviously I haven't publicly been a woman for very long, so my experience isn't vast and limitless or anything. But I've had a few wonderful romantic entanglements with men already. Luckily for me, one of these is ongoing 😘

As for some of the people I've talked to, but never gotten far with.... cishet men are really stupid. I'm sorry but like. Y'all are. There's a lot to be said about how society normalizes male incompetence in heterosexual relationships (eg, the dopey husband stereotype) but I think this also extends to the early stages of a relationship. Men very frequently bitch and moan about "games" while not realizing that they play just as many "games" themselves. Oftentimes, those games involve being overly pushy with everything, and then not communicating their own limits and what they want out of a situation, expecting women to figure it all out for them. Eg, they want to bring forward unlimited energy and pushiness, but expect women to be the ones that whittle them down to what they actually want. This applies both romantically and sexually. Men have a lot of emotional needs, of course, and yes its a problem that they're often not met. But a huge part of that is society discouraging them from openly communicating what they want.

I guess to summarize all of this, I feel like so much of modern dating is essentially a process of elimination, where men are constantly encouraged to push and say yes, and women are constantly encouraged to shut them down for their own safety, and if they're lucky, they eventually reach a healthy dynamic by sheer process of elimination. Which... really isn't fun, and leaves a lot of room open for frustration.

Queer relationships and flirting provide a lot of open communication that hetero dynamics don't. I've had the most luck in "heterosexual" dynamics with queer or queer adjacent people, and literally everyone I've ever gotten past the initial stages of "talking" with has been at least a little bi, by their own admission. It's not that straight men aren't interested in me, or that straight women weren't interested in me before, its just that these are the people who will understand my existence as a queer woman the best and communicate with me the most openly.

I probably could say more, but that's a summary, I guess. I know its weird and stereotypical, but unfortunately, heterosexual dating is pretty much the most gendered possible environment you could be in. I feel like Jane Goodall in there sometimes, but hey. Ya gotta do what you gotta do.

[dragongirluvula]

Honestly... I'm either gonna just straight up delete and remake or get more openly fucked up around here. Maybe both. Idk idc just suuucks holding my tongue cos there's like 1000 of y'all and so many of y'all have annoying ass dni's and i don't know how many of those are legitimate boundaries and how many are signs of cop brain.

Hmm ya know what. Idk if I'll respect the outcome but.

No option for bald people. For context if your dni is long enough I'm on it. If you share callout posts those are your dni at maximum cop brain even if you didn't contribute to them.

If you vote for more fucked up and then complain you're a fucking loser.

Encouraged to tell me what you voted for btw

@dragongirluvula

[violetasteracademic]

Deeply personal post, and as always with my moody musings, I might delete!

I will never be able to properly convey how much your support and kind comments on Golden Doe in a Valley of Shadow and A Court of Twisted Fate mean to me. And I just feel moved to encourage kindness in a very hostile and often unkind fandom.

Exactly one year ago I was fleeing the state to get out of an abusive marriage after years of trying to get a divorce from a man who literally refused and fought at every turn. It nearly drained me past the point of recovery. I gave up my business, my life, absolutely everything.

I wrote Golden Doe while I returned to my old home this spring after the divorce was finalized and my ex husband left so I could finally gather my things, finish the half done renovations, then sell the house so I could move and start over. I couldn't afford to move back to states where I have friends or know anyone, so I am truly on my own here and it hasn't been easy.

There are so many days I feel hopeless and terrified. I was having a really hard one today, questioning if I was wasting my time writing and wondering if I'll ever be able to truly get back on my feet again. I really felt like giving up, but was able to find some support with amazing fandom friends. Then a kind comment came in on my fic in the middle of a good cry, and those little things really helped me remember why I am here and doing this. And how meaningful it is to tell stories and how important it is to reach each other through our shared humanity and empathy.

I haven't been here long, and this fandom lost a lot of shine for me pretty quickly once I realized how much of it is just women tearing each other apart. It took a while for me to find my place. I just want to encourage everyone to remember that life is really hard, and there are real people with deeply complicated lives behind these screens.

Please be kind to each other. And thank you again to those who support the writers and artists in this community. It is deeply vulnerable, time consuming, and emotionally challenging to write books for free and post them online, especially in a hostile fandom. You never know when a kind word could turn the day around for the human being on the other side of the screen!

[doberbutts]

I saw your recent post about diversity in Dragon Age (and BG a little) and I want to start by saying that I agree with it 100%. Bioware does tend to have primarily white characters, and any characters of color do tend to have very limited sorts of personalities they’re allowed to have, even moreso for those who are explicitly black. I, too, would like it if they could do better.

I did notice something in it that made me curious though and I was hoping you’d be willing to elaborate further on your thoughts.

You identify both Neve and Josephine as black. Neve as “medium toned” and Josephine as “fairly light skinned” but both are used as examples of black women in your post. But then you say that Dorian is “ambiguously ‘of color’” and Lucanis “could be black with, as said, little-to-no change in [his] storyline.”

But Neve and Dorian are both from Tevinter, and while the empire is large and probably contains multiple ethnic groups, my impression from the games is that they’re from the same(ish) region and are probably the same race/ethnicity. Similarly, Josephine and Lucanis are both Antivan – if she’s a light skinned black person, shouldn’t he be considered the same?

I haven’t finished Veilguard yet. I don’t have a ton of time to play games, so I’m making my way though, but slowly. So it’s entirely possible that there’s more information that comes out about Neve and Lucanis’s background later in the game that informs what you’re saying here. If there is, just say “you need to finish the game before we can have this conversation.” But assuming there’s not, would you be willing to explain why you read the women as black and the men as not? I’m wondering if I missed something, or if it’s just different perspectives, or some other secret third option.

If you’re like, “nah, I don’t wanna spend my time answering this” no worries. Delete the ask and move on. But if you have the spoons for it, I am genuinely curious (and would be grateful) to hear your thoughts on this.

Oh no, this is totally a valid question to ask, it's just a little complicated to answer and I didn't want it to clog up the entire post which was already long enough!

First, I will note that I specifically pointed to Vivienne and Davrin as unambiguously black. I called them this because, unlike the other characters of color, there is no question of their blackness. They are black, simple as that. Neve, Zevran, Dorian, Josephine, they are more ambiguous due to their lighter skin tone and more European features, and thus could just as easily not be black. That is why I pointed out skin tone.

Second, I'd like to challenge something you've said here. Why is it unreasonable to think that someone who is from the same country or region may be a different ethnicity? Especially in a country that has a lot of movement in the types of people who circulate in and out, or that has a culture that heavily encourages that (slavery in Tevinter, the crows in Antiva)? That is actually a reason for a region to be *more* multi-ethnic, not less. I myself am from a fairly German-dominated section of the Appalachias despite the Appalachias having a huge population of the ethnic groups I am actually part of- is it so unbelievable that an afronative and Irish person might have been born in a place predominately occupied by the Amish? That I might have gone to class with Korean and Nigerian students in my cute little schoolhouse on a farm? Believable or not, that's how I grew up. So why would it be so hard to believe that two people from the same fictional country are not the same ethnicity?

But putting those two aside, I think it's best if I compare side-by-side:

Dorian is certainly believably "of color"- though I have seen people argue that he is simply intended to be very Mediterranean and others say he is supposed to be Indian or Pakistani or somewhat vaguely Middle Eastern. This is why I say he is "ambiguously of color" but not necessarily black. Neve, on the other hand, is darker than him and with less ambiguous features (and Dorian at 10 years older is also less ambiguous, tho also less convincingly black and significantly more Middle Eastern or Indian or Pakistani).

I know black girls who look just like her. I know Indian girls who do too. If we are to assume that Tevinter is full of people who look at least vaguely Indian, one has to then remember that India as a country has *several* ethnicities itself and thus it is very possible- probable even- to meet 2 people from approximately the same region of India and yet they look nothing like each other outside of a few traits we in the Western world would clock as Indian.

It's also why I called Bellara our first visibly and unambiguously Asian companion- because the others that could count as Asian such as Neve and Dorian are significantly more ambiguous.

The same is true of Lucanis and Josephine- moreso in fact than Dorian and Neve. Lucanis again could be considered somewhat Mediterranean or Middle Eastern, but Josephine? Lucanis may or may not be a man of color, though I would certainly count him as so light skinned he could potentially be white-passing if I'm supposed to read him as somewhat Spanish or Italian. Josephine is absolutely a woman of color, but what color exactly is where it is a little more difficult to determine.

This is also a fantasy world, so I'm not expecting ethnic features to match the real world 100%.

Now compare the four of them to the two I'm calling unambiguously black. While I could make the argument that Josie and Neve are mixed black, there is no need for argument for Viv or Davrin. They're both black, visibly, easily identified.

Now, the thing is with a mixed race and multi-ethnic population, if Thedas doesn't have the same reasons to keep the colors from mixing, then it is certainly possible that Dorian or Lucanis have someone as dark as Davrin in their family tree even as close as their grandparents. My father is about as dark as Davrin and while my bio sis and I are about Neve in tone, my bio sister's children range from Josie to Lucanis. Her son is fair skinned, blue-eyed, blonde haired, and if you didn't see him next to his sister and mother you would think that little boy had nothing but white in him.

But then, if Thedas does not have the same race politics as we do, then the one drop rule would never be enforced upon someone who appears white with black ancestry, and thus I would hesitate to call that person black. My nephew is white passing, but a similar person in Thedas may just be white. Or perhaps Thedas does not consider human ethnicity the way we do, and would take no notice either way. Though I do believe Viv says something about poor treatment due to her skin tone in Inquisition, but I may be mistaken if that was fandom generated or actually within the game.

All this to say- I would consider Lucanis to either be white (albeit Mediterranean) or ambiguously of color and Dorian to be of color but unsure exactly which ethnicity, but neither of them black. Josie and Neve, on the other hand, read to me as mixed black women.

[ladamedusoif]

Rockford, P.I.

Or: the one where Tim Rockford is a ghost hunter

Inspired by the incredible PPCU AU moodboards by @almostfoxglove!

Pairing: Paranormal Investigator!Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Content notes/warnings: 18+ MDNI; F!Reader; no physical description of Reader; Tim Rockford AU; Reader is Tim’s occasional partner in the business; established working relationship and friendship; friends to lovers; spooky shenanigans; implied smut; fluff; ghosts; references to death; references to alcohol use; references to drug use; strong language; cliches and most likely a lot of stuff that’s not correct about paranormal investigations.

Author's note: I loved @almostfoxglove's PPCU AU moodboards so much and I've been thinking about this story for a while, so when better to finish and post it than Halloween? I know I haven't written in a long time - since the summer, I think - and at the weekend certain discourse made me want to just give up completely and delete every word I'd ever posted. But this was nearly done, and I feel like at least some people might like to see it. So here you are. Happy Halloween, Oíche Shamhna shona daoibh.

And thank you to @mescalpascal for beta-ing this and not letting me get away with just giving up - with writing, fandom, everything.

To find more of my work and get alerts when I post new writing (which will hopefully be more frequently!), follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications.

Ghost divider by @wethairjoel

“Rockford, PI - Tim speaking. How can I be of assistance?”

Tim spins in his battered desk chair, phone tucked against his shoulder and box of leftover takeout still in hand as he listens to the person on the other end of the line, nodding and “uh huh”-ing every so often.

He stops spinning. He puts down the box of cold lo mein. He grabs a pen, and frantically begins taking notes. He asks the caller to send as much information as they can via email.

And then he calls you.

Other little girls at school wanted to be princesses or singers or models or movie stars. You? You wanted to be a Ghostbuster. Forget clean-cut TV stars or the latest cookie-cutter boyband member, your first love was Dr Egon Spengler.

Fast forward a few decades, and your dream had become reality - kind of. Your doctoral thesis on the interplay between reported paranormal activity and its representation in popular culture had produced a few well-received articles and earned you a positive reputation in the admittedly rather specialised world of paranormal and psychical research. It had not, unfortunately, led to a glittering academic career.

Instead, you made a living with a part-time teaching gig at a university combined with a little freelance consultancy work for movies and TV shows, almost all of which ditched your nuanced advice and produced yet another cliched depiction of “ghost hunters” screaming on camera.

And then there was Tim. You’d met a long time back, after a talk you’d given in the city about change and continuity in the concept of the “haunted house”. He was sitting in the front, diligently taking notes and nodding along as you spoke, eyes warm and encouraging - and he immediately made a beeline to ask you for coffee as soon as the Q&A wrapped up. 

Before you parted that evening, he handed you his card.

”Rockford, PI. You’re a private investigator?”

Tim shook his head. “Paranormal investigator. Helps to have most people think it’s the other kind of PI, though.” He called you from time to time, asking for your help on specific cases, sometimes enlisting you as a partner for the duration of an investigation. You always welcomed the extra income, but in truth you helped him out for the sheer love of it - for the chance to feel like a real Ghostbuster, even if Tim worked in business attire instead of boiler suits, and to spend time with one of the few people in the world you felt really got you.

You peer out at the English countryside from the window of the car Tim hired at Heathrow, straining to see something of the allegedly “green and pleasant” land through the miserable grey haze and sheets of rain. The navigation on your phone announces the final turn for your destination. Tim, still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, approaches cautiously and takes the left turn onto the long driveway.

“Whoa.” His voice is awestruck as the car arrives at the enormous country house, now a luxury boutique hotel catering to the rich and famous in search of an exclusive retreat. “We’re a long way from poltergeists in Poughkeepsie.”

You shrug as Tim drives into the small, discreet parking lot to one side of the building. “I’ve done some work on a couple of Gilded Age mansions. This isn’t going to be all that different, right?”

“True,” he muses, climbing out of the car and setting to work unpacking your luggage: a suitcase each, plus several hard-sided cases of vital equipment for conducting the investigation, labelled ‘Scientific Instruments’. “And they did say they think it’s only one manifestation.”

You chuckle as you help him wheel the cases from the car towards the hotel entrance, where a man in elegant livery is already rushing to greet you with a brass luggage trolley. “One manifestation? Please. We got this, Rockford.”

That evening, unpacked, freshened up, and after a dinner meeting with the hotel owner, you and Tim decamp to the library - now a comfortably-appointed lounge with its own bar - to compare notes. The two of you are the only residents, the hotel having temporarily suspended operations in order to deal with the spectral guest.

He hands you a glass of whiskey and settles beside you on the Chesterfield sofa, hair still damp from his earlier shower and his customary attire replaced by a long-sleeved Henley shirt and a pair of jeans. He looks more boyish, the grey patches in his beard notwithstanding, and you find yourself smiling softly at him.

“So: first impressions?”

You take a sip of your drink and reach for your notebook. “First impressions: they must be pretty freaked out to temporarily close down a hotel over one spirit, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? Or maybe it’s unusually troublesome - they mentioned strange things appearing on bedroom walls, guests waking to the sound of a voice shouting for help, weird stuff turning up on TV channels... And they do pride themselves on the whole ‘idyllic rural retreat’ brand, which a ghost doesn’t exactly fit with.” He sips his whiskey and thinks. “Did you find out any more about the death here a couple of years ago?”

”I did - it was weirdly under-reported, given that a celebrity was involved, but I guess people had much bigger things to worry about during the pandemic.” You flip to a different page. “Nothing I found out seemed to contradict the owner’s version of events, though I’m sure they’d be careful to control the narrative if there was anything to hide.”

Tim sucks his cheek, deep in thought, and nods. “I guess we can’t proceed until we see how this thing is manifesting for ourselves. You have everything you need for the surveillance in your room overnight?”

You nod. “And we’ve got the kit set up in the other parts of the hotel the owner mentioned. I think we’re good to go, Timothy.”

He grins, eyes sparkling, and clinks your glass.

Jetlag doesn’t stop you waking as soon as the first rays of sunlight begin to peek around the heavy drapes that adorn the windows of your large bedroom. You’re checking the recordings and readings taken in the room overnight, looking for any indication of paranormal activity, when your phone buzzes with a message from Tim.

Nothing in my room overnight. Anything in yours? 

Not that I can see. You want to check the other equipment before breakfast?

Sure thing. Race you to the Full English.

“Oh, it’s on, Rockford,” you murmur to yourself, reaching for leggings and an old hoodie. You slip on a pair of Crocs, already bracing yourself for Tim’s inevitable comments about your choice of footwear, grab your keycard, and slip out of the room.

It’s quiet in your absence, save for the gentle sound of birds singing outside, the wind occasionally rattling your windows - and the increasingly steady beeping now being emitted from a little device Tim had given you, designed to measure sudden shifts in psychical energy. 

None of the other devices set up elsewhere in the hotel had registered anything out of the ordinary. Tim, typically, is philosophical.

“We just have to wait, do some more research in the meantime, speak to the staff. How’s that breakfast?” He sips his coffee, mug looking comically small in his large hand, and gives you a mischievous look.

“The bacon’s delicious, the mushrooms are great, the eggs are perfect… but I don’t think Cumberland sausages are for me.” You poke at the thick, half-eaten link sausage on the plate. “Not least because ‘Cumberland sausage’ sounds like a fuckin’ euphemism if ever I heard one.”

Tim laughs, the warm sound resonating in the empty dining room. He tops up his coffee and reaches for another slice of toast, and you realise that he seems…different.

“Rockford?” He looks up at you, toast crumbs in his moustache. “What’s going on with you? You aren’t normally this, uh, jolly on a job.”

He swallows his toast and drinks his coffee thoughtfully. “It’s a fascinating case, and I guess I’m just really happy that we’re working together again. Even if you’re wearing those.”

Tim gestures with mock scorn towards your brightly-coloured Crocs, before giving you a sly wink. 

“Are you absolutely sure you want to comment on my sartorial choices, Rockford? Or do you want me to talk about your rotating selection of striped ties from Sears?”

After breakfast, Tim decides to take advantage of the on-site pool and you return to your room for a quick shower before beginning the first round of interviews with hotel staff. The beeping noise is audible before you’ve even reached the door.

You steel yourself and gently enter the room, slowly moving in the direction of the little device on its tripod, various alert lights flashing in sync with the rhythm of its insistent beeps. You transcribe the codes on its screen into your notebook and take a quick video, ready to show Tim as soon as possible. Cross-legged on the floor, you close your eyes for a moment, steadying your breathing.

“I can’t believe they let in someone else wearing Crocs. So much for their fuckin’ dress code.”

Your eyes snap wide open at the sound of the male voice behind you, on the other side of the room. American. West coast, you think. A little…affected? 

In other words: that’s probably not a member of staff.

You get to your feet and turn, slowly, in the direction of the voice.

There, on the other side of the room, sprawled on the sofa, is a man you think must be in his early 40s. His hair is wild, wavy, dark; his eyes obscured by a pair of vintage Ray-Bans. He’s wearing a brown teddy coat, which has slipped open to reveal a shirtless torso and a flash of tummy. A pair of loose grey shorts, wooly socks, and fucking Crocs complete his outfit. 

Definitely not staff.

Though your heart is pounding out of your chest, you find the strength to speak. “Are you a spirit?”

The man slips his glasses down his nose and gives you a withering look. “What the fuck else do you think I am? And while we’re here - why is that…thing making so much noise?”

“It’s to read changes in psychical activity,” you explain. “So it’s probably picking you up.”

The man thinks about this for a couple of moments, as if chewing it over. With a jolt, you realise two things: firstly, that in all your years of working with the paranormal, you’ve never actually seen a ghost, at least not in this form; and secondly, that you recognise this figure.

“So you do know who I am,” he drawls, pushing his glasses back up his nose and lying back on the couch. Shit, he’s more powerful than you suspected - he can pick up on what you’re thinking.

“It’s…it’s you. The dead guest.”

He exhales dramatically and flops his arm over the side of the sofa. “I have a name.”

You rack your brains, afraid to look away to grab your notebook in case he disappears.

“You’re…you’re Dieter Bravo.”

Tim Rockford is on his twentieth lap of the pool when a slow, steady buzzing noise catches his ear, coming from the direction of the tote bag he’d left poolside with towels, a t-shirt, and shorts. He hauls himself out of the water and roughly dries off his face, hair, and hands before rummaging in the bag. “Fuck!”

He’s half-wet and breathless when you open the door to your room, his fist still raised as if ready to continue the frantic hammering that had signalled his arrival. 

“Jesus! You okay?”

He’s turning and twirling around the room, glasses on and fogged up from the residual humidity of his body, holding up one of his own psychical activity detectors. “You…fuck,” Tim hisses as he tries to catch his breath. “You saw it? Where is it?”

“So I’m an it now?”, Dieter drawls, now hovering - literally - in the area of the large bay window. 

“He’s there,” you gesture, calmly, as if being in a room with the spectral manifestation of a dead Hollywood actor was an everyday occurrence. “By the window.”

Tim stares directly at Dieter, but doesn’t register anything. Dieter roars with laughter.

“Oh, babe! Looks like you’re special.”

“I’m special?”

Tim swivels at the sound of your voice, confusion written all over his face. Dieter sidles up to the other man, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder, and you’re struck by a kind of resemblance. Tim shivers.

“He can’t see or hear me. Most people can’t, which makes haunting the fuck out of this place hilarious,” the actor explains. He takes a seat on a vanity table near the window and looks a little wistful. “Annika was the last person who could see and hear me,” he sighs. “Kinda nice to be…” - he wiggles his hands in the air - “visible again.”

“He…he says I’m special because I can see and hear him, and you can’t. Most people can’t. Is this…normal? Am I normal?”

Tim crosses the room and puts a hand on your shoulder, gently caressing it in a gesture of reassurance. “I mean, none of what we do is normal. But yes, this is not unusual.”

Dieter immediately launches into a Tom Jones impersonation, gyrating in exaggerated fashion towards Tim, and you roll your eyes involuntarily. Tim looks hurt.

“Oh! Oh, Tim, no, I was rolling my eyes at him. Not you. Shit, this is going to be confusing, isn’t it?”

The crinkles that form around Tim’s eyes when he smiles make a welcome appearance, and his dark eyes twinkle behind his glasses. “I’m sure we can work out a system for keeping communication clear. Usually, when a manifestation is only visible to one or two people, it means they have some kind of need, or something unfulfilled. And, I guess, they think the witness can give it to them.”

You glance over at Dieter, who is still gyrating. He lowers his sunglasses and grins at you lasciviously.

Over the next couple of days, you and Tim interview hotel staff and examine some of the areas affected by the haunting, to establish a pattern for the manifestation’s - for Dieter’s - behaviour. 

“The random murals appearing overnight aren’t that disturbing, I suppose,” you muse, noting down the details of the artwork Dieter had left in one guest bedroom.

“Depends on what you consider disturbing, though.” Tim rubs a finger against the paint, examining the powdery residue. “I wouldn’t like to wake up to an extra-large rendering of Hieronymus Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’ on my hotel room wall.”

You giggle and nod in agreement. “Well, fair. Though it’s weirdly good, for a ghost.” 

Your psychical activity detectors start to beep in unison and you turn to each other before you spy Dieter, lounging on top of a wardrobe. He’s clad differently, today, this time sporting a green robe, a baggy purple t-shirt, and striped lounge pants. 

And the Crocs.

“I am good. Honestly, if they’d got my heart going again I think I’d have quit Hollywood, y’know? Jacked it all in, got clean, got into art properly. Make sculptures, paint, run a gallery or some shit.”

“He’s talking to me,” you explain to Tim, before turning back to Dieter. “So you’re hanging around here because you didn’t get to make the art you dreamed of?”

“Ugh. I don’t have to explain myself to you people.”

And he’s gone.

In the evenings, the hotel insists on serving you and Tim dinner as if you were ordinary guests, not paranormal investigators tasked with eradicating the ghost of an Oscar-winning Hollywood enfant terrible from the property. The lone waiter serves your five-course meal with the kind of exaggerated formality you had only ever seen in films or TV shows about royalty, respectfully pointing out the various cutlery and accoutrements needed for each course in a low, somewhat fawning voice.

“And voilà, Mr Rockford, your seabass.” He lifts the dome from Tim’s plate and does a little bow. 

Tim is chewing the inside of his cheek and turning pink as the waiter leans closer to his ear.

“A reminder, sir, should you require it, that the fishknife is that delicate little marvel on the right. Bon appétit.”

Tim says nothing as the waiter makes his way across the vast, empty dining room, watching for the door to the kitchens to close properly before he lets out a belly laugh so huge it almost rocks the table you’re seated at. You raise an eyebrow and pour him a fresh glass of water.

“Are you quite well, Tim?”

He’s taken off his glasses and is rubbing tears from his eyes, unable to control his laughter. “Why did he say that about the fishknife? And the fucking dome? I shouldn’t laugh but…”

“You mean you didn’t need to be reminded that the fishknife is a delicate little marvel?” 

Your attempt to replicate the waiter’s tone sets the two of you off this time, and you’re still laughing about it by the time you retreat to the lounge with a gin and tonic each. 

This was the longest you’d ever spent in Tim’s company, you realised one night, sitting with your feet tucked under you on the large leather sofa. There was a lot that you didn’t know about each other, but being stuck in a haunted hotel is nothing if not an ideal opportunity for getting to know someone better. 

You are listening to Tim animatedly telling you about one of his strangest cases. His face lights up when he talks about his work, big hands gesturing for emphasis, eyes bright and focused on you. He listens to you with the same commitment and interest, keenly asking questions and taking in your every word.

When you lean in for a goodnight hug before parting ways, he seems surprised - but pleased, somehow, as he returns your embrace.

Your TV is on when you return to your room. The tell-tale beeping from the psychical activity monitor gives him away immediately.

“Dieter.”

He’s lying on your bed, propped up on one arm, green robe wrapped around him. “Heyyyyyyy. Hope you don’t mind. Wanted some company and I’ve haunted the fuck out of everyone else around here.”

You shake your head and pour yourself a glass of water. “I don’t mind. But if I let you hang out with me you have to answer my questions.”

He groans and flops back onto the bed, though his body makes no indentation in the bedclothes. “FINE. But you have to answer mine.”

“Fair.” You settle beside him on the bed, trying not to overthink the fact that you were literally hanging out with a dead man. “What the fuck are you watching?”

He runs his fingers through his hair in irritation and points at the 90s sitcom he’s watching on some random-ass cable channel. “Allegedly this is a British remake of Who’s The Boss but like, it’s fucking shit. No Danza, no party.”

You pause for a moment. “Speaking of party…can you do drugs, if you’re a ghost? All the evidence would suggest you can’t, but I’ve never actually heard from someone with first-hand experience.”

“I tried.”

“And?”

Dieter grimaces. “I literally threw a couple of tabs of acid through my stupid fuckin’ ghost body, didn’t I. Just…whoosh.” He gestures with his hand. “I feel so real, y’know? All corporeal. But then you try to get high and bam. No can do. I can’t eat or drink, either.”

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

He stares at you. “Why do you get to ask two questions in a row? My turn.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of your water, noticing Dieter staring longingly at the glass.

“Fine.”

He cackles and claps his hands together. They make no sound.

“Are you and Magnum P.I. fucking? You’re fucking, right?”

“Um, no?” You take another sip of water and swallow hard. “No, we are not fucking. We’re colleagues.”

Dieter mimics you, note-perfect, and cackles again. “Bullshit. He’s down so fuckin’ bad for you.”

“Tim is not ‘down bad’ for me, as you put it.”

He sits up, moving into a kind of lotus position. “He is.”

“He’s not.”

“He is, and I know he is because I can literally sense this shit. And I can definitely sense that you’ve got a crush on ol’ Columbo down the hall. Which is fair, I guess. He’s pretty hot.”

You can feel the heat rising to your face, but maintain what you hope is a neutral expression. 

“Oh, Scully is trying so hard not to let her crush on Mulder show.” He smiles a smug, satisfied grin.

“Is he Magnum, Columbo, or Mulder, Dieter?”

“All three, baby.” He hovers about a foot above the bed, pointing at you accusingly. “And you should put him out of his misery. Want me to go check on him for you, see if he’s thinking about you right now?” Dieter wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to get a ghost trap and put you in it.”

“Like in Ghostbusters?!” Dieter seems unreasonably excited. 

“Do you want to be sealed up in a little trap, or would you prefer to continue having free rein?”

He sighs and descends back to the bed. “Ugh. Okay. I’m sorry. But I’m not wrong.”

Dieter fucking Bravo. He was haunting your brain, as well as this hotel.

His insistence that Tim had a thing for you - and vice versa - now coloured every interaction, every conversation between you and your colleague as you tried to discern any evidence that Dieter was right, or that disproved his theory. To your horror, you began to unconsciously hope that he wasn’t just winding you up.

He quickly got in the habit of appearing in your room just before bedtime: staying for a little chat, dodging any of your questions that veered too close to the essential truth of why he hadn’t completely passed over to the great beyond, and asking repeatedly if you and Tim had “got around to fucking” yet. 

“It would be kinda hard for us to get around to fucking with a fucking ghost in my room, don’t you think?”

He laughs his wheezy rasp of a laugh and crosses his hands over his tummy. “Listen, the more the merrier, babe.”

A few moments pass before you break the silence. “Why are you so obsessed with us, with me and Tim, with us getting together?”

He pouts and stares into the middle distance. “I guess…hmm. I want people to get what they want, love-wise.” Dieter discerns your incredulous glance. “What? I mean it! I’m a big fan of romance and happy endings.”

“You can’t blame me for being sceptical, Dieter.”

Tension crackles in the air. When he speaks again, he’s very quiet. 

“Just because I didn’t get a happy ending in life doesn’t mean I can’t believe in them.”

Dieter’s big, dark eyes - or the spectral impression of his big, dark eyes, now trapped in some in-between place, neither here nor there - look at you with absolute sincerity. 

“Is that why you’re still here?”

He turns away. 

“I don’t know why I can see you, Dieter, or what you need me for, but there’s got to be a reason for it. And I can’t help you until you talk to me.”

He huddles deeper into his green robe, and you exhale. 

“Fine. You’re not wrong. You’re right, in fact.”

He doesn’t move, but you can almost feel his ghostly ears pricking up.

“I’m right?”

You close your eyes and bite your lip. “Fuck it. You’re right, I… I think I do have a crush on him.”

This time, you swear you can hear Dieter smile.

“On who?”

“You know who.”

“Say it.” He chuckles to himself.

“Oh, fuck.” You bury your head in your hands. “Why do I need to say it, when you can sense what I’m thinking?”

Dieter rolls over and props himself up, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Because it’s very fucking satisfying. For me.”

“Fuck you, Dieter Bravo. Fine. I - I have a crush on Tim. Happy?”

He nods, and points in the direction of Tim’s room, down the hall. “Mmm. And now you need to tell Timmy so that he can tell you he has a crush on you and then you can go off and have lots of weirdo paranormal-obsessed babies. If that’s a thing you want, of course.”

“Okay.”

Dieter’s eyes widen. “Okay? So, you’re just gonna tell him?”

“I’ll tell him… but only if you let me help you.”

“No deal. Fuck you two, keep on being idiots.”

“I thought you loved happy endings, romance, all that?”

“Nope.” 

You shift on the mattress to face Dieter, and speak more gently this time. “Do you want to be stuck here forever, Dieter?”

He hesitates. “Nope.”

“So, should we make a deal?”

He talks and talks all night, floating around the room, resting on the vanity, on the armchair, on the bed, and at one point drifting in and out of the bathroom - even with the door closed.

And you listen. You listen like Tim listens to you: engaged, curious, open, kind, even, trying to get to the root of what’s keeping this man trapped in between worlds in a luxury hotel in the English countryside.

Unfinished business is a common explanation for why ghosts hang around, you’ve realised. A desire for vengeance, too. Sometimes spirits just want to stay around their families and friends. Once, a long time ago, a client of Tim’s described the work as being like a kind of doula, for ghosts. 

“You help them get out of the in-between,” the lady had said, after Tim had solved the ongoing hauntings in her family’s ranch house. “They just need someone to hold their hand, I guess. Well, maybe not literally.”

Watching and listening as Dieter talks about his life, his death, his successes, his failures, you become ever more keenly aware of how right she was, and more focused on getting him to where he needs to be. To peace.

He descends gently to the ground in front of the TV set. “I can’t deny that the whole Beetlejuice shtick has been fun, most of the time,” he says, sadly. “But you’re right, I don’t wanna be stuck here for the rest of my life. I mean, the rest of my death. I mean -”

“The rest of your afterlife.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

“Dieter… do you think you might just be afraid?”

“Afraid?” His eyes are wide and frightened, giving you his answer without a word.

“Afraid to let go. Afraid to move to the next stage, whatever that is.”

“But that’s just it.” Dieter stares at his Crocs. “You said it. ‘Whatever that is.’ I don’t know what’s there.”

“No one does, though. And most spirits don’t end up haunting entire hotels, they just…pass through.”

He nods. “I guess I always had to stand out, huh?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” you agree. 

He takes a couple of moments to compose himself. “I… I saw whatever the fuck comes next when my heart stopped. Bright light, all that shit. Fuckin’ near-death experience, except I was actually dead.”

“But you didn’t pass through?”

“I feel like my entire self just went ‘fuck this, I’m not done’. But I couldn’t come back, y’know?” He tugs at an errant curl. “I guess…fuck. I didn’t want to be forgotten. Wanted to know I could live on, maybe.”

“You don’t have to stay in the in-between to live on, Dieter. The work speaks for itself.”

He groans. “Some of it does. Never got to rebuild properly, though. Whole lotta shlock in there and one fuckin’ Oscar.”

You bring yourself to the ground beside the spectre. “That’s one Oscar more than most of us will ever have. And plenty of people who died before their time still live on in their work.”

“If you mention the 27 Club to me I will actually haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

“Noted.” You smile at him, cheered by the sight of a little grin on Dieter’s lips. “But you know it’s true.”

“I just never got the happy ending.”

He looks so sorrowful in that moment that you wish, more than anything, that you could hug him - make him flesh and blood, just for an instant again, so he could know the comfort of a warm embrace.

“Maybe the happy ending is off there in the hereafter.”

Dieter arches an eyebrow. “Do you actually believe that?”

You grin and chuckle. “Honestly? Fuck knows what’s after all this. I think I’d rather not know. But even if it’s just a bright light and bam, that’s it - you’ll live forever, Dieter Bravo.”

Tim is bed-headed and bleary-eyed when he opens his door to you at 6.30am, but he smiles widely when his vision focuses and he recognises your face. 

“Have a seat, have a seat,” he gestures to the bed, before blushing a little. “Or I can move my clothes off the armchair, if you’d prefer.”

You perch on the edge of the mattress and shake your head. “It’s perfect here, thank you. I just wanted to tell you that I think Dieter’s…”

Funny how, in spite of doing this job and researching these phenomena for so many years, some cases just get to you. A sob catches in your throat as you try to find the words.

“I think the haunting problem is solved, I guess.”

Tim’s eyes widen in amazement and he sits beside you on the edge of the bed. “Your doula skills, right?”

You nod, tears still threatening to fall at any moment. His strong arms wrap around you and hold you close, keeping you safe as you cry against his broad chest.

“Please do feel free to stay for the next couple of days, of course.” The hotel manager is effusive and grateful as you wrap up the debriefing session later that morning, standing up to shake your and Tim’s hands in turn. “The rooms are booked, we won’t be reopening to other guests until we can redecorate the affected bedrooms. It’s on us, an extra little thank you for dealing with our, uh, friend.”

After lunch, the two of you walk through the property’s walled gardens and admire the various topiaries and water features. All the while, your promise to Dieter lingers at the forefront of your mind.

You said you would tell Tim how you felt, if Dieter let you help him. And he did. And now…

Fuck. And you wouldn’t put it past Dieter Bravo to somehow find his way back from the hereafter, just to haunt you out of spite.

You look over at Tim, who’s taking a photo of the hotel buildings from the gardens, and feel a surge of affection, mingled with anxiety. What if Dieter had got you right, but Tim wrong?

He catches your eye and grins at you. “Hey, come in for a photo?”

You pose beside an ornamental fountain, Tim concentrating as he sets up the shot. He beckons to you. 

“How about a selfie, maybe?”

His arm snakes around your shoulders as he angles the phone towards the two of you and captures the moment: he, suit on but tie loosened, eyes twinkling; you, smiling broadly into the lens.

He brings you a gin and tonic, settling in beside you on the Chesterfield sofa and clinking his glass of whiskey to yours. In the last few days the ritual has become familiar and comforting; and with a jolt you worry that this might be the last time you enjoy it together.

Tim sips his drink in contented silence, watching the flames of the large, open fire. 

“You’re quiet. Is everything okay?”

His dark eyes meet yours as you turn to face him. “I’m…”

Dieter Bravo is going to haunt you if you don’t do this.

What if this is your happy ending?

A large swig of G&T, to fortify your resolve.

“Um, I’ve really enjoyed this whole case, working with…being with you.”

Tim smiles softly. “Me too. It was nice to get the chance to get to know each other better.”

Another fortifying sip. 

“I was wondering…uh. Shit. Maybe, when we get back, would you -”

Your voice dries up in your throat. The next words are barely more than a whisper.

“Would you maybe like to get a drink or dinner sometime? With me?”

For an instant, you can see that Tim is on the verge of brushing it off, of asking why you're being so strange about this, of saying that you regularly meet for coffee if you’re both free, talking about that diner you sometimes go to.

And then the realisation sinks in, and his face softens into a huge smile.

“I would love to take you for dinner. And drinks. Whenever you want, wherever you want.”

He puts his glass down and moves closer to you. Your fingers reach for the end of his tie as your bodies shift ever closer, until he’s holding your face in his hands and his mouth is on yours, kissing you with warm intent.

You’re about to pull him down to the couch, his hands already snaking up under your blouse, when a stern cough makes the two of you jump.

The hotel’s only waiter casts a disapproving glance in your direction and shakes his head as he processes through the lounge to the main bar. 

Your hand reaches for Tim’s and you lead him towards the hallway and the main staircase leading to the bedrooms.

The morning is grey and dreary, rain already pelting against the windowpanes as the dawn light struggles to break through the dark clouds. You press a kiss to Tim’s bare chest as you slip out of bed to use the bathroom, padding swiftly across the deep-pile carpet so as not to wake him. 

The green robe hanging from the hook on the tiled wall of your bathroom is unmistakable, but even so you have to pause for a moment to be sure it’s real. You run your fingers over the textured weave and fabric, noting how (surprisingly) good it smells - faint whiff of weed notwithstanding.

Tim stirs as you close the bathroom door and walk back to the bed, blinking awake and greeting you with a delighted smile.

“Good morning. Nice robe.”

“A movie star gave it to me,” you explain, shedding the soft green garment and pulling Tim’s naked body to yours before he can ask any further questions.

(Sorry, Dieter. Love you.)

[but-the-library-of-alexandria]

after much debate upon the subject of my new years resolution (options ranging from a long list of ways I could be better to simply 'be worse'), I have of course chosen, belatedly, the dumbest one:

Leaf Quest 2025!

And I'd love for you to join me! Here's the template spreadsheet, please make your own copy to use:

What is leaf quest?

Leaf Quest is simple: I am going to make it my mission to find, identify, catalogue, and rate the leaves I encounter this year. I already have a decent working knowledge of local flora, but if you don't, all the better!

As a nature lover plagued with Chronic Illness, it makes me sad how little I get out into nature anymore - walking isn't great for me and I tend to save my Walking Budget for special occassions, and as I will rant about on another post very soon, I am a big advocate for dismantling the idea that The Outdoors is only for Exercise. This quest gives me a reason to go outside for short periods and have non-exercise-related Nature Time. It's also really good mindfulness and will be great for the brain.

FAQ:

Why should I do Leaf Quest?

Leaf Quest will help encourage you to:

Get some fresh air, even if just for five minutes

Practice basic mindfulness by noticing and really considering your surroundings

Ground you in material reality when The Discourse and The Screens are plaguing your mind

Train the Gatherer part of your brain

Go to new places for no reason but to explore (for free!)

Feel more connected to the seasons and your ecosystem

Learn about plants n stuff

Give you a whimsical sort of motivational goal for the year

I don't get out much, can I still do Leaf Quest?

Leaf Quest is designed to get you out, even if it's just a few steps from your front door: it's meant to be as accessible as possible. I encourage you to drive or take public transport to new places if you can't walk far. Even if you're housebound, try stopping to identify and catalogue leaves you see in photographs!

There isn't much flora where I live, can I still do Leaf Quest?

First of all, I think you'd be surprised what's hidden in the cracks if you look for it. Secondly, leaves don't have to be found in the wild - you can also find leaves in the supermarket, in pots in people's homes, etc. The aim is not to find The Most Leaves, it's simply to take the time to notice and appreciate them.

Is it difficult/do I need to know about plants?

No and no! there are some good plant ID websites and apps out there, but frankly, you don't have to ID each leaf, and certainly not correctly. If you just wanna find a leaf and rate it without knowing what plant it belongs to, you're still benefiting from Leaf Quest as intended. You can always delete (or add!) columns from your copy of the Quest Log Spreadsheet. And remember, no pressure to 'succeed' at this, it's just for fun! You can do as much or as little as you like.

Are we compiling results as a group?

No, each person's Leaf Quest is their own personal journey. However, you could use the #leaf quest 2025 if you want to talk about it or compare with other Questers.

Are you autistic?

Yes. I am also an archivist by trade, so you can trust the integrity of my cataloguing template.

Today I am beginning to catalogue the leaves in my parents' garden: it's small, but there's so much there I'm sure it'll take me some time, especially as seasons change.

Best of luck on your quests!