#seduction as manipulation

[aventurineswife]

Hello! First time requesting! Can I please request Aventurine, Anaxa, and Dr. Ratio with a Mobius inspired reader? Mobius is a scientist from HI3, obsessed with immortality and evolution. Heavy snake imagery, like Jade just less domineering and more Eldritch Horror. But! My main interest is how Mobius/Reader acts sweet and seductive in order to fulfill their ambitions(getting volunteers, funding, and such for experiments), despite hating every second of it. Also how they're willing to experiment on their own body for the sake of longevity. Though under this they do genuinely care for the people close to them, but just can't(or won't) give up their ambitions for anything. And only go fully mad scientist if those people end up dying. Sorry if this got really long! Mobius is my favorite character ever and HSR is quickly approaching favorite game territory. Have a nice day!

“Darling, You’ll Decay Before I Do”

Synopsis: In a universe where brilliance borders madness, an alluring researcher obsessed with immortality weaves through politics, passion, and peril—ensnaring the minds of a strategist, a scholar, and a logician. Seduction becomes a tool, affection a liability, and ambition an ever-consuming flame. But when bonds are tested and mortality intrudes, the question remains: how far will one go to defy the end?

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Anaxa x Reader, Mobius based Reader, Mad Scientist Reader, Slow Burn, Morally Grey Characters, Seduction As Manipulation, Emotional Repression, Psychological Tension, Eldritch Themes, Found Family, Obsession With Immortality, Mutual Manipulation, Tragic Romance, Experiment-Driven Plot, Light Body Horror, Philosophical Conflict.

Warnings: Emotional Manipulation, Scientific Experimentation On Self And Others, Existential Themes, Body Modification, Survivor’s Guilt, References To Trauma, Mild Gore, Loss And Grief, Obsessive Behavior, Intense Psychological Tension, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

A/N: Forgive me if this isn't written well—I based the Reader's personality solely on the information provided (I was too lazy to read Mobius’ backstory and other details).

Aventurine had seen charm weaponized before.

But never like this.

You weren’t just persuasive—you were designed for temptation. Your words were nectar, your presence slithered like silk over flesh, and your smile made gamblers forget they were already bankrupt. To others, you were a seduction. To him, you were a mirror.

"You're looking for funding," Aventurine drawled one evening, swirling a glass of amber liquor. "Or a donor?"

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming. “Same thing, really.”

He laughed, teeth flashing. "And what will I get in return? A patent? A serum? Immortality with side effects?"

"An opportunity." You leaned closer, and the scent of sterile steel and crushed jasmine laced the air between you. “To bet on something bigger than stock markets. Evolution. Ascension.”

Aventurine’s pulse thrilled at the danger in your voice, the madness humming under your skin. You were chaos in a lab coat, elegant and terrifying. And yet, he couldn’t look away.

He’d seen people fake passion. He’d faked it himself. But the way your hands shook after injecting yourself with your latest serum—the tremor you tried to hide behind a flirtatious smile—that was real.

And when he caught you alone, vomiting blood into a sink lined with snake-scale etchings, he didn’t say a word.

He just stepped behind you, placed a steady hand on your shoulder, and said, “Let me guess. This version didn’t work either?”

You laughed softly. Hollow. Haunted.

“Still worth the gamble,” you whispered.

In you, he saw something more dangerous than deceit: conviction. You’d sacrifice everything—even your body—for evolution’s altar. And if he were honest, that terrified and thrilled him in equal measure.

So he stayed close. Not to stop you. Not even to save you.

But to witness you.

Because some bets? You take for the sheer thrill of the risk.

He knew what you were the moment you slithered into his office.

Not literally, of course. But in the way your eyes gleamed like distant galaxies, the way your voice wrapped around syllables with reverence and venom. You didn’t knock. You didn’t wait. You simply arrived, as though you’d always been meant to.

"You're the one experimenting with soul coils and regenerative genetics," Anaxa said, voice slow, curious.

"And you're the one who dissected a dying god for 'truth'," you purred.

He chuckled, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. "Touché."

The two of you danced in dialogue like dueling philosophers. He spoke of forbidden knowledge, and you offered him blood-soaked notes in return. You craved evolution—no, transcendence. You stitched together truths the universe tried to hide, wore perfume to mask the formaldehyde, and smiled with lips painted in venom.

You were beautiful in the way stars were—distant, deadly, inevitable.

He found you once in your lab, sobbing silently as you held a failing graft in your hands. One that had once been human. One you hadn’t meant to lose.

"You said you didn’t care," he whispered.

“I don’t,” you snapped. But your voice cracked like breaking bone.

He didn’t press. Just sat beside you, his gloved hand finding yours—blackened with ink, blood, and promise.

"You remind me of who I could have become," he murmured.

"Better or worse?"

"Neither. Just... inevitable."

From then on, he visited you often—not to restrain your madness, but to temper it. And when your eyes burned with divine hunger, he matched you stride for stride.

In the end, it wasn’t about love.

It was about understanding.

And that was rarer than either of you cared to admit.

Dr. Ratio admired ambition.

But your ambition unsettled even him.

Your lab was a cathedral of horrors and hypotheses. Tubes of unnatural serum lined the walls like stained glass; the stench of formalin danced with lavender oil to fool weaker stomachs. But Ratio wasn’t weak.

He stepped over your failed clones. He listened to your proposals with arms crossed and eyes narrowing.

"You altered your own neural framework to accommodate an artificial limbic inhibitor," he said flatly. "Is that… wise?"

"It stopped me from crying," you replied sweetly. "Or from screaming, depending on the day."

He exhaled slowly.

You didn’t manipulate him. Not successfully. But you tried. With every tilt of your head, every seductive breath laced in careful cadence. And Ratio let you—because he wanted to see what you’d do when it failed.

And yet…

When you fell unconscious after a particularly aggressive auto-experiment, he stayed.

Read your logs.

Held your hand through seizures.

And whispered, just once, “You fool. You absolute genius.”

You awoke hours later, blinking past synthetic retinas. You saw his expression soften—a fraction.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmured. “I chose this.”

“I know,” he replied coldly. “I just wish you hadn’t.”

He offered you funding. Mentorship. A place among the Intelligentsia.

But never affection. That was yours to steal, if you could.

And when he finally touched your face—one gentle, gloved thumb tracing the grafted seam of your cheek—it wasn’t as a lover.

It was as an equal.

“Promise me something,” he said.

“What?”

“If you must become immortal… don’t forget how to feel.”

You smiled, cracked and stitched together.

“I already did, Dr. Ratio.”

But you knew he would never stop reminding you.

[beaulesbian]

The Rings of Power 2.07

Neither of us was strong enough. There might not be anyone in Middle-earth who is. But perhaps, the Elves need only remember that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. Armies may rise, hearts may fail, yet still, light endures and is mightier than strength. For in its presence, all darkness must flee. Namarië.

[ash-says]

On today's episode of "Quit being Basic, be Iconic" I am here to info dump some basic survival skills that help me in my personal and professional life.

Yes I know I was MIA for the longest time but I am slowly trying to crawl back from my hibernation as it's Spring Ladiessss!!!

So no more delay let's get into it:

1) VALUE. VALUE. VALUE over anything. Be a person who has something to offer. Best if it's multiple things.

2) Know the cost of your value and trade it efficiently. Bargain like a Man and act humble like a Woman.

3) Arrogance without substance is a recipe for disaster. It's tricky being a woman you can't be arrogant because then you are a bitch and self stuck up (which you should be) but assess the right place to channel it. Don't be arrogant in front of your teachers or peers who might be useful to you tomorrow for sure (you know having a tribe kinda thing) but be arrogant with that girl in your class who is always making things difficult for you or with that guy who can't take a no for an answer. Arrogance with substance always but also served at the right place and right time just enough to scare them from causing any drama.

4) Honey we never stir up a drama but surely know how to end one.

5) This is a corporate tip: You don't threaten the person in power. Especially your boss who has the promotion. Never show who you are. Take time in assessing what is expected out of you not just from the work front but also as a person and soft skills wise. Blend yourself in their work style rather than expecting them to blend with yours.

6) Channel the masses but don't be afraid to fuck the masses if required. There's something really intriguing when you are one of them but still don't need them for anything.

7) Effortless. Everything you do should look effortless.

8) Don't say or act like you are above others 24/7. Pavlov them into it with small repeated consistent subtle reminders. It's all in the small things.

9) Never rush to impress or try to put on a performance. Even if you are, we have to make it look like that's you in your natural state. If that person was not here you would still act the same way. Impress them with your naturality. Baffle them with your skills.

10) One thing my manager told me early on in my job and I swear by it," Create dependency." Be a need not a want.

That's all I got. I am having a feeling I am repeating the same things again and again might need some time to gather my thoughts.

[formulafanfics13]

i've got an idea, which i think you could write out beautifully:

so as most know sainz sr. told toto that lewis is moving to Ferrari in hopes of carlos getting the seat at merc. now, stay with me, imagine carlos jr & sr. sending their sister/daughter on a mission to convince toto to sign carlos as the driver to replace lewis...:)

the silver seat - Toto Wolff 🔥

Masterlist

summary: Carlos and his father have a plan. Lewis is leaving Mercedes. That seat should be Carlos’s. And if there’s one man they need to win over, it’s Toto Wolff. So they send you - Carlos’s sister - armed with charm, wit, and a very tight black dress. The mission? Seduce Toto. Convince him. Do whatever it takes. But what no one plans for… is what happens when Toto likes you back. warnings: power play, age gap, mild manipulation, intense eye contact, political tension, beginnings of seduction, Toto being dangerously composed, reader is very much playing a game, Carlos Sr. is scheming

The dress is black. Tight. Strategic. You stare at yourself in the mirror and smooth your hand down your thigh. The heels are tall enough to make your legs look longer, but not too tall. The neckline is high, the sleeves are sheer, and the slit up your left leg stops exactly where you need it to: suggestive, but still serious.

The kind of dress you’d wear to a negotiation. Or a seduction. Or both. You pick up the lipstick tube your dad. left on your dresser this morning with a note that read optional, but effective. The shade is classic. Red. Familiar. It stains your mouth with something dangerous.

You are not doing this for yourself. This is for family. For legacy. For your brother.

Carlos deserves that Mercedes seat. And your father is willing to do anything to make sure he gets it. Including sending you.

The paddock is buzzing. Singapore is thick with heat and tension. It clings to every surface. Drips from every conversation. You walk through the motorhome corridors like a ghost with a mission, smiling politely, ignoring every sidelong look, every muttered compliment.

Because there’s only one man you’re here for. And when you see him? Standing at the coffee bar, steel grey shirt rolled at the sleeves, hair swept back like he’s carved from marble? You exhale. Showtime.

“Toto,” you say softly.

He turns at the sound of your voice. And then goes still. His eyes drop. Rise again. Linger on your face. “Miss Sainz,” he says, smooth. “To what do I owe the honour?”

You smile. “You know why I’m here.”

He smiles back. But it’s sharp. Dangerous.

“I have an idea,” he murmurs. “But I’d rather you tell me.”

You tilt your head. “Is now a bad time?”

“That depends,” he says, turning to set his coffee aside. “Are you here to convince me to sign your brother?”

You shrug, innocent. “I’m here to talk.”

“And wearing that dress was… coincidence?”

You glance down. “I thought it was flattering.”

“It’s effective,” he says, voice low. “But I’ve negotiated billion-dollar deals, schooled boardrooms of Harvard men, and outmaneuvered Red Bull for fun. You’ll have to try harder than a dress.”

You smirk. “Oh, I know.”

He leads you into the back of the hospitality suite. A glass-walled room with soft lights and leather seats. He gestures for you to sit. Then shuts the door behind him. It’s soundproof. Of course it is.

He watches you. You cross your legs slowly. He doesn’t blink. “I’ve got five minutes,” he says, leaning against the door. “Impress me.”

You smile. “Carlos is consistent. Smart. He can bring what you’re missing now that Lewis is leaving.”

“I know.”

“He’s media-friendly. Marketable. Composed.”

“Also true.”

You pause. Hold his gaze.

“He’s loyal,” you say. “And that means something.”

Toto raises an eyebrow. “Loyal like you?”

You smile again. Only this time, it’s real. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He steps forward. Slowly. “Do you know how many people have tried to seduce me into signing a driver?”

You shrug. “Dozens?”

“Thirty-two,” he says. “Including your father. Once. A long time ago.”

You laugh. “I’m not here to seduce you, Toto.”

“No?”

“I’m here to… influence you.”

His eyes darken. “There’s a difference?”

“One gets you to drop your guard. The other gets you to listen.”

He doesn’t move. But something in the room shifts. Air, maybe. Heat. He takes another step closer. You feel your pulse pick up.

“Toto,” you say softly.

“Yes?”

You reach into your clutch. Pull out a folded letter.He raises an eyebrow. You hand it to him. It’s sealed with a small silver stamp. Carlos Sr.’s.

You watch him scan it. Watch his brow furrow. Watch him fold it and slide it into his pocket without a word. Then his eyes find yours again. And for the first time, he looks at you like you’re not just a pawn.

But something worse. A threat. A test. A temptation.

“Come to dinner,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

“Tonight. Seven. My suite.”

You hesitate. He steps close enough that you smell the cedar of his cologne. Lowers his voice. “Let’s see if you’re more persuasive without an audience.”

You swallow. Nod once. He nods back. Then opens the door for you.

The moment you step out, the air feels cooler. You don’t turn back. But you feel him watching you walk away.

Carlos calls you three times that afternoon. You answer on the third ring.

“Well?” he says. “Did he take the letter?”

You pause. “Carlos.”

“What?”

“If this works,” you say, voice quiet, “he’s not going to sign you because of the letter.”

Silence. Then, “Are you actually going to sleep with him?”

You don’t answer. You hang up.

You arrive at his suite at 6:59pm. Black heels. Black dress. Hair down. No lipstick.

He opens the door before you can knock. He’s barefoot. Loosened shirt. Glasses still on. A quiet hum of jazz playing behind him. And eyes that devour you.

He says nothing. Just steps aside. You walk in. The door clicks shut. You don’t turn around. Not yet.

Not until you’re sure. Not until you know. Not until you decide… how far you’re willing to go.

The room is silent except for jazz. Low and slow. All brass and honey. Toto doesn’t offer you wine.

He offers you a chair. A velvet one, too soft and too deep, like a trap. You take it anyway.

He stays standing. Just far enough away that you have to tilt your head to keep eye contact.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he. It’s a standoff in silk. And he’s winning.

“Did your father tell you what was in the letter?” he asks eventually.

“Yes,” you answer.

“Did he tell you what he hoped you’d say to me tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Do you plan on saying it?”

You smile. “Eventually.”

He hums. Walks to the minibar. Pours himself a glass of water. Doesn’t offer you one.

“Do you know,” he says casually, “how many drivers’ careers have been decided in hotel rooms like this?”

You shift in your seat. “I’m not a driver.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re a messenger. Dressed for war.”

You grin. “Is it working?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

He looks at you. Holds the silence until it aches. “Whether you came here to win,” he says, “or just to submit.”

Your stomach flips. He sips his water. And you realise you’re the one who’s sweating.

“You don’t trust me,” you say.

He laughs. It’s low. Dark. Clean.

“Trust you?” he repeats. “You walked into my motorhome in a dress that was practically a threat. Your father is trying to strong-arm me into a contract. Your brother is pretending he doesn’t know. And now you’re sitting in my suite like the goddamn devil, expecting me to believe this is just dinner.”

You lean back. Spread your legs just slightly. Watch his gaze drop. He doesn’t blink. You speak softly. “So don’t trust me,” you murmur. “Just listen.”

He looks up again. Quiet. Alert. You try to steady your voice.

“Carlos deserves the seat. He’s prepared. Strategic. He knows how to play the long game. And more than that, he respects you.”

Toto raises one brow.

You don’t flinch.

“You said you’ve been offered everything from sex to sponsorship to bribes,” you continue. “But you didn’t say anyone had ever offered you.”

He tilts his head. “Offered me what?”

“A connection,” you say. “A person. Someone who doesn’t want to use you. Just… speak to you.”

He sets the glass down. Walks forward. Stops right in front of your chair. Looks down at you. “Are you offering yourself to me?”

You look up through your lashes. “I’m offering dinner,” you say sweetly.

He smirks. “Coward.”

You don’t eat. Neither of you do. He orders a single plate of pasta from room service, then sets it down on the table between you and doesn’t touch it.

You stare at each other across it like a final round of chess.

“You’re very beautiful,” he says after a while.

“I know.”

“Arrogant.”

“Effective.”

“You think this will work?”

You smile. “Has it ever failed?”

He doesn’t answer. He picks up a fork. Twirls it slowly. Then sets it down again. “Let’s say I’m tempted,” he says. “What happens then?”

“I convince you.”

“To sign Carlos?”

“To trust me.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you his sister, or his agent?”

“I’m a woman,” you say softly. “In a dress. In your room. Because someone asked me to be.”

“Powerless?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what are you?”

You pause. Think. Then, “Curious.”

He steps forward again. Reaches out. Traces his finger down your collarbone. Just once. It’s not sexual. It’s scientific. Like he’s testing your pulse. He watches your face. You don’t flinch. He smiles. “Dinner’s over,” he says.

“Dessert?”

He chuckles. “You’re good.”

You stand slowly. Step into his space. Look up at him. “I know how this looks,” you say. “But I’m not here to ruin anything.”

“No?”

“I think…” You hesitate. “I think you want someone who sees you. Not just Mercedes. Not just power. You.”

He studies you. “You don’t know me.”

“Then let me.”

A beat. Another. Then he leans in. His lips brush your cheek. His breath touches your ear. “I haven’t said yes,” he whispers.

“You haven’t said no.”

“Don’t confuse interest with weakness.”

You smile. “I’m not,” you whisper back. “I’m hoping you’re strong enough to handle me.”

You leave at midnight. No kiss. No contract. But the room smells like smoke and tension and something unfinished.

You look back once as the elevator doors close. Toto is still standing in the doorway. Watching you.

Carlos is waiting at the hotel bar. He looks up when you walk in. “Well?” he asks.

You sit beside him. Pick up his drink. Take a sip. Say nothing.

He watches you carefully. “What did he say?”

“He’s thinking about it.”

Carlos scowls. “Did you fuck him?”

You turn. Smile slightly. “I could,” you say.

Carlos blinks.

You hand his drink back. Then walk away.

[straydolll]

Body language that hot people use and know

Consider searching about "the halo effect"

If a person is telling you a story and looks to the right they're telling the truth and trying to remember the story, but if they look to the left they're lying(creating that story), this could be up to debate but it's a "common" known fact atp

Mirroring the person you like is an unconscious thing that happens to us when we like or get comfortable with someone, so try to do it consciously towards the person you are interested in

Keeping your chin up and having a straight posture can be perceived as confidence, you can always try

Tell a joke or just show a funny thing in a group of people, then look who everyone looks at when laughing, usually people look at who they like or who are more intimate

That's it for the day, If you have any ideas or what topic you want tips just ask, luv ya🍥

[maracllea]

He can be controlled.

[sha-brytols]

idk if this is an unpopular opinion or not but i do kind of wish they never retconned this part of the lore

[hurlumerlu]

I do think that the current, general understanding of femmes fatales leans a bit too much on the "pew pew pew gun murder" part of that (rather broad, now) archetype and I can't really complain about it, but for me what really makes a femme fatale is

lying

to get people (especially men) to do things they wouldn't do otherwise

might personally resort to violence if out of options but generally doesn't (other people are doing the physical violence, that's the point)

men tend to find her incredibly alluring but how much of it is something she strives for and how much of it is them projecting?

trapped by the narrative

pretty much everything else is secondary.

[differentnerddiplomatopera]

Random Thought

The #Manwhore AU applies to the palladium heist. Odysseus whores his way out of being embarrassed/killed by Diomedes. It happened. Fight me.

tHERe ArE oTHeR wAyS of-

[allastoredeer]

Have u heard about deers/elk/moose get absolutely fucked up drunk on apples…and the absolutely irony of radioapple being symbolised as🦌🍎…

Radioapple is so canon

I HAVE AND I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS NEW FACT.

I'm stuck between writing something about it, or drawing something about it. It's so so good. The image of Alastor getting drunk on apples, of all things, is too hilarious not to do something with.

[ash-says]

Tried and tested Manipulation Techniques:

1) While talking, 80% truth and 20% lies. Make sure that the 20% lie is generic and extremely difficult to spot. This will help in creating a persona where people will think you are an honest person and when you truly need to lie or are put in a compromising situation people will naturally believe you until proved otherwise.

2) We live in a male dominated society and need to manipulate them to leverage benefits. The basic one that will keep you safe and get things done is speak with respect and softness. Confuse the person with hot and cold behaviour. Act a little cutesy I swear a lot of men are vulnerable to it. Touch them occasionally and strategically.

3) If you are living in a dysfunctional family learn how to manipulate your parents. You know your parents the best. Know the major deal breakers now the ones that align with you stick to them and fulfill it. It will give an illusion of being the perfect daughter and then strategically implement the rebel side.

Trial and error is the only way here.

4) Always keep a pristine image in front of authorities, bosses, teachers and professors. Never be aggressive if you have opposing views express it gently and in ways it's digestible to them. Being aggressive, on defence will only lead to your downfall. Soft spoken over anything else. Show your intellect but don't try to outsmart them. Showcase a learning attitude.

5) Learn to confuse people. Honestly it's such a boon. No one knows if you are truly a bitch or the situation triggered it out of you. Have multiple personalities catered to multiple people. Please understand I am not talking here in a people pleasing way. It's called adaptation.

For example: In my previous office I am rumoured to be an introvert in the team who is bitchy because of my strong boundaries but when you go to the HR she thinks I am a sincere candidate with a great work ethic and hardworking persona. In my college everyone thinks I am an extrovert and in my home my family thinks I am an ambivert. So you understand. So you understand the point right? Tailor your personality as per the environment.

[stellar-collective]

probably ooc but i cant get the image of your Phoenix frantically flipping through the seduction handbook after realizing they LikeTM Ollie and have No idea what to do out of my head

poor thing

[ingravinoveritas]

You know what's kind of wild to me? Anna just confirmed they've been together for 6 years. People forget she's still 29, and isn't 30 yet. So they met when she was still 23. Not hugely different from 25, but notable I think. Idk where the narrative that she was 25 came from and how that stuck.

Hi there! So I am still catching up on Asks, and I wanted to make sure I addressed these (grouped together due to similar themes). For those who might not have seen, what is being referred to are two separate incidents that occurred in the days after Anna posted the t-shirt story on Instagram. On Tuesday, she posted this story lashing out at a Swedish publication for sharing a story originally from a UK publication (The Independent) about Michael's answer to the age gap question on The Assembly. The story was originally in Swedish, but the English translation is on the right:

Then on Wednesday, she did the same thing again, this time with another Swedish paper:

Since so much of this hinges on what Michael said in his response, I will post a short clip of that here, so we have the visual:

When AL's stories were first posted, I noticed a few comments on a post from @nightgoodomens from someone who speaks Swedish, and after reading the article, their observation was that all the magazines did was literally translate what Michael said, word for word (which we can then also further confirm by watching the video above).

So Michael's words were translated directly, and on top of that, Anna was not tagged by these papers, or contacted by reporters "for comment"--she seemingly sought out these news stories and shared them on her own social media. What's strange is that most of us would never have even seen them otherwise, and yet she chose to draw attention to them. And if these articles truly are meaningless clickbait, I'm confused as to why Anna would lash out so hard at them, especially if she feels as secure in her and Michael's relationship as she has wanted us to believe.

The other thing for me is that the one voice that is (again) noticeably absent here is Michael's. Nearly every post Michael has responded to/shared in relation to The Assembly was about a moment between him and one of the interviewers, Leo. Not only has the clip of Michael's answer to the age gap question gotten much less circulation/attention than the initial clip of the girl asking him the question, he has not said a single word about it since the show aired on April 5th.

He has especially not said anything about being misquoted (either in UK magazines/newspapers or international ones). And this becomes even more glaring when you realize that Michael immediately jumped on someone Twitter the day before AL shared that first story and corrected them for misquoting him (in regard to his comments about Welsh actors and Welsh roles). So it's very clear that if Michael thought he was being misquoted, there is no reason why he wouldn't speak up about it. And yet...complete silence.

I also find it interesting that for months, Michael was being attacked on social media, first in the aftermath of his comments about the situation in the Middle East, then more recently after recording a video saying hello to Good Omens fans in Russia. In both cases, he was defamed over and over again, accused of supporting war and genocide, and in general had his comments twisted and distorted beyond recognition--in other words, he was repeatedly misquoted (to put it mildly). Not once did Anna defend him against any of this. Not once was there an Insta story or anything speaking up in support of Michael. But as soon as it was something about her/their relationship, here she was posting these stories and letting us know exactly what her priorities are.

To your comments @lookforthelight97 about AL inadvertently saying the quiet parts out loud, that was also something that caught my attention. We could be here all day talking about the narrative and who is trying to change what, but for those who don't know, the narrative of her being 25 came from every media outlet stating that Michael and AL met in May of 2019...despite the fact that she gave birth to Lyra just four months later, in September.

It was this discrepancy that gave a lot of us the feeling that something was off even back in 2019 (and I would urge folks to check out @problematicwelshman, who covered a lot more of this at the time). In actuality, Michael and AL would have had to have met in late 2018 (when Anna was actually 24, as her birthday is in August) for her to then become pregnant and have the baby in September. All of this to say that if the official PR line for the last five years has been that they met in 2019, it makes you wonder why AL is suddenly publicly contradicting it, especially to show the lack of contentment she seems to feel about the relationship even after five (pardon me, six) years.

In any case, my incredulity is and continues to be at AL so readily showing her insecurities in this way, because all these two Insta stories have done is to draw more attention to her response than to the articles that are mentioned. Articles that again, none of us would have known about if she hadn't shared them. Yet as was said above, I don't think there is anything that anyone could post or write that casts doubt on Michael and AL's relationship the way her own social media posts do.

And to what you @vaguelyomens and @angelsadvocate96 said about Michael mentioning that his greatest fear is being alone, I feel like maybe Michael has such a fear of being alone because he already knows what it's like to feel alone. To know deep down that you are not remotely on the same page as the person you're in a relationship with. To know that they don't understand you and never will, but feeling responsible for them nonetheless, and not knowing how to reconcile those two things. It's difficult to imagine anything that would make someone feel more alone than that.

So, those are my thoughts on the Insta stories AL shared earlier this week. As I have said before, I know that I could be completely wrong, and I'm happy for folks to share their perspective, whether you agree or disagree. A heck of a lot to think about, for sure...

[heartandlead95]

ART GALLERIES ARE NOT PLACES FOR THE IGNORANT, BUT FOR FEMME FATALES

“To the man I had seduced earlier at the café, I proposed an overnight visit to the ancient art gallery. He agreed, thinking that there was an after-hours opening that night. He did not know that I was the museum director and that I used to invite men after public opening hours for my deadly game. In my spare time I am in fact a femme fatale who also dabbles in other kinds of art, such as killing among paintings.

I proposed to him what I always propose. "Now I will show you ten famous paintings. If you can tell me the author, I will later make every part of my body available to you. If not, I think I will have to kill you." Upon hearing these last words, almost everyone used to laugh, smiling and thinking it was a joke, and eventually willingly accepted the challenge. Nine of those ten paintings were indeed what they appeared to be, but only one was apparently "Judith Beheading Holofernes" by Artemisia Gentileschi. Instead, it was a very faithful copy that I had made myself a decade ago. No one obviously guessed the author.

The man last night, an arrogant bastard who already imagined himself above me, arrogantly replied that it must be a male author whose name he could not remember, however. I then said to him, "Wrong, honey. Now I'm going to have to kill you." He turned around slowly almost laughing and saw me already in position. He only had time to change his expression, erasing that insulting smirk, and...

Pam pam pam pam pam pam... I had fun like an exalted little girl unloading all the lead I had on his chest, the entire magazine. I usually use half, but I couldn't forgive him for thinking the author was a man. Ignorant as well as arrogant. And I had another evening of art and blood!”

(image produced with Ideogram)

[fangsandfeels]

I love how full Astarion romance turns the table on the concept of romancing him with a pure good-aligned cleric/paladin

What used to be a "local flirty vampire spawn seduces an innocent cleric, possible corruption ensues" trope is now a "local vampire spawn tries seducing a cleric/paladin, plays himself after being shown infinite amounts of patience, affection, and care" scenario, and I'm all here for it.

[i-made-a-bg3-blog]

I was having trouble romancing Wyll in my Astarion playthrough for roleplay reasons right up until he was like, "oh by the way, you're the world's most obvious vampire, and if you hurt any innocents, I will wreck your shit. Cool? (Also, I find you very charming.)" Then, I was ready to marry him on the spot.