#but I want to get back into creating and sending mail

[batsandbirdbrains]

I have this idea bouncing around in my head where after Jason dies people come up with like shit ton of conspiracies and one of the biggest ones is that Dick had something to do with his death. Like Dick was just mysteriously gone with a flimsy alibi when everything went down. He missed the funeral. He was never adopted and was probably jealous of Jason. There’s lots of motive there.

Anyways, people start sending hate mail and death threats to Dick, because they’re convinced that he helped get Jason killed. Dick doesn’t say anything about it at first because he feels guilty about not being there for Jason, and he doesn’t want to create a huge fuss or anything. Eventually he gets used to it and forgets to bring it up to anyone. But then one day, when Jason has already been back in the fam for a few years, Dick lets it slip that he still gets hate mail for Jason’s death.

And Jason supremely loses his shit. He starts tracking these people down. Not as Red Hood, though, as buff-ghost-Jason Todd seeking revenge for people who hurt his brother. At first, Jason manages to keep it off the Batfam’s radar. But then more and more reports start popping up about Jason Todd’s hulk of a ghost beating up people who are mean to Dick. Now everyone is like “wtf??” and they’re trying to figure out if the best course of action is to announce Jason’s alive or if they keep pretending he’s dead.

Omg I could see it becoming a Gotham online conspiracy theory that doesn’t actually have all that many people who believe it, but it’s just enough who do for them to consistently harass Dick. And he’s had such a falling out with Bruce over the way everything with Jason was handled that he has no one who can help him with it, no one to turn to. Besides, maybe it was his fault. He should’ve done a better job protecting Jason. He should’ve been there. This is his penance for being a terrible brother.

Then the hallucinations start, and he has this ghostly version of his brother telling him he deserves it and his death is all his fault and he deserves every nasty word and threat that gets sent to him. And Dick believes. He believes all of it.

It doesn’t matter that Jason comes back a couple years later. It doesn’t matter that he and Jason become close again. It was still his fault. He still deserves it.

Then Jason is at Dick’s apartment one night, waiting for him to get back from patrol because he has a case he wants to discuss with him, and he stumbles across a box Dick left out. It’s overflowing with letters and flash drives, and when Jason opens it, he feels like he just opened Pandora’s Box.

Because it’s all hate mail. Death threats. Accusations. That Dick was responsible for his death. Some of them are dated back as far as the weeks following his funeral.

And Jason has since learned why Dick wasn’t at his funeral, he’s learned about the blowout fight Dick and Bruce had over it when Dick got back from space to find his little brother dead and buried.

There’s a letter at the top dated just yesterday. Dick got it in the mail today. He read it before he went on patrol.

And Jason breaks. Because his brother has been dealing with this for years, and no one ever told him. Jason has been back for years, unable to announce that he’s still alive to the general public (so Bruce says).

Jason gets together with Tim and Damian to come up with a plan. First, they scare the shit out of all these people trying to blame Dick for Jason’s death. Then they shut down all the Reddit threads and comment boards and discussion rooms on the internet that talk about it.

Then they convince Bruce to announce that Jason is still alive. They announce that the body had been difficult to identify, but it wasn’t actually Jason they found those years ago. Jason had been kidnapped and held hostage, they found him not long after he’d been pronounced dead, but they kept up the ruse because there had been death threats against him or something and it was a security thing idk.

And Jason publicly condemns everyone who ever accused his brother of killing him.

[444venicebitch444]

a/n: ty guys so much for all the love on my last post, i absolutely wasn’t expecting it. probably gonna write something about joel miller in the next few days. if you have requests, send away, ly!

simon riley who gets a new neighbour that won’t keep her fucking blinds closed. 

he'd seen the moving truck, a pretty bird thanking the movers and hadn’t thought much of it; he wasn’t one to make conversation with his neighbors, so he minded his own business. 

or at least he tried, but it was real fucking difficult when he could see through your windows at any god given moment.

at the beginning it wasn’t even intentional, he actually found himself getting annoyed at how exposed you were. did you have no fucking self preservation sense, letting anyone and everyone look into your house? christ, people these days.

but then the fascination creeped in and he couldn’t help but let his eyes travel to you. watching as you sat on the couch on your phone, watching tv, reading, whatever. 

he observed as you came home from work, talking on your phone way too loudly for his liking, or laughing like the girls he always found insufferable in school when your friends came over. 

after only a few weeks he put a name, and every other thing there was to know, to the pretty face. not like it was hard: you had your name on your mailbox, public social media profiles, and readily available professional and academic information on the first page of his google search.

simon knew it was weird, that he should stop watching, maybe mention your lack of blinds to you, but he couldn’t. not when he saw you undressing in a way that felt like you knew he was watching, like you were doing this on purpose, teasing him. 

he tried telling himself that this was a bloody mid-life crisis, that he was too bored after retiring and needed to pull his shit together, but it did little to quell his growing enchantment. 

so when he saw you struggling with your ground floor window, a rusted old thing he’d noticed quite a while ago, he exited his home withe the excuse of collecting his mail despite his mailbox being empty and shot a casual, gruff “everything all right?”

you were polite, sweet, assured him it was nothing, just the old house acting up, but he insisted. 

he pulled at the old wooden frame with big, calloused hands, your gaze inevitably slipping to his strong, ink covered bicep, the muscle flexing as the window finally budged.

he noticed your look, of course he did, and couldn’t suppress a tiny smirk as he stepped back, “there you go, love”.

you thanked him profusely, then introduced yourself, obtaining his name right back, and offered him a cup of tea, but simon wanted to take his time. he had to think with his head, not his cock, and make sure you were the right one before getting himself too invested.

so, despite every bone in his body wanting to do the opposite, he refused “maybe some other time”

“I’m holding you to that, simon” you smiled and the sound of his name dripping from your lips like the sweetest of honies almost made his knees buckle. 

after your interaction simon got more diligent, looking for anything wrong with you, anything to turn him away, to put a stop to this; but he couldn’t.

every bit of information he attained made him fall deeper, fed his growing love for you, validated the idea he had created in his head. you were bloody perfect for him.

so he did take you up on your offer of tea and biscuits, and showed up at your doorstep.  

the sight of you greeting him with a soft smile and wearing a pretty sundress almost had him throwing his self control out the window and just telling you how you were made to be his. but he resisted.

he was a little awkward, but in a strangely endearing way. he made you laugh (god, he would die a happy man if your laughter was the last thing he heard), and was respectful, polite. 

and obviously you found him attractive, you weren’t being exactly subtle: simon knew he wasn’t that funny and that there was absolutely no need for you to grab his arm as you giggled. 

simon held onto every touch, every laugh, every time his name left your mouth like a man starved, his chest warming at the realization that he might have a chance, that you might love him back if he made an effort.

and sure, he might’ve placed a tiny listening device under your coffee table while you made a second kettle of tea, but that was just because he wanted to understand you better. to know how to please you, how to make you happy.

the ego boost he go from it a few days later as he listened in on your phone call was just a bonus. he couldn’t help the smile that decorated his face as you ranted to you friend, “he’s, like, unbelievably hot, build like a fucking tank. and sweet too! i know fucking your neighbour isn’t a good idea but christ”.

so you could imagine his surprise when he saw you come out of a car that wasn’t yours, an arm that wasn’t his around your waist. when the wanker kissed you at your doorstep, practically eating your face off, his fists clenched, blunt nails leaving bloody crescent moons on his palm.

who the fuck was that bloke? what the fuck were you doing? didn’t you like him? hadn’t you said that-

simon took a deep breath. he needed to calm down. 

this wasn’t your fault, of course it wasn’t. you didn’t know how he felt, he hadn’t told you yet, how were you supposed to know?

you were his sweet, little bird, you’d never do anything to purposely hurt him. you weren’t like that.

so any ounce of anger towards you disappeared as soon as it appeared. that man, though?

the entire night, simon seethed. he’d closed his curtains but the image of him around you was burned on the front of his brain and he fantasised. fantasised about being the one driving you home, kissing you, pulling you upstairs, tasting you, burying himself into you as you screamed out his name. fantasised about crushing that man’s skull, cutting him up limb by limb, making him eat his own tongue, teaching him to keep it in his mouth instead of letting it slip into yours.

but simon wasn’t one to just steep in his fury, he did something about it. 

so in the morning, as soon as he saw you and the asshole go downstairs, he turned the volume up on the laptop hooked to the listening device as he got dressed.

the guy offered to make you breakfast, and simon’s eyes damn near fell from his skull at how fast they rolled.

“that’s…nice, but I have to go to work, micheal” your voice came out static-y from the old computer, but the annoyance in it was unmistakable. simon knew you didn’t work on saturdays and it made him grin: you didn’t even like the bloke, you just needed a shag. and while simon didn’t exactly approve the way about which you went about it (i mean, he was literally across the street, love), he could understand that.

had you thought of him while he fucked you? had you imagined his strong arms around you? his cleft lip against your plush ones?

simon realised something good had come out of your little hook up: it had given him a courage of sorts. you were his, not this man’s who he was sure hadn’t fucked you right, who certainly didn’t love you as much as he did, and who wasn’t even enjoyable enough to keep around for breakfast.

so that same afternoon, he knocked on your door, had another cuppa and finally asked you on a date, being met with the brightest smile you’d given him as of yet, and making you promptly forget about micheal.

which was good because simon really didn’t want you knowing about how micheal hadn’t shown up to work the next day and the police had found his car abandoned, specs of blood on the seat.

[milo-is-rambling]

lol my watch sleep alarm just went off like bro don’t you know I’ve thrown up already this morning I am Not asleep rn growth the program Apple watch!!!!

[spectorgram]

the letter

theodore nott x f! reader summary: you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased. notes: jealous! theodore nott >>> word count: 1.4k

You would think for a magical school, Hogwarts would have better heating or some heating spell, but the Slytherin dorms are frigid as usual as winter creeps up. You fasten your robe clasps and draw it tighter around you, simultaneously trying to tug your skirt down in a futile way to heat yourself up more. Your knee-high socks only do so much and you pretty much give up on the endeavor as you climb up the stairs and head for the Great Hall. 

You’re immediately greeted by the cozy warmth of the hall, spotting your friends, all swathed in green and silver robes and knits. Theo spots you first, sliding over and nearly knocking Blaise off the bench. “Blood hell, mate,” Blaise grumbles as you approach, kicking Theo’s leg lightly. 

You slip into the space created for you, right in between Theo and Enzo. You stifle a yawn and ask, “Can someone pass the eggs and bacon?”

As Enzo reaches for both platters, Theo’s eyes zero in on your legs. “How are you not cold?”

You frown. “I am,” you reply, piling your breakfast onto your plate, “but Pansy’s demon cat apparently thought my winter tights were toys and decided to scratch them all up.”

Pansy sighs, “I’ve ordered you new ones, calm down.” 

Theo drapes his robe over your legs and you smile gratefully at him. He smiles back and your heart flips. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how beautiful he is — all dark caramel curls and long lashes that frame those devastatingly blue eyes. He’s been your best friend since you started Hogwarts and you knew you loved him at first sight. The longer you’ve known him, the more you’ve fallen for him. 

It’s a tale as old as the world itself: you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend but you value your friendship far too much to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Mail’s here,” you hear someone say down the table. You look up to the ceiling, which has been enchanted to look like a sky that’s about to break open and drop snowflakes from its clouds. Owls soar in through the openings at the top of the walls, diving down towards their intended recipients. 

“Maybe your new tights are here,” Enzo says. 

Pansy adds, “I hope so. Then you’ll stop complaining about it.”

You snort, reaching up to grab a letter dropped by your family owl. You feed her a piece of scrambled egg as she takes off back towards the owlery. You tuck your parents’ letter into the inner pocket of your robe just as another owl swoops overhead, dropping a pale blue envelope on your lap. 

“Who’s that from?” asks Pansy. 

You shrug, using your butter knife to open it up. As you do, Draco grumbles at Mattheo: “For the love of Salazar, stop hogging the pastry basket.”

You skim over the letter addressed to you. You tilt your head in confusion and Blaise asks, “What’s it say?”

Enzo peeks over your shoulder and his face breaks into a smirk. “‘Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight tonight. Signed, Your Secret Admirer.’” he reads.

“What?” Theo suddenly snatches the letter from your hand. You watch in confusion as his eyes dart back and forth. His shoulders tense and his mouth purses into a thin, hard line. 

“You doing okay there, Nott?” Matthew asks, shooting a simpering smile at his friend. Theo sends a glare back but doesn’t say anything, the letter’s paper crinkling under his grip. 

Pansy asks, “Are you going to go?”

You hesitate, surreptitiously glancing at Theo, startled to find that he’s gazing at you with an intensity you’ve never experienced. You pluck the letter from him and fold it neatly. “I think so,” you say. “I’m interested to see who it is.”

“Be sure to bring your wand,” Draco says. “Just in case.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan. The conversation shifts into whether anyone was prepared for midterms coming up. 

You fiddle with the letter in your lap. Theo’s silent for the whole conversation. 

You chew on your bottom lip as you reread the same sentence in your textbook for what feels like the hundredth time. The letter has stuck in your head the whole day. It crosses your mind that it could be a prank or a set-up — it’s not a secret that Slytherin isn’t the most popular House among your classmates — but you know you can handle yourself. You’re more worried about how Theo was acting at breakfast. He didn’t say a word the rest of the meal, not even when Enzo and Mattheo tried looping him into the conversation. He just sat there, sullen and gloomy, and his mood seemed to worsen more when you handed him his robe back and said you had to get to class.

You sigh heavily, trying to play out every possible scenario that could happen between you and the letter writer. You check the clock in the library: 11:45; you need to head over to the Astronomy Tower. 

You groan, gathering your things, sliding them into your bag, and making your way back to the Slytherin common room to drop off your things in your dorm. “Cacophony,” you supply to the portrait, which swings open to let you in.

The common room is blissfully silent when you enter, a welcome contrast to the mess of thoughts in your head. You’re about to head down the hall to your dorm when you collide against someone. You huff an apology but when you feel their hand on your shoulder, you look up to see Theo. He looks intense, eyes wide and glinting with sharp determination and his mouth still set in that frown from earlier. “Sorry, Theo,” you say. “Didn’t see you there. Where are you going at this hour?”

“I was going to find you,” he replies. 

“Oh,” you say. “Well, here I am. Sorry, I’ve got to drop this stuff off and then—”

“Head to the Astronomy Tower,” he finishes for you, “to meet your ‘secret admirer.’” 

You don’t like the way he sneers at the last part of his sentence or the way he uses air quotations. You’re about to respond when he says, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go,” he repeats.

“Why not?”

He pauses before saying, “What if it’s someone just having a laugh?”

You bristle, hurt, and you feel your temper flare. “Is it so damn hard to believe that someone might actually have a crush on me?”

Theo laughs, razor-sharp and incredulous, as if he can’t believe that you’re saying something so outrageous, “No, it’s not.”

“Then why shouldn’t I go?”

“Because I don’t want you to!”

“For Salazar’s sake, Theo, you can’t tell me what to do!”

“I know that!”

“Then are you trying to tell me not to go?”

“Because I bloody like you!”

Your heart stutters to a stop. You can only hear the sounds of both of your labored breathing and you suddenly can’t meet his eyes, trying your best to wrap your head around the fact that your feelings are reciprocated. “How long?’ you ask softly, holding your breath.

“Since first year.”

You blink. “Really?”

He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, “Mattheo’s right; you’re so oblivious.” There’s another beat of silence and he asks, a little shyly, “How do you feel?”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “I like you too, Theo. I’ve liked you since first year as well.”

He echoes your “Really?” and it makes you giggle, “I guess we’re both oblivious.”

He joins your laughter and you let your forehead rest on his chest as your shoulders shake. When it dies down, Theo shifts you off him and lifts your chin with his forefinger, any semblance of coyness gone. You gaze into his ocean blue eyes. Salazar, you could drown in them. He offers a charming smile and he leans close, just a few centimeters away, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyelashes flutter and your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Your lips meet, fervent and desperate, years of yearning releasing like water through a broken dam. Theo hooks his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. You wind your arms around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at his nape. He walks you backward, slipping his tongue into mouth as he crushes you up against the wall. He deepens the kiss and your knees go weak. 

Theo moves your bag off your shoulder and drops it on the floor. The letter that rested at the top of the pile of possessions falls out, laying forgotten on the ground.

[cripplecharacters]

Thank you so much for this blog. Can I take a moment to ask the rest of your followers to please stop using it to ask for *permission* to write whatever they're trying to write? On every ask that starts with "can I write XYZ?", I just wanna grab the asker by the shoulders and ask back "what do you think is going to happen if you do?"

Since there's no ableism police going around inspecting amateur creative projects, this is really a poorly worded version of "is this bad/ableist/problematic/gonna get me cancelled/punished?", with an undercurrent of "am I bad? Am I a bad person? Please reassure me that I'm not a bad person", which is a hell of a lot to drop on a handful of strangers online who can only ever give you a bit of information and their own biased personal opinions.

I swear I'm not trying to be a jerk about this. It's good that so many people want to depict disability in fiction beyond flat stereotypes. But it's incredibly hard to create *anything* with this level of anxiety and craving for approval. It's sooo much better to be driven by playful curiosity. Learn to love research! Don't underestimate your capacity for critical thinking! Dare to form your own opinions! The worst that can (and will) happen is that you'll be wrong and make mistakes. Big deal.

I also invite everyone to get further along in the writing process before running to consult here. Writing is rewriting, and it's easier to rewrite what's already on the page than toy with hypothetical ideas forever. Tumblr jokes a lot about the mere existence of bad pieces of writing being "a hate crime", but let's get real. Your accidentally ableist first draft is not an act of violence, and treating it that way is not disability advocacy or activism or helpful to anyone.

Sorry if this ended up too long or verbose. What do you mods think? Agree/disagree?

I can't speak for the other mods but I mostly agree TBH.

There's much more to writing disabled characters than just getting a "stamp of approval" that what you're doing "is OK". And it's not that it's bad to consult others to make sure you're not being ableist (it isn't), but a good disabled character can't just be a character that's Not Offensive.

They should be well researched, they should be interesting, and they shouldn't just be there to be "good disabled rep". They should be a character, not a diversity quota to fill.

I've addressed the whole "no one is actually going to Cancel You if you write something ableist" in one of my older posts about writing characters with facial differences because it's true. One billion movies and series and comics come out every year and a ton of them are ableist, and I promise you no one is getting "cancelled" over having a villain with a scar.

I stopped answering those "is it ok if my villain is deformed and scarred?!??" asks because they don't really add anything, they're usually not looking to change anything or learn anything, they just want a Cripple's Stamp of Approval. And that's not going to result in a good character, ever, it's just like showing a thumbs up to a writer that it's OK for them to write this offensive thing. What's the point? If you want to write it so bad, just do it... There is no Council of Disfigured People that will cancel you and take your house. You don't need my permission to write a generic evil disfigured guy and I'm not going to grant it. If you don't want to actually learn or change anything, there's no point in asking.

As I said, that's my opinion and not necessarily representative of the other mods on the blog.

mod Sasza

As to my opinion I largely agree. You (the general you, not you specifically asker, which is what I will mean in this whole ask when I say 'you') can write whatever you want and no one will send you a certified letter by mail that says you are Cancelled or a Bad Person or whatever.

We just want people to do research and put thought behind what they're writing. To think about why things are considered ableist, by us or by anyone else. And we want people to make disabled characters be characters and not just a Trope.

We as a mod team, but also as just regular people, can't or control what anyone does or doesn't write/draw/do. No one can. If you want to write something we hate, then do it. We won't stop you. We can't. We just won't like it, but if you're that committed to writing what you're writing, you can live with that, or at least you should. Someone's specific piece of art/writing/etc won't change our minds on what we've previously stated. No, not even yours. But you can do it if you really want to because that's how being an individual person works.

mod sparrow

[kde-plasma-official]

Hey guys, quick PSA on Meta and them using your data for AI training:

Since April 7 this year they have a new privacy policy in place that, if you don't opt-out, will use your:

name

user name, profile picture, description

avatar

reels

photos and their descriptions

comments

from Instagram, your

name

user name, profile picture

avatar

posts

activity in public groups, channels, on public pages

comments

reviews and posts on Facebook marketplace

from Facebook, and your

profile picture, status

avatar

descriptions of groups / channels you created and joined

any conversations you held with Meta AI

any group chats you added Meta AI to

in WhatsApp to train their Meta AI models.

This change will start on May 27th, setting the deadline to the 26th to decline to their use of data.

How do you opt out? Meta provided two opt-out forms for that:

For Facebook, fill out this form,

For Instagram there is this one,

For WhatsApp, use this link and then pick the "Data Subject Rights Form" (translation may vary). Then pick the third option. Read through the links they gave you (or don't) and at the bottom select "I want to make an objection". Then fill out with your Email address and Phone number used for WhatsApp. Pick a real E-Mail address, they get back to you. You will have to explain yourself to them. If you are from the EU and need a template try the following:

I am exercising my rights under Article 21 of the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) to object to the processing of my personal data on the basis of legitimate interests.

I also object to the use of any of my data for AI training purposes. This includes, but is not limited to, the collection, storage, analysis, profiling, sharing, and any other form of processing of my personal data as stated in your privacy policy.

The processing under "legitimate interests" affects my fundamental rights to privacy and data protection as guaranteed under the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union (Articles 7 and 8). Specifically, it impacts my right to control how and when my personal data is used, shared, and profiled without my explicit consent.

I request that you immediately cease all processing activities related to my personal data where "legitimate interests" is the basis. I request any of this data to be deleted. Furthermore, I request that you confirm in writing that these activities have been ceased and data has been deleted.

This is just thrown together in hopes that it sounds like I know my stuff. If you are not from the EU, try reading through it anyways, compare the articles stated in my template with something from your country. Usually there's always a loophole if you look hard enough.

For Facebook and Instagram you have to be logged in with an account to use these forms, but once you are logged in, you can enter any email you want to. If you have multiple accounts, click the link multiple times, one for each email address.

You just need to log in to one account, not all of them.

You don't need to provide a reason.

They should auto-accept your request and send you an Email with confirmation.

Edit: WhatsApp Link Edit edit: WhatsApp Link (again) and template I used

[detective-n0ir]

HOW SOTM EXPLAINED SOME OF THE FNAF LORE HOLES (major spoilers)

I feel like we need to talk about how much info on the lore and world building of FNAF in general Secret Of The Mimic has explained. Obv there is so much stuff in there that I won't be covering it all but I have a few things I would like to talk about.

1 - William Afton having a vent to Sister Loction's bunker IN HIS HOUSE (EXPLAINED)

This was probably one of craziest info back in the old FNAF days that didn't make much sense to regular person in the fandom. Because let's be real it sounded unreal, because it would mean that William's house was build next to Sister Location. But now with SOTM out, we actually have an reasonable explanation for this within the mails you can find in game.

First of all William and Henry (Fazbear Entertaiment) were one of the clients for MCM (which was Edwin's Company who made and sold designs to other companies like we see below):

Which means they knew each other pretty well, they were close bussiness partners. Now, neither William nor Henry had their home anywhere close to their creations (like the whole idea of William living next to SL) but do you know who does? EDWIN. In the game we literally enter his house that is part of MCM whole property! Now you may be thinking, okay but how does this connect the whole vent to SL thing? Well let's look at some mails:

From this mail we get info that in act of desperation since MCM was going bankrupt with Edwin not being able to hold it together, he has sold the property to Fazbear Entertaiment (William Afton and Henry). And since Edwin's house is connected to the company's land/property William (WA) send him the email where he assured the deal was fair and square and that Fazbear Ent. would not touch his family house. Okay but, if William said the house was still Edwin's, how does it contribute to the explanation?

Well...There are two more mails regarding this matter:

And surprise, surprise...Fazbear Ent. LIED! Who would have thought that William Afton the fair and amazing bussness man had lied? Now you might be thinking, okay but first of all who the hell send this email? And why would William even want Edwin's house in the first place, the guy surely could afford better house for his family to settle in nearby!

Well this person is no one another than FIONA, or rather M1, the A.I. version of FIONA. The binary code translates to "SAD".

Now okay, but that still doesn't explain why would Fazbear Ent. want Edwin's house in the first place nor if William really did end up living there with his family...Well it actually does!

Take a look at this:

Yet again this email was also sent by FIONA (M1). Notice how she says "MY HOME". Because ladies and gentelmen the first created Mimic that was FIONA was placed in no other place than EDWIN'S HOUSE. William wanted the house for himself or rather for Fazbear Ent. because the A.I. WAS THERE!

Also the binary translates to "HOME".

FIONA is found by Arnold near Edwin's house!

Not only that, since M1 emotionally manipulated Edwin into creating M2 ("David") it meant THE SECOND Mimic who was extremly helpful for costumes (which would come in handy for Fazbear Ent.) was also in THE SAME HOUSE. And how do we know that? Well just look at this:

2- William having cameras in Crying Child's bedroom from FNAF 4 (EXPLAINED)

Yes, yes this is what you think. This is a bedroom from FNAF 4.

And this confirms the fact that William moved into Edwin's house with his family, because this used to be David's (M2) bedroom before it became Crying Child's in FNAF 4 (which would also explain the cameras in C.C.'s room, they were there to monitor M2 by Edwin and possibly by FIONA).

So to sum it up, yes William did have vents to SL in his house, because it used to be Edwin's house that was next to MCM factory that was lately probably rebuild by William and probably Henry to become Pizzerias from other games. And it also explains why the heck there were cameras in the child's bedroom.

[zaruba-needslove]

Opening a new AO3 Account

Because I often see people saying how hard it is to open an AO3 account when actually... it's not THAT complicated.

Like yes, when you first entered the site you'll be greeted with this.

If you wanna create a new account, you'd think that the only way to do it is by clicking that [Get invited!] button... right?

Thus, you'll end up with this page ^.

But yanno, since this invite request system is AUTOMATED, it will take some time for your invite code to be sent to you. I mean, just take a look and that last line on the above picture! And frankly, 4500 codes every 12 hours was not that bad really... if you compare it to when Ao3 has just started.

Even then...

DO YOU KNOW THAT THERE'S EVEN FASTER WAY TO GET AN AO3 INVITATION CODE? *

HOW, you ask?

Well, you can just ask ANY existing AO3 users if they have any extra invitation codes and have them give it to you. And it's not a very complicated process.

If you already became an AO3 user (and have some extra invitation code) but don't know how to give out the codes to friends who wanted it as well, then follow these steps.

Open your profile page, and look at your profile name.

There should be some buttons under your profile name, one of it would be the [Invitations] button. Click that to see the codes,

You'll be seeing a list of codes that you should automatically receive from AO3. If not, you could always request for it.

Like yes, if you need more codes, you can just click on the [Request Invitation] button. And if you want to send someone an invite code, you just enter the email address of the person you want to give the code to... and click Send, as the green arrow indicates.

Alternatively, you can just manually send the invite codes. Just go to [Manage Invitations]

Copy the link marked as [Copy and Use] and give the link to the person you want to give the code to. Important note tho, you HAVE to copy the actual link and not JUST the random bunch of numbers.

Because the link you've copied should lead you to THIS page.

Once you reach this page, you can just start opening your brand new AO3 account.

Likewise, if you've sent the codes thru the email, ask the person you've sent the codes to to check their inbox for the new mail containing the code. And then just click on the link provided.

*I said that this was 'much' faster since some people claimed that they didn't get the codes 'fast' enough, despite how nowadays the amount the server gives out the codes was a lot more compared to back then (which was like a few hundreds per day). So, I offered another option.

Cos yes, I shouldn't be the only one who still has a lot of codes leftover.

[thinkypinky69]

Sober Hearts Part 1

Pairing: (inexperienced) Spencer Reid x BAU! Female Reader

PART 1 OF 2 (or 3?)

WC: 3200

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, kissing, two nerds being nerds, everyone bails on y/n's birthday which is sad.

Summary: Everyone blows off your birthday. Everyone except for Spencer Reid, that is. A late night movie leads to some drunken actions. **NO smut thus chapter, that's the next one**

– – 

Your birthday was imminent. 

And you loved your birthday. 

You were an only child and an extrovert, so it was safe to say you enjoyed being the center of attention. This led to much confusion with your friends and family as to why you chose a career as an FBI profiler, but you had your interests. 

Not only was it your birthday, it was your 30th birthday. A decade. A big one. You and Penelope had planned a night out with the team in celebration at the end of the week, your birthday falling on a Friday this year. You had a bare-bones plan for the evening and Penelope was handling the rest of the details while you worked your case. 

*ring ring*

You answer. 

“Agent L/n.” You reply. 

“Okay so ladies get in free until 11 PM and as long as you superheroes catch the bastard within a few days we are in like Flynn, my sexy dirty-future-30.” 

You sigh with a smile. 

“You’re hogging up the lines to plan my birthday party, Garcia?” You reply. 

“Obvi.” You could hear her smirk through the phone. “Also I’ve given you guys everything you’ve asked for thus far so I have zero qualms about spending my time creating the greatest rager known to Quantico-kind.” Your friend replies. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Well consider me in there like swim-wear. I’ve got an un-sub to track, so you’ll have to let me get back to it if you want to actually party this weekend.” 

“Aye aye. Garcia out.” 

The line clicks off. You stow your cell in your back pocket and return to the briefing room. You had been somewhere in the potato fields of rural Idaho chasing a serial rapist and murderer for several days now and you were ready to finish the case and get home. 

“Any leads on her end?” Prentiss asks as you enter the room. 

“Unfortunately no, she was just confirming our plans for Friday.” You reply. 

“Oh, the Y/N birthday spectacular? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Morgan chuckles and sets the file down on the conference table in front of him. “I haven’t seen you shit faced in years.” 

“Language, Derek.” Rossi adds with a smile from across the table. 

“My apologies, I just know L/N is a good time at the club and we haven’t let loose in awhile.” Morgan looks up at you and winks. 

“Bold of you to assume I’m going to dance with you.” You playfully smack Derek over the head with your file. “You coming, Rossi? I’m sure those old bones could use a night out.” 

“Absolutely not. I haven’t been to a club since Sinatra was singing there, and I have no plans to go back. I’ll send your card via inter-office mail.” The older man replies. 

“Make sure you spell my name right on the check.” You say with a smirk. 

“Well I’ll be there, I’ve had a sitter lined up for weeks. I need a drink more than I need oxygen at this point.” JJ remarks from her position at the whiteboard, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. 

“Statistically, coping with workplace stress with alcohol would exacerbate any existing conditions-” Reid pipes up from his seated position at the table. 

“Yeah yeah yeah.” You wave him off. “So you’re coming, right?” You ask. 

“I’m actually giving a guest lecture on the homicidal tendencies of males experiencing abnormal maternal fetishes at the Quantico James Madison campus that night so I can’t really-” 

You stick your tongue out and blow a raspberry. 

“LAME!” You remark while making an L with your fingers on your forehead. 

“Real mature…” Reid raises his eyebrows and sighs. 

– – –

The case ends and you fly home with the team on Friday morning. You bid farewell to your colleagues and head home to take a well-deserved nap before your birthday celebrations. 

You wake up and lazily stretch your arms over your head. 

You notice your phone buzzing. 

8  missed texts. 

JJ: “Hey… the sitter cancelled at the last minute, I have to stay home with Henry. So sorry! Drinks soon!”

Boss Man: “Happy Birthday, Agent L/N.”

Undiagnosed But Pretty Sure: “Dropping your gift off later after my lecture.” 

Hottie Body Morgan: “Something came up, sweet thing, duty calls. Next time!”

Queen Pen: “Oh my god you’re going to kill me… Kevin’s dog died. He’s totally inconsolable. We need to rain check! Next weekend?” 

Italian Stallion: “Make sure you endorse the check before you deposit it. Don’t get too crazy tonight.” 

Miss Emily: “I’m wiped. Need to sleep. I’ll take you to brunch tomorrow, you better not be too hungover! Have fun tonight!”

Queen Pen: “I feel awful!” 

You were floored. 

Everyone had bailed. 

Your chest panged.

Your throat tightened. 

Of course, it was none of their fault. You were just disappointed. You had planned an outfit and everything… now it was to go to waste. You choke back the tears and hop out of bed. Nothing you could do now. You look at the clock. 8 PM. 

You throw on some black bike shorts and an oversized t-shirt and head down to the kitchen of your brownstone. You sigh as you open the fridge. A fresh box of cheap wine stared back at you. You had purchased it for any afters at your place that might have transpired after your club night out. You crack open the box and pour a heavy glass of bargain pinot grigio and bring it to your living room. 

You look at the clock again. 

8:39 PM. 

You flip on the TV and turn it to the latest episode of real housewives. With an exasperated sigh you take several large gulps of wine as you settle in on the couch.

*hmmphh*

Your dog sighed at you from his bed across the room. 

 Happy birthday to you. 

“FRONT DOOR. MOTION DETECTED.” 

Your video doorbell notified you. 

As an FBI agent, you were paranoid by nature, especially after everything that happened with Hotch. You sprung up and padded your way to the front door in bare feet. You peel back the curtains and notice a familiar figure placing a large box at your doorstep. You open the door. 

“Hey!” You call out as you see them retreat down your concrete steps.

“O-oh, hey!” Reid turns around to face you. His eyes glimmering in your porch lights. “I.. didn’t really expect you to be home. Thought you’d be out terrorizing the town with the team.” 

“No, uh.” You look down at your feet. You swallowed hard. “Everybody bailed.” You say with a sad chuckle. 

“What? Even Morgan?” Reid asks in earnest, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah, I think he found some tail. You know how he is.” You laugh. You look down at the box on your doorstep. “What’s this?” You say as you pick up the box. 

“Your birthday present, I thought I would just leave it for you to get when you came home.” 

You crack open the crudely taped top of the box. Inside the box were several individually wrapped parcels. You pick one up and take off the brown paper. You gasp. 

“Reid…” You say as you hold the drinking glass in your hand. 

“The 1970 Murano checkered glass set.. In yellow…” Reid can’t help but smile as he sees you look at the cup. “It’s the whole set. The certificate of authenticity is in the box somewhere-” He steps towards your porch. “I think it’s all there-” 

“H-how? I-I’ve been looking for this set forever…” 

“Ebay. Took me a minute, but I found a seller.” Reid steps further into your porch light. “You’ve been talking about it for years.” 

Your grin spread all the way across your face as you delicately packed the drinking glass back into the large box. 

“Holy shit, Reid. This is like… the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me…” You were giddy. 

“Well, happy birthday L/N.” He says with a shy smile. He turns to walk back home when you interject. 

“Do you- do you want to come in?” You ask, sheepishly. “It’s my birthday and I’m drinking boxed wine alone. It’s kind of pathetic, actually.” You say with a chuckle. 

Reid hesitates, scanning your face for any microexpressions to make sense of the situation. He had never been invited into your home before and it was late. 

“Well… it would be a shame if we didn’t break the new glassware in.” He smiles and heads up the steps and into your open front door. You could have sworn he was blushing. 

You motion for Reid to have a seat on the couch as you bring two of the new glasses to the kitchen and fill them up with wine. 

“Woah hey there!” You hear Reid nervously exclaim from the living room. 

“Sorry! He’s friendly, I promise!” You say without looking up, knowing your dog was giving the guest a huge sniff-over. “I know you’re not a dog guy, but he’s harmless.” You say as you bring the two cups of wine over to the sofa. 

“I never told you I didn’t like dogs.” Reid says defensively. 

“I’ve known you for 5 years… I’m a profiler… I know you don’t like dogs.” You say with a single raised eyebrow as you hand Reid his glass of wine. 

“You know, greyhounds are statistically one of the most lazy breeds of dogs even though they’re career racetrack animals.” He says as your dog calms down and returns to his bed on the floor next to the TV. 

“Don’t I know it. Banjo is a certified couch potato. Perfect for someone who isn’t home all the time. He’d spend more time eating than running if he could.” You laugh. 

“Well… happy birthday.” Reid raises a mustard-yellow checkered antique glass to yours as he sees Banjo settle into his dog bed. 

You clink your cup with his. 

“Thank you, Reid.” 

You both take a sip. 

He sputters. 

“This is terrible.” He says with a chuckle. 

“I know.” You throw your head back and laugh. “I didn’t expect to be drinking this all night.” 

“I’m sorry everybody flaked.” Reid says, taking another drink from his glass. 

“It’s fine. Shit happens.” You say without looking up from your cup. 

“Yeah, but it still sucks.” He takes another gulp of white wine. “Your place is nice.” He remarks. 

“Thanks.” you reply. “I still can’t believe you found this glass set.” 

“It wasn’t that hard, just had to talk to a bunch of internet weirdos to get it.” 

“Ah, yes, and since we specialize in weirdos I’m sure you could get a good deal.” You say with a cheeky smile. “Thank you.. Again.” 

“No problem.” Spencer answers. There’s a pause. “Hey, do you have netflix? I heard they just released the first part of Dune on there and-”

“Really?!” You sit up on the couch and grab the remote. “I’ve been dying to see it!”

“Yeah me too!” Reid can’t hide his enthusiasm as he sets his empty glass down on your coffee table. 

“Here, I’ll refill us and you get the movie going.” You say as you excitedly pass Reid the remote. You get up and fill both of your glasses to the brim with wine before returning to the couch. 

– – 

“Well he’s a complex character-”

“Oh yeah? RIP Oedipus, you would have loved Paul Atriedies.” You laugh into your umpteenth glass of wine. 

Reid can’t help but laugh with you. 

“That is so not it!” The young genius gives you push back. 

Is Reid giggling? Was he tipsy? You had never seen this before. You had never seen him so… comfortable. You also realized how close the two of you were sitting on the couch.

You had begun the movie at opposite ends of the sectional, but with frequent breaks to refill your cups and grab snacks, you and Reid had ended up hip to hip with each other on your sofa at the end of the film. His arm had even snaked its way behind your shoulder on the back of the couch, caging you in near him. 

“How did your talk go tonight?” You asked. 

“Oh, that? It was fine. The lightbulb joke flopped again.” He says with a tired grin. 

“About the existentialists?” You ask. 

“That’s the one, yes.” 

“Oh, I like that one.” You finish your cup of wine and place it onto the coffee table alongside Reid’s empty glass. “Maybe it needs an update.”

“An update? You have any ideas?” A bit of a drunken smile plays across his pale face. 

“Yeah maybe like… If I had a dollar for every existentialist moment I’ve ever had, does money even matter?” You propose. 

Reid whole-heartedly laughs, his dimples highlighted in the shadows from the low lighting of your living room. He was so handsome, so sweet…

What were you thinking?

It had to be the wine…

“I can’t believe Morgan missed out on the chance to take you out tonight.” Reid remarks, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Well I’m sure if he had a chance to get laid he’d take that over going out with me.” You joke. “I’m basically his little sister. The whole team thinks of me like that.” 

“I don’t.” Reid responds all too quickly. 

You swallow. 

“Well yeah, we’re like the same age.” You laugh his comment off awkwardly. 

“It’s not just that, it’s-” Reid stops himself. “Nevermind.” 

“No no, say it.” You pull on his shirt sleeve playfully and lean into him. 

“Well… I just…” Reid stammers as you move closer. 

You were nearly chest to chest at this point and his hand grazed the tops of your shoulders. You move your hands to your lap. 

“You just what?”

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n… I notice it all the time…” He says nervously as he scans your features. 

Move your hands up his chest and your fingertips ghost up his sternum and you gently card them through the long hair at the base of his neck. 

“You think so?” You ask, breathlessly. 

“I-I-I do… I always have…” He stutters and places one of his nervous, shaking hands on your hip. 

“Spence…” 

“Y/n…” 

And suddenly his lips were on yours. 

You inhale quickly at the surprise of it all. Your colleague of several years was kissing you inside your house. Why did it feel so right? You cradle his head and pull him further into you as you sigh into the kiss. Inexperienced lips mouthed at yours as you pressed yourself against him. It was clear he had no idea what he was doing but it was evident that he wanted to feel you, the grip on your hip becoming impossibly tight. 

You wound your fingers into his long hair and tugged gently, deepening the kiss. You push your tongue tentatively into his mouth and he whines. Holy shit that was hot. You were about to swing your leg over his lap to straddle him when he broke the intense connection. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry…” Spencer stood up abruptly, leaving you alone on the couch craving his touch again. 

“W-what?” You stammer in confusion. You stand up to try to follow him. 

“I-I have to go.. T-This is unprofessional…I-I didn’t mean for this to-” Reid stutters and heads towards your front door. 

You follow him. 

“Spencer wait-” You reach out but he ducks from your grasp before you can grip the hem of his sweater vest. “You shouldn’t drive home-” You make any attempt to plead with him to stay. 

“I’ll walk- sorry- L/N- I need to go…” 

And before you could process anything else, Spencer was out your front door and halfway down the block. You chew your nail as you watch him walk off from your porch, wondering if you had completely soured your friendship and working relationship with Reid. 

– – – 

“I am SO sorry I skipped out on your birthday. I feel so bad!” JJ remarked to you on Monday after the weekend had gone by. 

“It’s honestly fine, the rest of the degenerates flaked on me as well.” You say with a bit of venom in your voice in the briefing room. “Spent most of the night drinking boxed wine with the dog.”

“Yeah that’s why she looked so haggard when I took her to brunch the next day. The sulfates in that cheap shit will kill you.” Prentiss comments 

“Wait, so you’re saying every single member of the team cancelled on your birthday?” Hotch looks up from the case file and raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Yes and if you’d like to financially compensate me for my time that would be appreciated, section chief.” You say with a cheeky smile as you distribute copies of the file around the large wooden table. 

“Now hold on, something came up and-” Morgan begins. 

“Oh I’m sure something came, Derek.” You say with a fake grin. “None of you could have topped Reid’s gift anyway.” 

“Oh yeah? What did boy-wonder get you?” Morgan asked with a raised brow. 

“Murano glass. 1970.” Reid comments softly with his face buried in the file. The two of you haven’t spoken one on one since the kiss at your house on Friday. 

“The mustard checkered set? The one you’ve been nerding out over forever? How many pieces?” Prentiss asked. “You didn’t tell me this on Saturday!”

“The whole set actually. Can we review the case?” Reid leans forward in his chair, still not looking at you or anyone else. 

Emily gives you a knowing look with furrowed brows. She can tell something happened. You hated working with profilers. 

– – – 

“Okay what the hell happened Friday night?” Emily probes you from the passenger's seat of the black SUV you were driving. The team had flown out to California on a case of several missing women and you were tasked with heading out to the house of one of the victim’s families. You kept your eyes on the road, thankful that you had sunglasses on so she couldn’t completely read your expression. 

“What do you mean? I told you. Everyone cancelled and I stayed home to get drunk alone.” You say. 

“No there’s more you’re not saying. Something happened with Reid. He’s been weird all day and when  you mentioned his gift to you he got even weirder.” 

You swallow hard. 

“Reid is always weird, that’s not new. I mean, he dropped off the gift, yeah. Nothing happened, though.” You try your best not to sound defensive. 

“That’s nice, you know. That really is nice. That’s a lie, but it’s nice!” Prentiss chides you. 

“You can think what you want, nothing happened.” 

“Yeah okay.” Emily says with a dramatic eye roll. She settles back in her seat. 

A few minutes go by in silence.

Emily breaks it. 

“Don’t break his heart, okay?” 

You don’t respond.

– – – 

You couldn’t believe it. The rural desert town only had a handful of beds left and you were all forced to pair up for the nightly accommodations. 

“Youngest get last pick, and I’m taking Morgan because he seems the least likely to snore.” David Rossi grabs a room key off the front desk. 

“No argument there.” Emily remarks. “Come on JJ.” 

“WHAT!” You exclaim. “Why did you pick her so fast?!” 

“She’s got a baby at home and you talk in your sleep. We need everyone at their best tomorrow. Sorry, girl. Looks like you’re stuck with boy genius.” You immediately notice the slight upward curve of her lips as she finishes her sentence. 

The team leaves to their rooms and you snatch the last key off the counter with a sigh. You turn around to face Reid. He purses his lips into an awkward smile. 

“Shall we?” He says with a tug on the strap of his messenger bag.

-- -- --

[ozarkthedog]

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

summary: it's been years since Dieter last saw you, his childhood friend and the unrequited love of his life. still, he doesn’t blame you for leaving.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn!childhood friend!reader

warnings: angst but with a happy ending! mentions of drug use and alcohol but nothing graphic. w.c: 1.0k

an: for @punkshort AU August writing challenge, I was given the prompt, “childhood friend with Dieter Bravo” thank you so much for hosting! huge thanks to @ghotifishreads for letting me talk your ear off about this little idea that took on a life of it's own and for reading this over. ilu!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dieter rubs a hand over his face as he steps from the SUV into a throng of flashing lights and frantic screaming. It was the premiere of his first directorial and writing debut; a lot was riding on this.

Sure, he'd won an Oscar and various other award nominations, but this was an entirely different beast. This movie was special to him. It was the first script he wrote after getting "clean." He always scoffed at that word. Clean. Was he pure and holy now simply because he kicked hard drugs to the curb?

He takes a deep, slow breath, adjusts his velvet purple suitcoat, and moves down the red carpet. He autographs cards and pictures, takes selfies, and banters with a few fans before moving on to the press.

It doesn't feel right being here alone, he thinks, his left side feeling raw and exposed like a wound that never healed. 

After rewriting the script several times, he has his assistant mail it to a few studio execs before having them print out one last copy. He wrote down your name and told them to send you the script. He wanted to deliver it to you in person; it felt like the right thing to do, but he couldn't be sure you ever wanted to see him again after what he put you through.

He's stronger these days. Mentally and physically healthier. He's lost a bit of weight now that he's no longer downing pills and chasing them with alcohol. It took him a while to get used to feeling again. Sitting with the uncomfortable thoughts and not letting them take control. He's proud of himself. He thinks you would be, too. 

You.

Seeing a large open field littered with red flowers while driving home from rehab for the second time kicked him square in the gut. Flashes of his youth came back in vivid, blinding colors.

Chasing his dog, Dali, around the yard. Playing with you in the field of wildflowers behind your house. His throat tightens.

You.

You were his reason. The sun he revolved around—inseparable childhood friends.

When you first met Dieter, he was covered in chalk dust, drawing funky, green aliens with big eyes on the sidewalk in front of his childhood home. You'd just moved in next door, and your Mother told you to go make friends. He looked at you in awe as you stood before him, the sun creating a golden crown around your head. "Wanna be friends?" you blurted before kneeling and pestering him about his chalk alien.

From that moment on, you were forever linked. Dieter never wanted anyone else.

From scabbed knees and hide & seek to strange body changes and long school days. Consoling Dieter after he's pushed into a locker, copying each other's homework, watching Dieter shine on the theater stage, and spending almost every minute together that you could.

He wondered if you ever felt the love he held for you—the love that surpassed sibling bonds and grew stronger every time he laid eyes on you. The love that made him self-conscious and shy away from speaking his truth despite years of yearning. He couldn't convince himself to jeopardize the friendship or that you might possibly feel the same.

Cut to Dieter asking you to move to LA with him to be his assistant once his star power steadily rose. 

To the elaborate movie sets and lavish premieres, to the long nights and unspoken feelings. 

To find Dieter on the floor with vomit spilling from his lips to the empty bottles of pills and booze splayed around his Hollywood Hills home. 

The bickering, the raging parties, and the friendship that was slowly dying. 

The shell of a man he used to be. 

You were never around when he needed you the most after he drowned himself in booze and pills. He never blamed you. He was often inebriated, covered in a mess of sweat and other fluids. You could only stand to see him self-medicate for so long. 

"I can't keep doing this," he remembers you saying as tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip trembled while he sat in a crumpled heap at the foot of his unmade bed with that usual glazed look. "I can't keep trying to save you."

He remembers wanting to argue, to save whatever piece was left. He tried to chase after you, but his brain and body were still under the haze from the night before, limbs heavy as lead weights, and they no longer listened to his commands. 

How your face twisted with a devastating sadness made his heart shatter. He never meant this to happen, for it to get this bad.

Had Dieter known the repercussions, that the last image he'd have of you would be wiping fallen tears that he caused from your cheeks, he would've gotten clean eons before. He would've let this version of himself die without a second thought. He wanted to be the man you counted on, with your best interests at heart. 

The man you knew him to be.

—

Just as he's about to step into the theater, he hears a voice call his name—a voice that would wake him from the dead. 

You.

His heart aches; it bursts with unnerving energy as he watches you approach. His gaze never leaves you as you glide across the room to where he stands, frozen. Could he be hallucinating?

"Hi D," his nickname sounds like heaven as it leaves your lips. He never wants it to end; he wants to hear it forever. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner. I needed to make sure I was in a good headspace to see you again." You nervously wring your fingers, and Dieter can't stop himself from reaching out and locking your hands together, calming your combined anxious energy.

"It's okay," he whispers, throat tight, holding back elated tears, "I'm glad you're here."

A smile tugs at your lips, eyes shiny with your own tears. "Me too."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[tiamathh]

TIAMATHH'S PAID READINGS <33

24

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🎟️ 500 Days of Summer - Current Relationship

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What is blocking my personal growth?

What habits should I develop for a better life?

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What is my biggest strength and how can I use it?

What do I need to let go of to move forward?

How can I improve my mental health?

What does self-love look like for me?

How can I better handle stress and pressure?

What is my life's purpose and how can I pursue it?

How can I improve my relationships with others?

What are the next steps in my personal development journey?

How can I cultivate a more positive mindset?

What limiting beliefs are holding me back?

How can I better balance my work and personal life?

What should I focus on to create a fulfilling life?

How can I become more resilient in the face of challenges?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Little Miss Sunshine - Family Relationships

Package: How can I improve my relationship with my parents?

What does my family need from me right now?

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How can I heal from past family traumas?

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How can we better support each other's dreams and goals?

What should I focus on to strengthen my family bonds?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ About Time - Future Spouse

Package: What is the potential timeline for meeting my future spouse?

What will our relationship be like?

What will my Wedding look like and be like?

What should I focus on in my current life to meet my future spouse?

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How will our families get along?

How will our personalities complement each other?

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Their toxic traits

Your relationship dynamic

Your first impression of them

Their first impression of you

Where could you meet

Your first date with them

How will you resolve conflicts in the relationship

Obstacles the both of you will have to overcome

Their communication style and how they show affection

What will you like and dislike about them

What will they like and dislike about you.

How can I maintain a healthy relationship with my future spouse?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Sing Street - Career Reading

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How can you manifest your desired career

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🎟️ 5 Centimeters per Second - Glow up

Package: What aspect of myself is ready for transformation?

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What spiritual practices will support my transformation?

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🎟️ Fantastic Planet - Advice from Spirit Guides

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🎟️ Whisper of the Heart - Future Energies (Choose Career OR self growth OR relationship)

Package: What energies are coming into my life soon?

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🎟️ First Wives Club - Platonic Relationships

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What can I do to support my friends better?

How do my friends perceive me?

What is the most important lesson I need to learn from my friends?

How can I attract positive, supportive friendships?

What role do my friends play in my life path?

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What changes should I make to improve my social circle?

What new friendships are on the horizon for me?

How can I deal with feelings of loneliness?

What can I do to heal from a lost friendship?

How can I create lasting bonds with others?

What activities can I engage in to meet like-minded people?

How can I improve communication with my friends?

What boundaries do I need to set in my friendships?

What qualities should I look for in new friends?

How can I show appreciation for my current friends?

 What new people are coming into your life platonically

How will your friendship progress

What will they teach you?

What they think of you

What they like about you

What you’ve taught them and what they taught you.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Living in Oblivion - General Readi

Your aura and your energy at the moment. 

What is the overall energy surrounding me right now?

What recent events are influencing my present situation?

What is my current emotional state?

What are my immediate challenges?

What opportunities are available to me at this moment?

What should I focus on in the coming days?

What is the current state of my career?

How are my relationships impacting my life right now?

What habits should I change for better well-being?

What is the lesson I am currently learning?

How can I best support myself emotionally?

What creative pursuits should I explore?

How can I improve my daily routine?

What messages do my dreams hold?

What advice does the universe have for me?

What is blocking my progress right now?

How can I align myself with my true purpose?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Scott Pilgrim vs. The World - Next Relationships

Package: Energy with your current partner

What qualities should I look for in my next partner?

How will I meet my next significant other?

What should I be aware of before entering my next relationship?

What past relationship lessons do I need to remember?

How can I prepare myself for a new relationship?

What will be the nature of my next romantic relationship?

What are the potential challenges in my next relationship?

How will my next partner influence my life?

What should I avoid in my next relationship?

What will be the most rewarding aspect of my next relationship?

How can I attract a healthy and loving relationship?

What role will my next relationship play in my personal growth?

How can I ensure open communication in my next relationship?

What should I focus on to find the right partner?

What can I do to heal from past relationship wounds?

What signs will indicate that I’ve found the right person?

How will my next relationship affect my social life?

What spiritual connection will I have with my next partner?

What boundaries should I set in my next relationship?

How can I maintain my individuality in my next relationship?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Paprika - Pick n Mix

Package: Your own questions! Have fun 9 Questions for $7 and $0.7 for every other q <3

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Everything Everywhere All At Once - Advice from Ancestors

Package: What guidance do my ancestors have for me?

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What messages do my ancestors have for my spiritual journey?

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What is the most important ancestral message for me at this time?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Om Shanti Om - Past Life

Package: What past life influences are affecting me now?

How can I uncover memories of my past lives?

Is my Karmic Cycle still ongoing?

What lessons did I learn in my past lives?

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What talents or skills have I brought from past lives?

What relationships in my current life have past life connections?

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What was my primary purpose in my past life?

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How can I access past life wisdom for guidance?

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What role did I play in my most significant past life?

How can I release any negative energy from past lives?

What is the most important message from my past lives?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Perks of being a Wallflower - Social Life

Package:

How can I improve my social interactions?

What steps can I take to expand my social circle?

How can I become more confident in social settings?

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︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Encanto - Spirituality

Package: How can I deepen my spiritual practice?

Is a Deity trying to reach out to me, what deity could this be?

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︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

🎟️ Uptown Girl - Inner Child

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🎟️ Baby's day out - Parenthood and Future Child

Package:

What qualities will my future child inherit from me?

How can I best prepare for parenthood?

What kind of parent will I be?

Messages from my future child  

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🎟️ Secret life of Pets - From Your Pets to You!

Package: What is my pet trying to tell me?

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🎟️ Jennifer's Body – Your Sexuality (18+ ONLY)

Package: What qualities make me sexually attractive?

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🎟️ Boogie Nights: Sex Life (Fs/Next Partner) 18+ ONLY

Package: What will my future sex life be like with my partner?

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Their fantasies about me

My fantasies about them

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🎟️ Zoolander - Fictionals/Hypotheticals

Package: What would my relationship be like with [fictional character/celebrity]?

How would [fictional character/celebrity] influence my career if we were friends?

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What weaknesses would a relationship with [fictional character/celebrity] highlight in me?

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How would a break-up with [fictional character/celebrity] affect me?

What unique experiences would I have with [fictional character/celebrity]?

How would my personality change through a relationship with [fictional character/celebrity]?

Your relationship with the character/celeb (romantic or platonic)

Their toxic traits

Your relationship dynamic

Your first date with them

How will you resolve conflicts in the relationship

Their communication style and how they show affection

What will you like and dislike about them

What will they like and dislike about you.

Their first impression of you and your first impression of them

[nottivagos]

f!pov & stalker!carlos sainz.

wc: 2,064 words

tw: stalkers, dark themes, brief? mentions of nsfw

a/n: HELLO!!! welcome back to notti's nightly novellas. this fic is heavily inspired by i believe @/emchante's stalker!au carlos as it really made my head drabble on and yap about silly stalker carlos sending anonymous notes to his darling.

Fear and Sex, He Wrote. ¦¦ CS55

A sick pool of fear churned and curdled in your stomach. Wide eyed and teary, your eyes frantically flicked over the thick, cream-coloured cards in your trembling palms. The light sweat made them sticky to touch, they were letters, very detailed ones,— but not just any letters. Graphic sex fantasies, crude depictions of objectifying yourself and the dreams this anonymous lustful sex pest wanted to do to you.

It wasn’t the first time you’d received such sickening things. Such things that needed to be kept away, right at the back of someone’s mind, never to be revealed into the public eye. Or in your case, the bedroom. No, this occurrence had been going on for longer than any woman dreamed of suffering— a controlling bundle of fear wrapping you up whole, swallowing any inch of free will you had with ease, shutting off your vocal cords whenever you wanted to report it.

You were an undoubtedly beautiful woman. Even you knew that. On the brief appearances you made at bars and clubs, your presence was definitely made noticeable. Men and women’s gazes loomed over your figure, snugly dressed in garments that presented your soft curves in ways unimaginable, but also tempting the more monstrous side of them to imagine what lay underneath whilst you kept basking in the strobe lights, cheaply made cocktails in hand, and thumping drum and bass the typical ‘nighttime’ spots had to offer.

Maybe it was some sort of sick joke? You always thought, as glassy, stinging eyes glossed over each bold mention of ‘fuck’, ‘cunt’, ‘cock’ and ‘come’ that the unidentified freak wrote. The harsh wording and setting created a burning imprint in your mind, a forced sex position or lewd scenario that lurked— haunting your days in its own predatory, violent way— keeping your poor mind on edge, leaving you uneased even inside your own home.

Loneliness and anxiety aren’t a pleasant mix. It’s a mix that makes your gut twist and turn, churning acidic bile which is begging to be retched into a basin. The feeling suffocates anyone, like a metaphorical hand wrapped tightly around someone’s throat, leaving them silenced and isolated. Afraid of speaking out. Afraid of unknown consequences, causing overthinking and psychological turmoil.

Even the mere postman knocking on the door created tight knots in your stomach, the burning feeling of upset overflowing— the sheer fright flashing across your eyes, causing your insides to drop and heart to pound, the healthy colour of your skin to become a ghastly pale, pasty and sick, as if the horror of another looming erotic, predatory desire was sat quaintly on your doormat inside.

You felt ashamed, how could you have let fear and embarrassment silence you like that? It was only a piece of paper, containing some mere explicit eroticism— maybe a little too pornographic in parts—, which had been completely normalised by the changing ways of society. That’s when it changed, this one was different. The anonymous author had gotten every little, tiny feature of your appearance to a tee. How the hell did someone get something so graphically accurate? Someone, comfortably distanced from you, was stalking you, your body, and your soul.

It was beautifully fucked up. Honestly it was. And that pretty little head of yours would never come up with a logical reason, answer or identity to the mystery sex writer who overflowed your mail.

Your head was too busy hung low, your pathetic sobs muffled by your wettened hands to acknowledge your next door neighbour, Carlos Sainz, peering straight through his blinds with a sadistic smile.

Oh, sweetheart. You stupid, stupid girl. You’re way too easy to scare. The Spaniard contently thought to himself, watching you unfold in turmoil, like a scared kitten left in the pouring rain. It was ravishing, really— for his own pride’s sake. He’d been able to mingle himself into your mind, graphic fantasies manipulated into words, whilst maintaining that hidden identity— that bit of untold freedom which made his hardness twitch as he wrote such lewd things— happily away from you.

He, in short, was proudly your stalker. The man solely behind the erotic fantasies carefully, yet sickeningly curated and gracefully handwritten which made your lips tremble and heart sink.

Your relationship with Carlos was, in your opinion, completely platonic. Maybe a little too over-friendly sometimes, with his gentle touches and sweet nothings, but it wasn’t an issue for you. If anything, you latched onto it. Grasping onto that cherishing feeling, that little smidgen of hope when he showed the signs of caring about you in your predicament. He was the first person you’d been able to crack up the courage to tell, after he tenderly brought up his concerns for your distance from the neighbourhood, as if you were a ghost of the lively girl you used to be.

It was like a dream, an endearing one, at least. You’d been met with loving, soothing and somewhat addicting words, delivered by his thick, distinct accent that drawled and murmured like gooey treacle, whilst also being so gingerly touched as if you were a fine, pure piece of porcelain— easily breakable— in the eyes of the tanned man of thirty.

But underneath that facade? Well, those ‘innocent’ words were way more sinister; quiet degradations and malice which crumbled your psyche word-by-word, like a mason carefully chipping away at the stone to perfectly craft his newest statue.

It was bliss to Carlos. He was meticulously spinning this ‘safety net’ for you to rely on, whilst actually the poison and venom drawing you back to him with every horrible phrase on each card that stacked high with the various others collecting dust in your flooded letterbox. Every striking pornography he scribed drew you back to him, and he was more than welcome to accept you back into his open arms.

The reality was horrific, really. But you’d become so accustomed to it, the comfort becoming an overpowering drug, a strong magnetic force, always making— pulling you, even, to come back crawling to him.

Clutching the card tightly, you shoved it into your trouser pocket, before brushing the stinging weep away from your reddened eyes with hasty movements of the back of your hands. A soft sniffle escaped, a hiccuped sob muffled as you wiped a tissue across your snotty nose, then you rushed out of the door.

Your destination was ingrained into your mind, the scenario and situation like clockwork. Your only desired embrace being Carlos’s, as your mind went on autopilot, guiding you directly to your neighbour’s house.

He was already waiting for you. Your predictability was becoming amusing to the Spaniard. The movements were inevitable, a cycle so firmly fixed into your mind that even if one thing was altered slightly, you’d be a confused wreck. He liked that. No, he loved it. Something in that twisted mind of his had happily adopted whatever this whole ‘comforting’ thing was months ago, in the early days of his erotic, anonymous filth.

“Oh, pobrecita,” he drawled, his tone as light as a feather, opening the door to your emotional state, “come in. Come in. Let me hold you.”

He ushered you into his house, quickly closing the door on the piercing cold outside. Large, strong arms then pulled you into an almost suffocating embrace, with Carlos pressing his nose into your hair, planting a tender kiss on your head.

“Shh, it’s okay,” the Spaniard consoled with a coo, a large hand brushing away some stray strands of hair which had messily stuck to your damp, burning cheeks.

He tutted softly, muffling your sobs in with his chest, cradling your head as you cried. “Breathe, nena.”

You seemed to melt into his warm closeness, face nuzzled into his chest as watery eyes dampened his new shirt, but Carlos seemed uncaring. Despite not fully having you, you were still his darling, in his own disfigured fashion, the sinful anonymities just luring you closer and closer into his den, but for now he’d settle with you in his arms— the bedroom, sex, and the awaiting marriage could wait— even with the sobs, despite his deep hatred for them.

Only he could make you cry. A sick possessiveness, God forbid, that only he was able to get out of you. The anonymous notes Carlos left in your letterbox were merely tame in his eyes— well, that's what he believed in his own sick mind.

You delved into your pocket with a jittery hand, thrusting the newest addition of anonymous sex cards into the Spaniard’s grasp. His large hand came to claw your head in response, softly pressing your face against his chest again, the coarseness of Carlos’s palms a contrast to your smooth, silky locks of hair.

His voice rumbled deeply, his hushes cooing your weeps away, whilst his lips were soft on your temple now and again as he read the card with a level of assertiveness.

He couldn't help but chuckle at his own words. God, he was hauntingly accurate in his fantasies, his imaginative depictions of you in all sorts of positions— the list of lewd thoughts in his head long, as a sly smirk crossed his lips as he kept your face out of sight of his.

Sliding the card into his own pocket, he purred, “I think you're overreacting, cariño,” the hot breath fanning onto the shell of your bare ear. “Surely it's a coincidence,” he continued, his words deliberately slow and intoxicating, “any girl like you could've been wearing that dress this… person speaks of.”

There was something about his words that made you gasp. A sharp intake of breath whistling through your teeth, which left your heart drumming in your chest. Words as smooth and comforting as sweet honey, laced with poison. Caring words of malice, caressing your fear. Manipulation, raw, and at its finest.

Maybe it was a coincidence. Anyone could've worn that dress, so easily described and painted through Carlos’s sick, anonymous words. The same dress he yearned to ‘jerk his aching cock to’ whilst inhaling your sweet scent off of it.

Slow fingertips trailing your back broke you out of your frenzy of thoughts. Little specks of goosebumps trailing in their lazy tracks. Carlos’s other hand soon followed, cupping your stinging, reddened cheek oh so softly, his large, brown doe eyes swallowing you whole in one gaze. You could spend years, eternities even, swimming in the intricate specks of hazel.

The hand on your cheek, grazed your soft flesh, the roughness of his knuckles causing a flicker of heat to rush to them in his wake. Carlos’s lips formed a small smile, to which you responded with a loud sniffle, and some more relaxed breathing.

Who knew a few sweet nothings and hand grazes could stop you from being a whimpering, emotional wreck, hmm?

Swallowing the lump growing sourly in your throat, you replied, “Y-yeah, maybe you are right.” The reply was a mere whisper, before you added quietly, “Just… Just a coincidence.”

“Just a coincidence,” the brooding Spaniard repeated lowly and so thickly, it left you shivering slightly. A little flutter forming in your stomach at the intensity of your shared gazes once again.

The bolts of lightning sparked as you both swam in your shared silence— a moment of blissful intimacy, so unspoken yet perfect and oh so palpable. Air thick around you, Carlos broke it, clearing his throat abruptly.

“Why don't I run you a nice bath, hm?” he suggested smoothly, the tar of his accent thickly smothering your senses. An arm slowly snaking before wrapping around your waist snugly, “I bet you're feeling disgusting after shedding all those tears.”

Pausing for a moment, you felt safe in that moment. “I'd like that, yes,” you responded softly, your widened eyes meeting the tanned Spaniard’s for one more time. “Thank you, Carlos. For everything.”

Your sweet lips formed the smallest of genuine smiles, which Carlos happily flashed back. There was an intensity in his eyes, burning deep below the surface of his facade, “Then let's go and get you cleaned up then, corazón.” Carlos finally murmured again, walking you up towards the staircase in his home.

Word by word, chip by chip, slowly breaking you away. He now had you just where he wanted you to be, stuck, so obliviously drunk on his poison in the spider's web of his own design.

like what you see? make sure to leave me some notes in my inbox if you want to see more stalker!carlos in my nightly novellas!

[t1red-twilight]

i just realized you already wrote for the shower hc so if you saw the previous ask, that was me and pls ignore it 😭

i’ll request something else thoughh! i’d love to read more about domestic!peter, nothing specific just something super fluffy <3

you’re my home

summary: being domestic with peter.

content/warnings: gn!reader, andrew!peter, fluff, chicken alfredo as a plot point (i love chicken alfredo)

notes: i <3 domesticity. and dw about it queen (gender neutral). tysm for your request:)

word count: 1k

masterlist p. parker masterlist

you and peter had moved in together about nine months ago, and you had quickly settled into domestic routines and habits. it was as if the two of you were puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly. your lives melted together to create something that was soft and comforting.

-

you could feel peter’s breath against your face. it was saturday, so you were able to sleep in instead of getting up at the break of dawn for classes or for work.

you usually managed to sleep in longer than peter; waking to see his soft eyes looking at you lovingly with a dopey smile spreading across his face.

today, however, you woke up before him. his hair was rustled in a way only he could make look cute. his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his arms were wrapped around your waist as tightly as they could go.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you fought the urge to squeeze him. seeing peter asleep was always a bit novice, as he insisted on getting up before you so that he could take care of you.

he woke up when you brushed a piece of hair off of his forehead. his eyes fluttered open and you bit your lip to fight back a huge grin. he was unintentionally adorable.

“hey,” he said quietly. his morning voice was a bit lower than it normally was, and oh how you loved it. “morning, darling.”

“good morning,” you smiled. “do you want coffee or tea?”

-

you looked at peter through the bathroom mirror. when your eyes met, he raised his eyebrows and smiled around his toothbrush. in response, you smiled as best you could.

you bumped your shoulder into his gently. he bumped you back with his.

peter had insisted that you had matching pajamas when you moved in together. so, you were wearing matching skeleton pajama pants. you had opted for one of peter’s old t-shirts rather than wearing something from your own closet. slowly, over time, your closets had melded into one massive super-closet.

peter spat out his toothpaste and you copied. “should we watch our show before bed?”

this was another thing: you and peter had chosen a random sitcom to watch together. the only rule was that you couldn’t watch it without the other person. “i think we should be able to get through one or two episodes. are we on season three now?” you turned to face him. the fuzz of the purple bathroom rug was soft against your feet.

“yeah, i think so. i think we finished season two on friday.” he grabbed your hand and walked out of the bathroom and through the bedroom to the sofa that sat in front of the tv.

you grabbed a yellow blanket (that you had only purchased after you and peter had laughed at how ugly it was) and nestled into peter’s side before draping it over the both of you.

-

“pete, i’m home,” you called out. “i got the mail. we’re still getting advertisements for ‘adam’s realty.’” you turned the paper over in you hand as you walked into the kitchen.

“really? i mailed them trying to get them to stop sending ads.” he grabbed your bag and jacket out of your hands and set them down on the counter. he then pulled you in for a hug.

“i thought you did. i don’t want to have to go to their office to tell them to lose our address. we already live somewhere.” you laughed into his chest.

“every place that they showed us had broken air conditioning and had the landlord special.” he pulled away from you to look at the rest of the mail.

you snorted. it was true; the lightswitches and vents had been painted over with the same color that the walls were. “i know! remember that one place that had the mold that was just painted over? i can’t believe they thought we wouldn’t catch that.”

“it was disgusting. anyway, we’re still good for dinner, right?” he looked away from the mail to look at you instead.

“of course! you know i never miss date night. who’s week is it to pick?” you smiled softly up at him, and grabbed his hands. you very gently swung them back and forth.

he paused in thought for a moment. “i think it’s yours. if i remember correctly, we went to that diner last week on my request.” now you remembered. peter had chosen a diner and you split a giant pancake platter.

“let’s get greek food. on my way home i saw a food truck that’s open late.”

-

recently, you had expressed the desire to become better at cooking. peter offered to learn some recipes and cook with you.

at present, you were attempting to make chicken alfredo. peter had found the recipe and was placed on chicken duty while you made the sauce. every now and then, you would see peter out of the corner of your eye sit and stare at you before returning to the task at hand.

without looking up, you asked, “do i have something on my face?”

almost immediately, he responded. “no. i just think you’re pretty.”

you smiled in amusement at this, and looked up to see him with a sappy smile plastered on his face. “yeah? thank you, pete.”

“i like cooking with you.” the same smile sat on his face. his brown puppy eyes almost looked like they had the stars in them. you didn’t stop stirring the sauce so as to not burn it, but you gestured him over.

he took the two steps over to you, and without touching your face (raw chicken juice) he leaned in. he never ‘forced’ a kiss onto you. he almost always leaned in close enough so that you could bridge the gap very easily between the two of you.

it was a short kiss, but not any less special. you stopped and looked at his puppy eyes for just a moment. “get back to your chicken, bugboy.”

[batman-dc-imagines]

BTAS Riddler and Mad Hatter getting fan mail from a teenage reader (platonic)

Overview: Both receive fan mail while in Arkham.

BTAS!Riddler

Relation: Platonic

You’ve piqued his curiosity.

But he is also skeptical of you.

Depending on what kind of fan mail you send him, he always reads over it a few times to make sure he’s seeing things right. Is this kid serious? Is his initial thought. After getting more fan mail, he quickly realizes you are in fact serious.

As soon as he gets over the whole skeptical stage, it’s all downhill from there.

If he can, he’ll write back to you.  Asking pretty vague questions. If you tell him you’re his biggest fan, he’ll most likely call your bluff and send you a riddle. If you answer correctly, he’ll send more that are harder. 

If you’re able to prove to him just how much of a fan you are, don’t think he won’t forget about you once he breaks out. When he does find out where you live, his first thought when seeing you is basically:

You’re his kid now. Well, depending on your relationship at home. If you aren’t happy with the people you’re with now, he’ll take you with him as a young prodigy. Even then, if you’re happy with your folks or whoever it is you’re staying with, he’ll still let you work for him if it’s what you want. I mean, who wouldn’t?

BTAS!Mad Hatter

Relation: Platonic

Oh boy.

You fit perfectly into his alice in wonderland fantasy. Obviously he not in the romantic sense but definitely wants to have a close friendship with you.

You don’t have blonde hair or blue eyes? Oh that shouldn’t be a problem. You being a fan is perfect enough.

He’ll write back to you almost immediately. He’ll write little poems that relate to Alice in wonderland and he’ll even create a custom made hat for you! Along with other little knick knacks.

You're the first thing on his mind when he escapes Arkham. Similar to the Riddler, he’ll offer you the choice to become his prodigy. If you decline, he’ll still be satisfied with having your friendship.

[canonkiller]

✨ "Your online print store is broken?" FAQ

Yeah I did that: A Summary

Q: Why did you remove everything from your Redbubble / INPRNT / etc?

A: A bunch of reasons. I made the choice for myself after thinking about it for a long time and not liking it. Some of these reasons include:

I don't like not knowing the workplace conditions or compensation given to the people actually manufacturing physical goods of my work through these services

I don't like the waste of easy-to-buy, easy-to-break manufacturing or the shipping process

I personally stopped giving a shit about the potential for theft-by-loss-of-potential-profit because it made me feel like a corporation and that sucked

There is no way in hell Redbubble will ever be profitable enough to get me to overlook this, and I don't think I should try to make it so.

The ones that haven't been emptied are having login issues. I'll be killing them as soon as I am able.

Q: So what's the alternative? How can I get prints now?

A: Anyone interested in prints can just ask me for the full resolution files of whatever piece you want and I'll send them over. Then you can either use your own printer or order something from a local store / chain and tada, print made.

In the future, I'll have the files up on Ko-fi (like the Avex body pillow) as pay what you want, so you don't even have to ask. I'd still prefer if you didn't make extras to sell for your own profit, but I can't stop you.

Q: But isn't that going to lose you money?

Probably, but the $20-odd I was making across all of my merch sites was not enough to overpower my concerns listed above. Someone tossing me $5 through PWYW is already paying me more than any of those sites would per sale (Redbubble can be adjusted higher, but the price is already so inflated), and the end result is still more affordable for the buyer.

I also want my art to be more accessible to people like me: ones who can't casually spend $30 getting a piece of paper shipped internationally, but enjoy being able to experience shapes and colors. Differences between currency conversions, payment platform options and mail access are things I don't think should create a barrier in enjoying and adding art to your space.

Q: What about the other types of merch? Like clothing?

I've been keeping an eye on secondhand gadgets and would like to one day offer on-demand items with thrifted or secondhand base materials, but this is not a priority for me at this time. You'll live without a shirt, and if you won't, try an iron on transfer or whatever the modernized equivalent is. Anything I can't find a way to make, nobody needs to buy, simple as that.

The pin-back button press calls to me like a beautiful siren but I have yet to find one that is both affordable and close to me. The grind never stops.

Q: I also have concerns about the things you mentioned and want to try and be more accessible and sustainable with my art. Is it okay if I also do this?

I don't own the concept of sending people PNGs CMYK JPGs when they ask for them and even if I did I'm sure as hell not gonna charge people for doing it. The more people turning away from mass manufacturing the better, imo.

[kalkiethinks]

SCAM ALERT

TLDR: If a commisioner ignores your instructions, sends you a ton of money upfront via a check asking you to deposit and send back a portion of money- DO NOT. So back in Nov 10 I got an email commission which started okay: "I hope this message finds you well. I am reaching out to you because I am impressed by your portfolio and believe your artistic style would be a fantastic fit for an upcoming project I am coordinating.

I am currently in the process of assembling a team and I need a talented illustrator to collaborate on the title, Pandemic: Precaution and Prevention. Your work stood out to me due to its vibrant colors, character choices and attention to detail.

If you are interested, I would love to discuss the project further and provide more details about the scope, timeline, and compensation. Please let me know if this opportunity aligns with your current availability and if you would be open to discussing it further.

He wanted to create 6 group illustrations that would be printed and handed out for students 18-25 that would equate to $6000 at a 9 week turnaround. This raised an eyebrow but thought they were just a generous client. I gave him my procedure pipeline, starting with a min deposit upfront as a show of good faith. Also told him holidays are busy so will we start next year? He says that's fine. So far okay. "Considering the amount to be paid for the job, cashiers check or bank certified checks is our best bet. My sponsor doesn't use online payment platforms. He's an old-fashioned businessperson. The check will be issued and mailed to you and you should receive it within 5 days. Please get back to with your details in the format below:" Another raised eyebrow in this digital day and age but I've done previous freelance work that used mailed checks so I was alright with this. Only released my contact info and bank name.

Now the red flags pop up: On Nov 19 he sends this: "How are you doing today ? I'm so sorry for this, sincerely I do not find it easy to write this to you this moment , I have been so busy lately, the check is been made out for $6,000.00 which is cover for both phases. The sponsor asked for immediate refund for the 2nd phase as soon as the check clears your bank then you could proceed with the first 1-3. The 2nd phase is been postponed until further notice due to the sponsors personal issue, I will provide you the tracking information via USPS as soon as I have it so you could have it tracked yourself to know when exactly it will be delivered. My sincere apology for the inconvenience and do have a great day." So my requests were completely ignored, tells me a check is on the way with the full lump sum and I have to return half that amount. This is one method I've heard scammers get access of one's bank account with the poison check and you end up paying that half with your own actual money. Checked with friends and my own bank, sounds like a scam. Check arrives, and doing 30 minutes of Googling reveals so much warning stuff:

-So the names on the client email (Nicholas Jarry), and this name on the USPS (Christopher Williams) revealed on the first results are both famous sports players. One is a funny coincidence, two is suspicious. -quick Google of what a Keybank check is like, get an old warning about what to look for in legit checks, also tried calling Keybank on how to verify a check and explaining the scenario. -the address on the USPS belongs to a residential house that had another business also registered to it before that has gone inactive. -The Ace Cafe is real, but everything is inconsistent. The Hillcourt Dr address leads to a residential house, there is no LLC, and the logo belongs to a legit Orlando location that had closed last year and is opening in a new location, the address not matching whats on the check and names do not match either Jarry or Williams.

I've already reported this issue to the FTC and while they can't help me do anything with this particular scammer I'm now passing this around to new artists to know what to look out for when too many little suspicious things add up.