I keep seeing people talk about how “un-thought out” how the Silas/amara characters fitting into the established lore of the TVD universe was, so because it’s bothering me here’s how I interpreted (?) their roles in the TVD lore…
1- AMARA: Amara was the original and when she became immortal the universe created tatia so that a version of amara could die,so when Esther used her for the hybrid spell tatia had served that purpose as amara’s doppelgänger. But because the universe/ wiches are all about balance when Esther used tatia in the spell, there needed to be a way to undo it and THATS why katherine and Elena were doppelgängers. As a way to break the curse on Klaus NOT to let versions of Amara die. Meaning that Tatia is a doppelgänger of Amara but Katherine and Elena are doppelgängers of tatia NOT AMARA.
2- SILAS: Silas, like Amara, is the original so when he became immortal the universe needed a version of him that could die. Now despite the fact that Silas says that the universe uses the doppelgängers as a way to “recreate the love he and Amara had” I don’t think that’s true. Because the only reason Stefan still “loved” Katherine after finding out she was a vampire was because she compelled him. And the only reason Elena loved Stefan like she did was because of the compulsion Damon did the night of her parents accident. In both cases we see that once the compulsion was taken away the feelings changed. Keeping this in mind it’s not unreasonable to assume that Stefan is the first doppelgänger for Silas that was created. If Silas and Amara loved each other so much that they defied the laws of nature to become “true” immortals then why would nature want to recreate that? It wouldn’t, so the best way to stop that from happening again and still accomplish the goal of having versions of these people die is to have the doppelgängers appear at separate points in time. Hence why there’s no mention of a Silas doppelgänger before Stefan. Now Stefan is the first doppelgänger for Silas so his entire purpose was to eventually die but he didn’t stay dead because Katherine turned him. So Stefan couldn’t complete his purpose as a doppelgänger like tatia did. So the universe created Tom Avery. And when he died the Silas’ doppelgängers purpose was served.
3- WHY WERE TOM AND ELENA ALVE AT THE SAME TIME: the ONLY reason Elena and Tom existed at the same time was because she wasn’t a doppelgänger because of Amara but because of the spell Esther did using tatia.
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Hi all! I hate to be coming on here and doing this but unfortunately there is an account who has decided to steal my work and block me when called out for it.
Their account is @madi34487 and they have word for word stolen one of my TikTok headcanons.
This is mine, posted 2 days ago.
Then theirs, posted last night.
If this person had been honest, owned up and deleted the post I wouldn’t have taken this further.
However blocking me and refusing to take the post down tells me they are likely guilty of doing this with all their writing.
I know I’m not well in the resident evil community on here yet, but I would really appreciate some help/people standing by here to make sure this person does not get any more support for stolen works.
I am saddened it has come to me having to make posts on all my socials, but alas, that is the world we live in.
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Hi thank you so much! Love how you write Peter- he's such a sweet dork. May I get a tasm!Peter Parker x Reader (Gn!Reader preferred) fic where Peter is shirtless or wearing something that shows off his body and reader is just gushing and admiring him (i.e. complimenting, teasingly kissing, touching and squeezing him and his muscles) and he's just being a flustered doofus?
I don't see many fics of reader expressing to Peter how pretty he is and I want just full admiration for him. I feel like Peter still thinks he's still a wimpy nerd and hasn't realized how far he's gotten and I want him to feel proud of himself. Thanks <3
This can definitely be on the spicier and more suggestive side >:) You're awesome. Thank you again and for your lovely writing.
Hiiii, I really like this idea because he does deserve to know, but after trying it out I think I may not have been able to pull it off very well, I'm sorry. Thank you for requesting though <3
cw: some objectification? dw they’re dating and it’s super consensual
tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader ♡ 472 words
You look up from your laptop when Peter opens the bathroom door.
“Jesus.” You blink as he emerges from the steam, hair still dripping wet and a towel around his waist. “Have some mercy for those of us trying to focus, please.”
Peter laughs. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, put on a shirt. How am I supposed to get anything done with you walking around like that?”
“Oh, yeah?” he teases, making his way towards your dresser. “This is what does it for you?”
Ordinarily you might be too embarrassed, but now that you’ve made a game of it you have no qualms with letting your eyes rake over Peter’s torso. His muscled shoulders, the droplet of water that skids down his chest... “I’m a human with decent vision, so…yeah.”
Peter laughs. He steps into a pair of boxers and tugs on a shirt. “There. You can go back to your work now, freak.”
“Thank you,” you sing-song, looking back to your laptop. But something about the way he said it rubs you the wrong way. Only a few minutes of fractured attempts at attentiveness go by before Peter’s sitting down with you on your bed, smelling all cool and clean.
You shut your laptop.
“Were you being serious?” you ask him. “Do you not know how distracting you are?”
Peter looks surprised. The smile that creeps onto his face is playful, if a bit shy. “Do I distract you?”
“Yes. And probably at least half of everybody who sees you.”
“What is it about me that’s so distracting?” he plays along.
You hum, pretending to think. “Maybe it’s that you’re tall. Or your body. You know, these.” You reach over to squeeze one of Peter’s biceps, delighted when he flexes for you. “Or your insanely symmetrical face.” You draw a line with your fingertip from his forehead down to his chin. “I mean, come on. I know you weren’t always Spider-Man, but you’ve always had this face.”
Peter’s looking at you like you’re a particularly adorable oddity. “You’re so weird.”
“Peter! You can’t not know.”
“I’m sorry,” he laughs. “That’s just…that’s never been my thing. People don’t look at me that way.”
You consider him. “It’s sort of cute that you’re not aware of it. Maybe that’s part of the effect.”
“Mm, you think so?”
Peter draws you closer, away from your laptop. You won’t be deterred. “Maybe,” you say. “I’m right, though. You’re way hotter than you think you are.”
“I think it’s sweet that you think so, baby. I think that you’re hot, too.”
You huff. “You’re not getting it.”
“Why don’t you keep explaining?” He draws his mouth over the shell of your ear, kissing your jaw.
Blood pools in your face. “See, now you’re trying to distract me.”
Ok I know we’re in a very angsty sad time of princess au (and this can be angsty sad time too) but I think it’d be really cute for princess reader to have some traditions from home. Like James of course knows of some niche thing they do but he does it a little off and she’s shy but eventually corrects it and it’s cute and sappy or maybe sad bc like traditions but she can’t go home. That vibe if you get it! Not a super request but just like an idea for the au!!
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 2k words
Bright light filters through your lashes. They’re heavy, the thick blanket of sleep not relinquishing you just yet. It’s not usual for you to sleep in late enough that the sun gets so high. Worry creeps in at the edges of your consciousness.
“There she is.” A hand pets your hair, and the worry dispels without a fuss. You know you’re safe. “Madam Pomphrey? She’s waking up.”
“How can you tell?” another voice asks.
“Her eyes are twitching.”
“Is that good? What if she’s dream—oh.” You finally manage to lift your heavy lids, your bleary vision focussing on Sirius. He drops to a crouch by your bed as his voice drops to a murmur. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you say back to him. Or try to say. Your voice comes out hoarse, barely there.
The hand on your head strokes your hair consolingly. You trace it back to Remus, who tells you, “Your throat might hurt. It’s normal, don’t worry.”
You try to clear your throat. It feels ravaged, torn and raw. “What happened?”
“Madam Pomfrey can tell you more about it,” he assures you.
“Who?”
Remus points behind you with his chin. You turn to find a plump older woman approaching your bedside. She’s wearing scrubs and has a pleasant, sympathetic face.
“Hello, Your Highness,” she says, sitting down beside you on the bed. “I’m sorry we’ve had to meet under these circumstances. Though, in my line of work, I hardly ever meet people another way.”
She flashes a kind smile. You return it on instinct. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say.
The woman—Madam Pomfrey—pats your hand. “Your throat is sore because we had to put a long tube with a camera down your throat, to see what was causing your stomach pain. Are you in pain now?”
You hesitate. “Not really.”
“Not as much as earlier?”
“No.”
“It would have been nice to know you were in any pain, earlier,” Sirius pipes up.
You glance at him, expecting an unimpressed glare, maybe one of his signature arched brows, but Sirius only looks concerned. Remus sends him a scolding look.
“You fainted,” Madam Pomfrey tells you gently, “and Sirius brought you to me. Do you remember waking up?”
You blink at her. “No…”
“That’s alright,” she assures you. “We had to sedate you to look in your stomach, which can sometimes cause short term memory loss. It’s perfectly normal not to remember.”
“Okay.” Your voice smalls. You repress the urge to draw your legs in on yourself like a child. How could so much happen while you were unaware? How could you wake up, and not know it?
“It really wasn’t as invasive as it sounds,” Remus promises, his tone soothing. “It’s just a small tube. You were only sedated so that you would be comfortable.”
You nod, still wary. Sirius is watching you closely, with a troubled expression. “What?” you ask him.
He hesitates. “You really don’t remember being awake?”
You shake your head. “What did I do?” God, if after everything you’ve done to keep your feelings to yourself, you told Sirius something mortifying you can’t even remember…
He must sense the direction of your thoughts. Sirius’ gaze softens. “Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing awful, you just…you were sick, and it was scary. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”
Sirius being so gentle with you alarms you more than anything so far. You stare at him, wide-eyed, and he only presses his lips into a sorry smile. You’re at a loss.
“I was sick?”
“After stomach pain, vomiting can be another indicator of stomach ulcers,” Madam Pomfrey hurries to tell you. “It looks frightening, but it’s nothing that isn’t fixable. And you shouldn’t need to worry about that happening again.”
“Ulcers?” you echo her.
Madam Pomfrey smiles compassionately. “Let me start from the beginning. You’ve been under a fair bit of stress lately, haven’t you?”
Your lips part, but you don’t know what to say. You look at Remus, then Sirius. “I…”
Sirius gives a quiet, forced laugh. “I’d think twice before trying to say you’re fine again,” he advises. “We’re not likely to believe you.”
Embarrassment pricks at your skin as you force your gaze back to Madam Pomfrey. “I suppose so. A little.”
The older woman nods. “Sometimes, severe psychological stress can have adverse effects on the body. In your case, an increase in stomach acid contributed to the development of a stress ulcer, which is what’s been making your stomach hurt and what made you faint.” Madam Pomfrey’s eyes flicker to Sirius, something you can’t read passing between them. “You’re lucky that you were with someone when that happened. It could have been dangerous if the ulcer continued to progress without treatment.”
You look at Sirius. “Thanks,” you say, sheepish.
He laughs again, a real one. “Yeah, babe, anytime.”
“Well, hopefully there isn’t another occurrence,” Remus chimes in, his hand coming back to your head fretfully.
“No,” Madam Pomfrey agrees. “I’m leaving you with some medicine. Take it every day before breakfast until it runs out, and you should be good as new.”
“Thank you,” you tell her sincerely, relieved you don’t have to do anything more serious.
“Oh, hey!” Another voice comes from the doorway, and you look over to see James bringing in a tray. “You’re awake!” He quickens his pace, causing Remus to tsk when he nearly spills whatever he’s carrying. “Why didn’t anyone come and get me?”
“She’s only just woken up,” says Remus.
“Angel, I feel so bad that—” James seems to realize he’s spilling, and he hisses through his teeth, rebalancing the tray. “—we’ve stressed you out so badly your organs shut down—”
“Not what happened,” Remus cuts in.
“Please don’t be sorry,” you tell him. “It hasn’t been that bad, I just—”
“I think I’ll leave you all to talk.” Madam Pomfrey stands. She reaches across you, pinching Remus’ cheek, and you watch in joyous astonishment as he flushes and smiles bashfully. “Look after each other. And you,” she says to you, “your medicine is on the nightstand, and stay away from acids for the time being.”
“Yes ma’am.” James salutes her. “After this last meal, of course.”
Madam Pomfrey huffs a laugh and goes. Sirius elbows James in the side. “You’re a disgrace.”
“Don’t make me spill,” James complains.
“You’ve already done a fair bit of that.” Remus’ chiding isn’t as effective when his cheeks are still tinged pink. The fondness curling up the edges of his tone doesn’t help either. “Why don’t you give it to her before you slosh the whole thing into her lap?”
James makes an indignant sound, but he’s very, very careful as he sets the tray down in front of you. “Right,” he says, “well. You don’t have to eat anything if you’re not hungry, but Poppy—er, Madam Pomphrey—said that maybe this one time acid was okay, so…”
You look down at the meal in front of you. A fair amount of it has sloshed over the sides of the bowl, it’s true, but you’re surprised you didn’t recognize it instantly by smell. It’s a traditional Pelerian soup, tomato-enriched broth with garlic and herbs, complete with tiny stelline pasta stars. You look up at James.
“Where did you learn about this?”
“I had it, once,” he says, “when we were visiting Peleria. I asked Marlene if she thought she could recreate it.”
Your eyes smart. “Thank you,” you whisper.
“Hey,” Sirius chides, still so very gentle with you. You bow your head so they can’t see your chin and its humiliating wobble.
“Oh, lovely.” James sits across from you on your bed, his hand finding one of your ankles through the covers. He rubs it bracingly. “Don’t cry. I wouldn’t have brought it if I thought you’d cry.”
You shake your head and breathe until you’re sure your voice will hold together. “No, it’s nice. I love it.”
“Do you grow basil in Peleria?” Remus wonders, eyeing the basil garnishing your soup.
You laugh weakly. It helps, bolstering you enough to pick up your head and wipe your face. “No. But it’s a nice touch,” you add for James.
He frowns. “I knew something was off. That was all Marlene, so you know.”
You laugh again, and a long-held tightness in your chest rattles looser. You’d almost begun to forget it was there. You pick up the spoon, taking a bite.
“It’s really good,” you tell James sincerely. “You all should have some.”
“No, it’s for you,” James insists.
“I can’t just eat in front of you.”
“Marlene made plenty. We’ll have some later, and if it makes you feel better, we can eat it in front of you then to make it even.”
You smile between bites. “That would help.”
“I really am sorry,” says Sirius. His gray eyes gone solemn. “I know I’ve said it already, but I want you to understand how much I mean it.”
There’s a sentiment you can relate to. “It’s okay,” you tell him.
Sirius shakes his head, growing frustrated. For the first time, you wonder if it’s not directed at you. “It’s not. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but it’s—that’s just it. I wasn’t thinking about whether I did hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
“I think we’ve all had some role in that,” Remus murmurs.
A violent desperation to fix rises up in you. “That’s not true. You’ve all been really nice to me, and I’ve only made things confusing for you.”
James’ smile is heartbreakingly hollow. “I think things were always going to be confusing, lovely. That’s not your fault.”
“It’s not your fault, either.”
“Things haven’t been easy for you here,” says Remus, patient and even. Reasonable. “You’ve been so stressed that your body took it out on you in a drastic way, and whatever you might say to make us feel better” —He gives you a knowing look when you open your mouth to protest— “we certainly didn’t help.”
You rub your lips together, unable to deny it. After a moment, you look up at Sirius.
“I’m sorry for shouting at you,” you say.
His lips quirk. “You call that shouting?”
You give him your best attempt at an apologetic smile. It must be a fair enough attempt, because Sirius reaches onto the bed for your hand. He squeezes your fingers, his look tender.
“I earned it,” he tells you.
“And I’m sorry I kissed you,” you say to James.
His eyebrows fly up. “Kissed me? I kissed you.”
“Right, but I kissed you…worse.”
James laughs, the sound tinged with bemusement. “I’m sorry?”
You shrink in on yourself a bit. James leans forward as if to counter it.
“Lovely, honestly,” he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The kiss…I mean, you kissed me back, I thought, but everything else was me.”
Your eyes dart to Remus. You feel like it might be a bad idea to talk about this in front of James’ partners, but it has to be said. “I didn’t think so.”
“Does it matter?” Sirius asks.
Your head snaps to him. So do James’ and Remus’. You think that of all the things he could have said, that was the least expected.
Sirius is frowning, but not at you. Once again, he looks like his upset is directed inward. “Whoever kissed who, you both obviously meant it. We all have some unresolved shit to figure out.”
Remus hums. “Whoever kissed whom.”
“Right, whom.” Sirius’ eyes roll. “You’re a twat.”
Remus’ lips curve, but he doesn’t defend himself against the elbow Sirius sticks in his side. His harmless jab has loosened the other boy up the way he meant for it to. “We all do?” he asks, softly.
“Maybe.”
James’ face lights up. “You mean it?”
“You really need triple confirmation? I said I’m still figuring it out, James.”
“Um, sorry,” you say, hesitant to break into what appears to be a special moment between the three boys, “what are we figuring out?”
James’ eyes are practically sparkling behind his glasses. “Right, after the kiss, we were all talking, and—oh.” His smile drops abruptly.
Sirius frowns. “What now?”
“No, it’s just—I’m worried about your ulcer,” James confesses to you. “Things are about to get even more confusing.”
Congrats on the big 1k milestone 🖤 reader w/ fibromyalgia and remus lupin 🥺 just all the gentleness and cuddles and knowing when to step in and when to let her handle things. Headcanons please
Thank you!
Join me in the Love Letter Lounge!
On the worst mornings, pain hums beneath your skin like a second heartbeat—dull and deep and inescapable. Remus doesn't ask questions. He simply shifts closer, tucking his nose into the curve of your neck, thumb tracing slow circles into your hipbone as if to say I know. I'm here.
Some days you're a flame burning too bright—restless, aching for normalcy. You insist on washing the dishes, on walking the extra block, on carrying the bloody shopping bag even though your arms are already trembling. Remus watches you with a quiet softness, a flicker in his eyes like candlelight. He doesn't stop you. Not until he sees your jaw clench that certain way. Then he's at your side without a word, fingers grazing yours as he takes the weight from your hands.
His flat is all soft textures and low lighting, everything designed with you in mind. The blankets are thick and velvety, the kettle never far from boiling, and the couch cushions remember the shape of your body like they've been trained to cradle you. Even the windows are draped in dusky curtains that hush the afternoon glare. He calls it "a den," half-mocking, half-affectionate. You call it home.
"You don't have to pretend," he murmurs one night, when you're curled on his chest trying not to cry from the sheer exhaustion of hurting all day. His voice is all rasp and reverence. "You're already the strongest person I know."
He learns the patterns of your pain like poetry—how damp weather sinks into your bones, how touch is sometimes too much and other times the only thing that helps. His touch adjusts without needing explanation. One day, he's pressing firm, grounding strokes down your spine. The next, it's featherlight kisses to the backs of your knuckles.
Your mobility aids aren't accessories to him. He's never awkward with them, never overly careful or patronising. He folds your cane with easy familiarity and tucks it beside his seat in the cinema. He oils the wheels of your rollator while you're asleep on the sofa. He treats them like extensions of you—worthy, necessary, even loved.
On flare days, when you're barely upright, he reads to you. Always something with warm prose and a steady rhythm, his voice like honey and gravel. Sometimes you drift off to it, the cadence of his words wrapping around your frayed nerves like a lullaby stitched from syllables.
He keeps snacks in his coat pocket in case your blood sugar dips. Carries heat patches and painkillers in that battered satchel of his. Holds your hand when crossing busy streets not out of necessity, but because the pressure of his palm grounds you like nothing else.
"It's alright if today's a no," he says, every time you cancel a plan. No bitterness. No guilt. Just a gentle tilt of his head and a suggestion of soup instead. He makes staying in feel like a choice, not a consequence.
And when the world has shrunk to just your aching limbs and the weight of it all pressing in, you find him there—always—pressing a kiss to your temple like a promise: You're not broken. You're beloved.
Everything changed the day Amira was born.
The world outside was collapsing — bombs, dust, screams, and fear. Yet inside a small room, by the dim light of a single candle, a new life began.
While others were running for shelter, I was holding my newborn daughter, trembling, crying, trying to believe that something so pure could still exist in a place like Gaza.
I named her Amira, because I wanted her to feel like a child of life —not a child of war.
A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed
Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep.
She has just turned one.
She’s learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things — as if she doesn’t see the destruction around her.
She doesn’t know the word “loss.”
She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there.
Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in — whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like.
And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says “mama,” everything becomes bearable again.
I want to rebuild our home.
Not just for the walls — but for her future.
For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war.
I’m not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear
My name is Saja. I am a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza trying to hold on — to hope, to my family, and to a life that no
A Mother’s Message
To everyone reading this — thank you for listening to our story.
Your kindness means more than words.
Every share, every message, every donation — it all helps me rebuild not just a house, but a future for Amira.
From the heart of Gaza, from a mother learning to hope again —
we will live. And I will make sure my daughter grows up in a world that knows love more than war.
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hi babes! a new year has come has come and with it are new years resolutions! my hope this year is to be much more intentional with the longer oneshots that i post. i want to hold myself accountable in posting these and “what you can expect" posts seem to work!
all fics are subject to be dropped, changed, or moved throughout the month. this is simply what/when i HOPE to post. if something needs to change, so be it!
here are the fics i hope to drop this january:
˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝗙𝗜𝗖 𝗢𝗡𝗘 — après-ski affair
January 10, 2026
smut | single dad!bucky x ski instructor!reader
bucky takes his twins on a ski vacation hoping for fresh air and kid-sized adventure—not the insanely hot ski instructor who makes the mountain feel a little too warm, or the late-night hot tub encounter that leaves the single dad completely undone.
˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝗙𝗜𝗖 TWO — the rented boyfriend
January 17, 2026
fake boyfriend!bucky x reader | 2k celebration fic
you hire bucky to pose as your boyfriend for a family reunion. it’s supposed to be a one-weekend performance… until his possessive touches and the way he looks at you stop feeling like an act.
˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝗙𝗜𝗖 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 — my house was especially built for you!
January 24, 2026
smut | contractor!bucky x reader
sent in by the so lovely @pinksplace: what about contractor! Bucky who has designed every inch of your home with one thing in mind: free use.
˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝗙𝗜𝗖 FOUR — under his jurisdiction
January 31, 2026
smut | sheriff!bucky x city girl!reader
this is part of the amazing @artficlly spin the trope event. the look on my face when i first spun "sheriff au" and immediately followed it with "silver fox" was priceless. im so excited for this one!!!
Please stop posting your character ai chats disguised as “your own work”. We can tell it’s ai!!!!! and a lot of them are genuinely horribly written with no story substance. Are you guys seriously unaware of the fact that we can SEE every story you post? They’re all basically the same two paragraph oneshots copy and pasted from the same bots.
Do you seriously think we’re supposed to believe you know how to use an em dash, but the reader is basically a blank log of a character?
it’s genuinely ridiculous that everyone has just decided to ignore it because barely anyone writes fanfic anymore.
hello all <3 not my usual post on here and i never wanted to ever make this post on a blog i've only had for five months. unfortunately, my fics have been stolen and posted as ai prompts on the app, character ai.
i've explicitly placed in my pinned post and in my masterlist that i would not like reposts of my work to be done across platforms. fanfic is something i write for free and for fun, and seeing it used without my consent is really disheartening.
i’ve already reached out to the creator to ask for the bots to be taken down, but since they’ve been active and haven’t responded, i wanted to make a public note here.
their user is @/reallymarenyearly, aka lilo, on both tumblr and character ai.
below the cut, i have placed screenshots comparing my fics with her bots and other notable information writers and readers alike should know (including other bots she's made, fandoms they're in).
as seen in the screenshots below, they've both copy and pasted, and slightly skewed writing of mine for their bots without my permission. i'd like to add that they write for multiple fandoms which i will list below so...
IF YOU WRITE FOR THESE FANDOMS, I TRULY ADVISE YOU GO THROUGH THEIR BOTS TO SEE IF YOURS WERE ALSO TAKEN!
DC UNIVERSE: clark kent, adrian chase
MARVEL UNIVERSE: bob reynolds (sentry), bucky barnes, matthew murdock
HARRY POTTER UNIVERSE: regulus black, remus lupin, sirius black, james potter, sebastian sallow
THE LAST OF US: ellie williams, joel miller
(edit: also just learned she’s charging money for bots so please be wary of that because she could be taking other author’s works!)
please don’t interact with or use any ai bots or prompts based on my writing. if you ever see my work reposted anywhere, please let me know.
if you’d like to help, you can also report their bots and account directly on character ai. i’m not encouraging harassment – just helping make sure fanfic writers’ work stays protected and respected.
I DO NOT IN ANY WAY CONDONE HATE! SO PLEASE DON'T SEND HATE TO THIS USER.
thank you all for understanding and for always supporting me and my writing <3 it’s truly so, so appreciated and i’m so happy to share it with you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
