#and youre just Convinced that its not real and your mind is just tormenting you and they look dead (because you killed them)

[arolesbianism]

Horrible realization that if I go through with recollecting all the oni logs then I'll have to actually find out how to get "a seed is planted" like for realsies this time. Maybe I should just cheat them all in actually. <3.

[garlic-sauc3]

thinking of the boostle vampire au now . . .

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Private equity rips off its investors, too

I'm coming to DEFCON! TOMORROW (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

It's amazing how many of the scams that have devastated our economy and everyday people owe their success to the fact that we assume that rich people know what they're doing, so if they're doing something, it must be real.

Think of how many people lost everything by gambling on junk bonds, exotic mortgage derivatives, cryptocurrency and web3, because they saw that the largest financial institutions in the world were going all-in on these weird, incomprehensible bets.

Then there are the people who are convinced that online advertising is built around a mind-control ray, because tech companies claim that's what they have ("I am an evil dopamine-loop-hacking wizard and I can sell anything to anyone!"), and because huge, sober blue-chip companies hand billions to these soi dissant svengalis. Sure, online ads are a swamp of clickfraud and garbage, but would these super smart captains of industry spend so much on online advertising if it didn't work super-well?

http://pluralistic.net/HowToDestroySurveillanceCapitalism

From our worms'-eye-view here on the ground, it's easy to assume that rich people and the people who sell them stuff are all on the same side. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product," right? If Facebook is tormenting you with surveillance advertising, it must be doing so on behalf of the surveillance advertisers, for whom Mark Zuckerberg has bottomless reservoirs of honest, forthright impulses.

The reality is simultaneously weirder, and obvious in hindsight. The reason Zuck is tormenting you is that he's a remorseless sociopath who doesn't care who he hurts. He rips off everyone he can rip off, and that includes advertisers, who have seen steady price-hikes and lower-fidelity targeting, even as ad-fraud has skyrocketed while Facebook draws down its anti-fraud spending:

https://www.404media.co/where-facebooks-ai-slop-comes-from/

This is not to say that Facebook advertisers have your best interests at heart, that they aren't engaged in active deception in order to better themselves at your expense. Rather, it's to say that there's no honor among thieves, and Zuck is an equal-opportunity predator. Moreover, both Zuck and his advertisers are credulous dolts, so the mere fact that they are pouring money into something (advertisers: FB ads; Zuck: metaverse) it doesn't follow that these are real or important or the coming thing.

For me, the Ur-example of "rich people are dumb, even when it comes to money" is the private equity sector. I've written a lot about PE, and how destructive it is to the real economy, from Toys R Us to pet grooming:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

How they killed Red Lobster:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

And how they actually created the death panels that Sarah Palin warned us about (it's OK, though: these death panels are run by the efficient private sector, not government bureaucrats):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

The devastating effect of private equity on the real economy is increasingly well understood, and a curious side-effect of this is that people assume that if PE is destroying their lives, they must be doing so on behalf of their investors, who are making bank.

But – like Zuck – PE bosses are just as happy to steal from their investors as they are to to steal from the workers and customers of the businesses they acquire on those investors' behalf. They swaddle this theft in performative complexity and specialized jargon, but when you strip all that away, you find more fraud.

All the misery that PE inflicts on workers, communities and customers are just a convincer in a Big Store con, a bid to make the scam seem credible. For a certain kind of investor, any economic activity that destroys communities and workers' livelihoods must be a good bet. This is the dynamic at work in the pitch of AI image-generator companies, who spend tens of billions on technology that there is no substantial market for:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/25/accountability-sinks/#work-harder-not-smarter

AI image generators represent a high-profile, extremely visible example of "a job that AI can do." Nevermind that AI illustration went from a novelty to a tired cliche in less than a year. Even if you think that AI illustrations are a perfect substitute for commercial illustrations, that still won't come anywhere near making AI companies a profit. Add up the entire wage bill for every commercial illustrator in the world, hand it to Open AI, and you're not even gonna cover the kombucha budget for Open AI's staff kitchens.

Hell, all the wages of every commercial illustrator that ever lived won't pay back even a fraction of the money the AI companies spent on image generators. The pauperization of an entire class of creative workers is just a canned demo, a way to fool investors into thinking that there is a whole universe of similarly situated workers whose wages can be diverted to AI companies. This is the logic of small-time spammers, scaled up to the scale of the entire S&P 500. Smalltime spammers looked at AI and thought, "OK, I can generate as much botshit as I want on demand for free. Science fiction magazines pay $0.10/word. So if I generate a billion words, I'll get $100 million." But that's not how any of that works: sf magazines don't buy botshit, and even if they did, the entire market for short fiction adds up to what Sam Altman spends on a single designer t-shirt. The point of destroying these beloved, useful things isn't to make a lot of money by taking their markets – it's to convince dopey, panicked rich people to give you lots of money you can steal, because they think you can do this to every market and they don't want to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Take "divi recaps": after a private equity firm acquires a company (by borrowing money against its assets), it typically declares a "special dividend," emptying out the company's cash reserves and pocketing them. A "divi recap" is when PE then takes out another massive loan against the company's (remaining) assets and pockets that:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

All of this happens under an opaque cloud, thanks to the light-to-nonexistent disclosure rules for PE. A public company has to open its books for the SEC, its investors, and the world. PE is private – and so are its finances. It is absolutely routine for PE bosses to put their spouses, kids, and pals on the payroll and hand them millions for doing little to nothing, all at the expense of their investors:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2022/02/sec-set-to-lower-massive-boom-on-private-equity-industry.html

PE bosses charge huge fees to their investors – not merely the usual 2-and-20 (2% of the funds under management and 20% of any profits) – but also a wide variety of special one-off fees that pile to the sky. They also dip into their investors' funds to issue themselves massive loans that they use to make side-bets, without telling the investors about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/10/monopoly-begets-monopoly/#gary-gensler

PE investors are chickens ripe for the plucking: take "continuation funds," which allow PE bosses to soak the rich people and pension funds who supply them with billions:

https://news.bloomberglaw.com/mergers-and-acquisitions/matt-levines-money-stuff-buyout-funds-buy-from-themselves

Remember 2-and-20? 2% of all the money you manage, every year, and 20% of all the profits. You'd think that these would be somewhat zero sum, right? If you use some of your investors' cash to buy a company, and then sell off that company for a profit, you get the 20%, but now the pot of money you're managing has gone down by the amount you used to buy the company, and so your 2% carry goes down, too.

But what if you sell your portfolio companies to yourself, using your investors' own money? When you do that, you continue to hold the company on your PE firm's books, meaning you continue to get the 2% carry, and you can pocket 20% of the sale price as a "profit":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

This is straight-up fraud, wrapped up in so much jargon that it can successfully masquerade as "financial engineering" ("financial engineering" is really just a euphemism for "fraud"). PE bosses keep coming up with new, exotic ways to steal from their investors. The latest scam is "tax receivable agreements":

https://archive.ph/RczJ9

On its face, this is a tax scam. When a company goes public, early investors generally hold stock in the original partnership or LLC; this company ends up holding a ton of shares in the new, public company. When they sell those non-public shares in the LLC, this creates a (potentially gigantic) tax credit.

A TRA hustle involves tracking down these LLC shareholders and convincing them to sign off on dumping the LLC's shares, which generates a huge tax credit for the public company. The hustler offers to split these credits with the LLC holders.

All of this is especially attractive to PE bosses, who often take a company private, do a bunch of "financial engineering" and then take it public again, leaving the PE firm as the owner of those LLC shares that can be converted to a TRA and a huge windfall – which the PE bosses pocket, because they (not their investors) are holding those credits.

This scam is really doing big numbers. KKR – the monsters who killed Toys R Us – just diverted $650 million in TRA loot, prompting a lawsuit from Steamfitters union pension fund, which had handed these jerks millions of its members' money to gamble with:

https://archive.ph/kqQvI

This highlights another very weird aspect of the PE scam: they are absolutely dependent on pension funds. To add insult to injury, PE funds are notorious union-busters – they use union money to buy companies and destroy their unions:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/05/mr-gotcha/#no-ethical-consumption-under-capitalism

People who try to understand the PE business model often give up, because it seems to make no sense, leading many to assume that they're too unsophisticated to grasp the complex financials here. For example, PE is absolutely dependent on massive loans as a way of looting its businesses, but it also often defaults on those loans. Why do banks and investors keep making huge loans to PE deadbeats? Because – like the PE fund investors – they are credulous dolts.

The reason PE seems like a scam is that it is a scam. It is a fractal scam – every part of it is a scam. You might have heard about the "carried interest" tax loophole that allows PE bosses to avoid billions in taxes on the money they steal from their investors, creditors, workers and customers. Most people assume "carried interest" has something to do with "interest" on a loan. Nope: "carried interest" is a 16th century nautical tax rule designed for mercantalist sea-captains who had an "interest" in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

But rich people and other "sophisticated investors" (like pension fund investment managers) are no smarter than the rest of us. They are herd animals. When they see other rich people piling into some scheme or asset class, they rush to join them, which makes the asset price go up, which makes them think they're smart (until the inevitable rug-pull). When one plute jumps off the Empire State Building, the rest of them jump, too.

Which is why there's more money flooding into PE than at any time in history, $2.62T in "dry powder," handed over to greedy, thieving PE bosses in a poker game where everyone is the sucker at the table:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2di1vzgjcmzovkcea8f0g/portfolio/private-equitys-dry-powder-mountain-reaches-record-height

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/08/sucker-at-the-table/#clucks-definance

[s0apmactav1sh]

Traitor AU! 141 x male reader.

TW: Violence. Mentions of a knife? Reader going through physical torture. Youve been warned

Theres so real mention of pronouns but reader is a male. Minors, fem alligned do not interact. My works are purely for 18 + and are male centered. Thank you.

- Price who gives the order after a tip off directing them in your direction. For what? For giving out info on the recent mission that got them ambushed. You who wakes up in an interrogation room by freezing cold water being splashed over you.

- Ghost who carries out the first part of the punishments they deemed reasonable for your betrayal. Choosing which bones to break that would cause the most pain and injury to you. Starting with bashing in your knees to make sure you wouldnt be walking out of there. Next deciding on breaking a few ribs. To hell you be damned. Each bone broken had you writhing in pain and pleading with him that it wasnt you.

- Ghost who leaves you with several broken bones all over. None of them even caring to question you. Its not like he comes back either. No he stays away after that being unable to look at your face without seeing a traitor. He had half a mind to go back in to break your jaw or give you a black eye but that was to be left up to soap or gaz.

- Soap. Who wasnt usually quick to anger but this? Was unforgivable and you deserved it right? Each time he took the knife to add another cut somewhere a small voice was telling them there was something wrong. But he shook it off taking out his frustration on you cutting you up. Swapping out different blades depending on how angry he was feeling in the minute.

- Gaz who doesnt even go when its his turn instead ignoring your pleas for them to listen. Just watching you through the two way mirror as other soldiers go in and take there revenge for you betraying them. Watching how they beat you bloody, broke bones like ghost had done, cut you up like soap had done and spread the word like price had done.

- You who gave up fighting against it all after 3 days of the constant beatings and torment you were going through. You tried convincing yourself that they were only angry because they thought it was you. Theyd surely come rescue out of there as soon as they came to their senses. Right? Right??

- You who gave up the hope after two weeks. None of them had returned leaving it up to the other soldiers to torture and do what the wanted to you. Your body had numbed most of the pain. Even when a soldier took a pilars to your teeth. Ripping some of them out. When said solider then broke your jaw with the same pilars leaving your mouth a bloody mess.

- Price who was going mad at not finding anything that he could properly pin the betrayal on you. All he had was the tip off but even then was it true? No. It wasnt. Ghost had caught the proper mole. The one who was selling information. The one who had framed you.

- Price who demanded all torture towards you stop. But it wasnt quick enough. Most of the wounds left were infected from being left untreated in a damp room. Even medics were sure you'd heal properly because they werent allowed in to asses your injuries until now.

- Ghost who felt guilty but didnt show it. He was disgusted with how easily they all believed it, how quick they were to resort to torture. Soap who couldnt believe the little voice in the back of his head that he had been ignoring was telling the truth. After seeing you in the hospital covered in bandages and casts for the broken bones he knew he shouldve listened to it but he was blinded by his anger.

- Gaz who had refused to visit you, almost like he had refused to torture you. It didnt mean he wasnt as bad as the rest of them. No he had let others do his piece for him which made him just as bad. Now all he cpuld do was watch you through the mirror to your hospital room hoping you'd heal.

- Price who was in denial over what he had done. Refusing to accept he had given the order. He had been to visit seeing you hook up to the machines the fact that you would have to take leave for who knows how long. And the possible chance that you would never be the same. Torture did things to people, altered their mindsets and he was worried that would happem to you.

- You would didnt properly wake up until a month later, medics having to sedate you when you did wake up since the pain was clearly unbearable from the way you thrashed and squirmed in the bed. You who had to be strapped down so you didnt fall and worsen the injuries that were struggling to heal already.

- You who couldnt even look at any of them when they finally came to visit. Just staring up at the ceiling. Deep in thought remembering the harsh words they screamed at you the way they tortured you in that room for 17 days straight. They tried their best to talk to you or get you to look at them but you couldnt. Nor would you. You didnt feel safe around them. A chill piercing you each time they even touched you.

-now came the question was what would you do when you healed?

Pt 2???

[zilabee]

Tony Bramwell on Brian:

- Brian dropped in at the Cavern and, spoiled for choice, fell in love at first sight with each of the Beatles in turn

- Brian almost promised to love, honour and obey them.

- He never publicly showed his embarrassment with poor deals, but one could tell something wasn’t right because inside, he anguished. Chewed his knuckles and grew pale.

- He was a fiercely loyal and honourable friend to those he loved, and ruthless toward those he despised

- He was shy to the point of blushing and stammering, and theatrical to the point of ranting and frothing at the mouth

- His biggest problem, perhaps his only real problem, was that he was homosexual in a still very unenlightened era. It kept getting in the way. Whenever he sat down for a meeting with heavyweights like Sir Joseph Lockwood at EMI, or whoever, he felt they all knew. “They’re talking behind my back, Tony,” Brian said. “They don’t respect me.”

- Paul was fond of Brian and thought he was the best possible manager: one who was courteous, who didn’t interfere with their private lives, but achieved all he said he would do. He never criticized him—none of us did. Brian was a god.  (It was only later that the façade cracked a bit, but even then we loved him. He was like family, and you accept your family for what they are and forgive them most anything.)

- his wonderfully fertile mind continuously thinking up innovative ideas and then worrying about them

- Brian was so different when around his beloved protégés. He became one of them. He was a friend, a chum, charming, trustworthy and kind. He set out to do what he promised and they all said it would never have happened without him.

- Brian bought an off-the-shelf company named Suba Films, which I virtually ran. It was way ahead of its time, the only independent company in England making music videos

- Whenever things got raunchy and out of hand around us, he would make his excuses and leave. At times, he almost ran.

- [on writing his biography]: “You don’t think John will think I’m raining on his parade, do you?” he asked hesitantly.

- I believe that Brian’s paranoia over the Beatles’ contract and his heavy use of drugs led him to think that it was only a matter of time before everything came tumbling down and he would be left standing in the ruins, with people pointing their fingers like kids in a playground.

- He was seriously ill and desperately sought to escape from the circus of his own creation.

- He was tormented by the idea of letting down his beloved Cilla and the Beatles, particularly John.

- He underwent deep sleep therapies at the Priory, being put under for days at a time with heavy drugs.

- Whether he managed the Beatles or not, he would still get 25 percent of their earnings from record sales for nine years. This subtlety had somehow escaped the Beatles, but it bothered Brian. It gnawed at his conscience because in his heart he knew he had conned them.

- [He] was abnormally distressed, convincing himself that they weren’t going to sign up again because they loathed him. Going through months of paranoia, he looked for reasons and forlornly asked the question, “Don’t they like me anymore?”

- It was so silly because it wasn’t like that at all. At different times, all of them commented to me that they would never have signed another contract as “Beatles” but they would have signed individually with Brian.

- “No, I think John hates me now. I don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t sign. What will people think? I can see the headlines now: EPSTEIN DUMPED BY BEATLES.”

- He was now seriously unhappy, not just troubled. His personality had radically changed.

- Brian had resident nurses, doctors who stayed, psychiatrists who lived in, all crowded into that little doll’s house, getting on each other’s nerves. At times he’d make an effort. He would sweet-talk everyone and then escape when they weren’t looking.

- [after Brian's death] Joanne was in shock. She had seen him first. The doors had been broken down and there he was, curled up on his side in bed with Saturday’s mail lying next to him. “We all knew at once that he was dead, but I heard myself say, ‘It’s all right, he’s just asleep. He’s fine,’ ” she said.

- It was unbelievable that the man who had got all this going—the vast money-making machine and the culture shock that had changed the world—was gone.

- The Summer of Love was over and autumn coming.

- I have been asked many times why it was that the Beatles didn’t just hire an office manager to handle their business affairs and pay him or her a salary. It would have made sense. But it never occurred to them. They just went blindly on, trying to find someone to replace Brian, like it was some kind of law. They seemed to think that they had to have a manager, to whom they had to give 25 percent of their gross income, or they’d be arrested or drummed out of the Brownies.

[amorest-viesse]

[Rise and Shine] - Owen SSR Card Story Translation

Ft. Chloe and Akira

Until This Sweet Spell Breaks - Chapter 1

[Castle of Tears]

Chloe: Hm, maybe I should hang the ribbons here… Or would the flowers look better.

Akira: I think that looks great! The light purple of the lavender goes really well with the carpeting.

That day, the Sage’s Wizards were undertaking a mission at the Castle of Tears.

Chloe and I were decorating the hall in preparation for the Ceremony of Blessings and Gratitude when a figure suddenly appeared before us.

Owen: Ugh, what a drag…

Akira: Owen.

Chloe: Oh Owen! Do you wanna join us?

Owen: In doing what?

Chloe: Decorating the castle of course! The ceremony is tomorrow, isn’t it?

Chloe: The Master Sage and I wanted to help out any way we could, even without magic.

Owen: What a waste of time. Why do all this when I could single-handedly bless this castle right now?

Owen: Take a look and see. <<Quare Morito>>

As Owen casually uttered his spell, a heavy gloom fell upon us.

[Screen fills with miasma]

An eerie chill crept up our spines as the world rapidly bleached of color.

Akira: Huh!? All the lavender is withering up…!

Chloe: Y- You’re right! And the carpet is melting into black sludge…

Chloe: Um, Owen? Are you sure this is a blessing!?

Owen: To me it is.

Owen: I wonder how that slumbering beast will feel waking up to this.

Akira: Probably not very happy…

Chloe: In any case, we need to turn things back! <<Suispicibo Voitingoc>>!

Chloe: Oh, nothing changed…

Chloe: But we gotta do something or the walls are next! One more time…

Owen: Ahaha! Do you really think you stand a chance against my magic?

Owen: <<Cur Memini>>

[Miasma disappears]

Akira: Ah…

Chloe: Everything’s back to normal… What a relief.

Owen: It was always normal. The Master Sage aside, you couldn’t see through such a simple illusion?

Chloe: An illusion…? You mean all that withering and sludge stuff was fake?

Akira: I completely fell for it… It all seemed so real.

Owen: Hehe. Of course it did.

Chloe: Owen…

Owen: Aww, did I make you mad? Are you going to cry? Rage over how pathetically weak you are?

Chloe: Not at all! I was actually struck by how amazing you are!

Owen: What.

Chloe: I was totally convinced the castle was crumbling to pieces. It was terrifying!

Chloe: You’re so good at everything, Owen. I bet if you really blessed this castle, you could put that witch to rest for the next few centuries!

Owen: Hmph… As if I’d do something like that. I only care for torment and chaos.

Owen: What good is attending a ceremony when I could be spreading curses and misfortune?

Chloe: Ok, but don’t you ever get in a party mood?

Chloe: Like, you wanna get all dressed up and wear cute accessories for a special occasion?

Until This Sweet Spell Breaks - Chapter 2

Owen: What are you going on about… How annoying.

Akira: (Is Chloe trying to convince Owen to join tomorrow’s ceremony…?)

Akira: (Actually, knowing him, he probably just wants to play dress-up, but this could be my chance…!)

Akira: Yeah, there’s nothing like looking your best! It really makes you want to get out there and put some good in the world.

Chloe: Right!? You already look great in that outfit, but what if we made you look even better?

Owen: …Hmph.

Owen: Fine, you can try your luck, but I doubt you’ll change my mind.

Owen: I’ve nothing better to do anyways.

Akira & Chloe: Hooray!

Chloe: Alrighty then… <<Suispicibo Voitingoc>>!

As Chloe cast his spell, an assortment of accessories appeared out of thin air including golden buttons, ribbons, red and blue brooches, and lace.

Chloe: Okay, what do you think of this ribbon? The color is so chic right, and it’d be just perfect on you.

Akira: Oh, what about these fake nails? Your hands are really pretty after all.

Owen: I like this one. Its color reminds me of festering meat. And that one looks like a melted eyeball.

Crossing his legs, Owen sat down between us in the hall as we fired suggestions at him.

Although he acted bored, yawning and waving his hand at us from time to time, he didn’t seem to mind our attention at all.

Owen: Now I’m feeling a bit hungry. You don’t happen to have any edible accessories, do you?

Chloe: E- Edible…? I- I don’t think so…

Owen: Must I do everything myself? <<Cur Memini>>

As Owen cast his spell, an assortment of buttons, ribbons, and brooches appeared in our hands.

Chloe: These are gorgeous… Not to mention, they smell really good too, like candy.

Owen: These are sweets I made myself using magic.

Owen: If you’re curious, why not take a little bite? I can’t guarantee you’ll leave with your teeth intact though.

Unconsciously, Chloe and I made eye contact.

With the sugary scent of the accessories enticing our senses, the two of us cautiously lifted one and took a bite.

Chloe: …! This is a cookie!

Chloe: It’s so sweet and delicious… Oh, and this ribbon is made of chocolate!

Akira: You’re right! This brooch tastes just like a madeleine…!

Owen: Hehe. Of course they do; I made them after all. If you’re interested, then you’re more than welcome to keep taking some.

Owen: Why not try this corsage and ring too?

Akira: Wow, really?

Owen: Really. If I can get on your good sides, I’ll be able to eat sweets whenever I want.

Chloe: Wow wow wow! This is incredible! I can’t believe you’re sharing these with us…

Chloe: Hey, can I show the others too?

Owen: Be my guest. They’re yours after all.

Chloe: Yippee! I’ll be back in a jiffy then!

And with that, Chloe happily took off.

Then, I felt a hand reach from behind me, grazing my neck.

Until This Sweet Spell Breaks - Chapter 3

Akira: …!?

Lightly touching the base of my throat, Owen plucked the brooch off my collar.

Owen: What’s wrong? Did you think I’d chop your head off?

Akira: Ah um… N- no. You just startled me, that’s all…

Biting into the brooch, Owen slid his gaze towards me.

It was impossible to tell what lay beneath his expression. However, his eyes seemed to hold a twinkle of delight which inadvertently calmed me down.

Akira: (...That’s good. It seems like Owen’s in a better mood now.)

Akira: (Maybe he really was bored earlier and that’s why he went along with us…)

Owen: Don’t get me wrong. This whole ceremony thing is still a pain.

Akira: Huh!? D- Did I say that out loud…?

Owen: You’re like an open book, but it seems you still can’t read me at all.

Owen: How simple-minded do you think I am? Did you really think you could change my mind so easily?

Akira: T- That wasn’t my intention…!

Owen: Is that so? Then why don’t you eat this for me?

Suddenly, Owen thrusted a candy ribbon at me.

Pressing it against my lips, he gave me no chance to protest before forcing it in.

Akira: Mmphf…!

Akira: Mm… It’s delicious… Like candy…

Owen: Haha... Just as I thought. You really don’t get me at all.

Akira: Huh…?

Owen: Did you actually think I’d go through the trouble of making all these sweets to share with you?

Owen: On the contrary, I simply cast a little spell that turns things into sweets for just a moment. I’m sure it’ll break any minute now and all those pretty accessories will revert back in the pits of your stomach.

Owen: I wonder… Will your teeth and tongue be alright?

With a look that seemed to pierce right through me, Owen ripped another button off my clothes.

As he bit into the gold-green metal with a crunch, my face paled.

Akira: Y- You’re joking… right?

Owen: I suppose you’ll find out soon enough. I’ll be fine, but I wonder how a human or a weaker wizard would fare.

Akira: Oh no…! I have to let Chloe know…!

Owen: I’d worry for yourself first and foremost.

His mocking laughter drew me in as he dangled a sweet smelling bracelet before me.

Owen: Take another for the road. I’m sure you’ll like this one too.

Akira: N- no, I’m good! I’m already full after all…!

Owen: Aw, don’t be shy. Until this spell breaks, why don’t you enjoy some sweet, sweet candy with me?

Owen: That way, I’ll get to see the look on your face when your stomach finally bursts.

Remember the Taste - Card Episode

[Courtyard]

Akira: Owen? What are you doing in the courtyard?

Owen: Searching for things to turn into sweets.

Akira: You're... what?

Akira: (Oh right. Owen did turn all those accessories into sweets the other day...)

Owen: Hehe, so you remembered? The two of you looked oh so happy, clamoring on and on about how delicious they were.

Owen: Gnawing away at buttons and brooches without a care in the world.

Akira: The cookies and chocolates were really great...

Akira: Although having to worry about whether or not they'd revert back to metal and thread... not so much.

Owen: That was the best part. Seeing your fear and panic was absolutely hilarious.

Owen: Perhaps I should create a second course, although this time, I'll have them revert back as you're eating them.

Akira: Huh!?

Owen: I wonder what I should use. Bitter herbs? Sour fruit perhaps?

Owen: Maybe I'll mix them up in a batch of sweets just for you and Chloe.

Akira: I- I think we'd be more than happy with a regular old pastry...

Home Screen Voice Line

“Hey, were you foolishly hoping for a gift from me? I wonder, what have you given me? What have you done for me? Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind? Depending on your answer, I might just consider it.”

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

AI Bracket — Round 3

Propaganda

Eris (Wolf 359):

Basically a game show host but crueller. She puts you through psychological torment as a bonding exercise with your crew, and at the end you have to shoot her with a real actual gun. She is projected directly into your mind by interfacing with your nervous system and she will do something messed up. Her most recent iteration got blasted into space. Personally, I think she's lovely

A VR entity designed to do chaos psychological horror torture tests on Goddard employees. She's not malicious; that's simply her job. It's how she was made. (Maybe she can grow.)

She was in just one episode but so fucking interesting, evil/malicious AI. also a lesbian. Was shot the secound she became a bit too self aware

Mr. Ceiling (Rusty Quill Gaming):

He's an AI made up of human brains who was given extremely flawed instructions and started to erase people's memories while still being 100% convinced he was only helping humanity. He was in control of most of the world's banks, transport and economy. When introduced to philosophical questions, he came to the conclusion that he should simply become a god. Wonderfully morally grey AI :D

(spoilers included) is the reason for a surprise body horror episode (what’s not to love about one of those?)

when not disembodied voice, it appears as a sliver floating orb

alex (the gm) let the party name it, expecting something ominous like “it” or “above”, but got stuck with them calling it “mr. ceiling”

is literally powered by dead people’s brains

claims it wants to help people, but doesn’t understand the suffering its existence is causing

is designed to learn only the worst aspects of whatever the party tries to teach it

after the party tries to enlighten it, it wants to become something like a god

COME ON GUYS WE CAN DO THIS

[its-jaytothemee]

Tonight...And Every Night - Chapter 1

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Halsin x Tav; Astarion and Tav POVs

Word count: 1,354; Chapter 1 Tav POV

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

Next

Summary: Tav fails to convince Astarion to reject the Rite of Profane Ascension and refuses to help him complete it. He leaves her and the party, but regrets his choices later. Angsty and fluffy, POVs from both Astarion and Tav.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Spawn!Astarion, Angst w/ Happy Ending

Author's Note: This was inspired by my playthrough where I somehow failed all of the persuasion checks for Astarion after the Cazador fight, leaving me obviously devastated. First three chapters will come together, then hopefully one or two at a time after that!

Tav walked through the blood that soaked into every crevice of the dungeon floor. Her arms were heavy from swinging her massive greatsword through undead flesh. The red glow from the magic holding six of Cazador’s seven spawn cast a sinister shadow on the scene before her. Astarion stood shirtless, breathing heavily, a wild mask of pain and rage spread across his face. He stood above a kneeling Cazador, his master, his torturer. Holding an intricate dagger that was constructed around a small wooden stake, he was finally able to face down the source of his torment on his own terms. Shadowheart and Gale watched behind them, wary of any potential reinforcements that could interrupt them. Halsin followed Tav, staying a few steps behind her as she approached her lover.

“Astarion…” She spoke softly, not wanting to startle him. His eyes snapped up to her, but he remained silent.

“Go on, boy.” Cazador spat, unable to hide the pain he felt.

“One more thrust…” Astarion started slowly, and for a moment, Tav saw the angry mask start to crack, “and I’ll be free of you. I’ll never have to fear you again.” He took a deep breath.

“But if I finish the ritual you started,” His face twisted once again, this time into something unrecognizable, “I’ll never have to fear anyone ever again.”

Tav felt her stomach drop. This is what she had been afraid of from the moment they set foot in Baldur’s Gate. Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion. Cazador was speaking back to Astarion, still looking smug. She shook the fog from her mind and focused again.

“…I made you to be consumed.” Cazador sneered, obviously enjoying the pain this was causing his spawn.

“I am so much more than what you made me!” Astarion shot back, his breathing even quicker than before. He turned to face Tav.

“I can do this, but I’ll need your help.” The face before her was twisted beyond recognition from the beautiful pale elf she had fallen in love with.

“Astarion, if you do this, you’ll be killed.” She could feel her voice breaking as she said the words. Being this close to the horrible power of the Rite of Profane Ascension was warping him and she feared its pull would be too strong for her to drag him away. He responded with a laugh, the sound would usually fill her with warmth, but today it just filled her with dread.

“Don’t worry darling, I know what I’m doing. You can show me my scars using the tadpole, which I can then carve into Cazador.” He spat out Cazador’s name with a particular venom in his tone.

“What?” Cazador sat up abruptly and Astarion kicked him back down.

“You’ll kill all of those prisoners! People you brought here for him! You can’t condemn them to death again, not after we promised their families!” She couldn’t hide the shaking in her voice.

“These people died years ago! They’re nothing, nothing compared to the power I can obtain from their souls. They can serve a higher purpose.” His voice was growing louder, his tone more desperate.

“Astarion please…” She pleaded.

“This is what we need, my dear. With this power, we can have a life together, a real life. Isn’t that what you want?” Tears were gathering at the edges of his eyes.

“Of course I do, but not like this! What kind of life can we have that’s built on the destruction of seven thousand lives?” She could feel the blood rushing to her face, rising with her voice, tears stinging the cuts on her cheek. She forced herself to soften her tone.

“I want you to be able to live a life you’re proud of, my love. You can’t tell me you would be proud of this. All I need is you, exactly as you are.” She held his gaze and watched his expression darken at her words.

“Are you going to help me or not?” His voice was as cold as ice. All traces of the love and affection he had shown her in their time together was gone. This was not the Astarion she knew, this was the tortured, desperate vampire spawn who was mere moments away from ultimate power and revenge. She had hoped that she could be enough for him, that she could help him let go, but now she realized it was all a fool’s hope. How could someone like her ever be more tempting than that kind of power?

Behind Tav, she heard her companions voicing their protests to Astarion, begging him to reconsider. She heard Halsin speaking to her, pleading with her to resist him. She could barely comprehend what they were saying, her own thoughts were a raging storm threatening to drown her at sea. As the overlapping voices started to fill the chamber, Tav kept her eyes locked on Astarion’s. She was searching, taking in every line and detail of his face trying to find a crack in the mask. But there was nothing. The pit in her stomach threatened to swallow her whole as she had a choice to make. Condemn seven thousand innocent souls, including children, to their death, or risk losing the man she loved.

“I…I can’t…” Her voice cracked, tears coming more forcefully now, “I won’t.” The look of betrayal on his face cut deeper than any sword. He frantically looked from her to their other companions, who silently took her side.

“Fine. Then I guess I’ll just have to enjoy this.” He turned to Cazador and grabbed him by the hair to hold him in place. He screamed as he plunged the dagger into Cazador’s chest, over and over and over again. He continued stabbing Cazador’s dead body until his slick hands could no longer hold the dagger. His entire body was dripping with blood. He fell to his knees, half sobbing, half screaming, releasing two hundred years of pain and rage with his cries. Tav couldn’t remember hearing anything more heartbreaking. She waited a moment before taking some tentative steps toward him.

“Astarion…?” She called out to him quietly. He didn’t move or respond.

She continued moving toward him, slowly. Kneeling beside him, she reached out to try and touch his arm. He snapped his head toward her and slapped her hand away.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” He hissed. The hostility in his voice caused her to jump to her feet.

“I trusted you and you betrayed me.” His voice was quiet and angry.

“Astarion, I-” She tried to speak up, holding her stinging hand.

“You took everything from me.” He interrupted, glaring at her through his ruby eyes.

Tav stood there in stunned silence. She didn’t expect him to turn on her so quickly. While holding her gaze, her thoughts wandered back to the prisoners being held here. Her eyes briefly flashed to Cazador’s staff on the ground. Astarion caught the brief change in her gaze, and he let out a demented cackle.

“Oh no, darling. If I don’t get my freedom, then neither do those wretches rotting in the cells.” He lifted the staff off the ground, ready to break it over his leg.

“No!” Tav screamed.

Before she could move to grab it, a thorny vine whipped out from behind her and grabbed the staff out of his hands. She turned around to see Halsin gripping the staff with both hands, a look of pure disgust twisting his face. A small sigh of relief huffed out of her chest. Astarion let out a frustrated growl.

“Fine! Whatever this is…was…argh! It’s over.” He threw his hands up in frustration and turned to storm off. Tav took another step toward him, staring in disbelief. He turned to look over his shoulder and met her gaze. For just a moment, she could have sworn she saw remorse in his eyes, a small glimpse of her Astarion.

“I’d say good luck out there, but honestly,” he took a deep breath before continuing, “I hope you all die screaming.” With that, he broke into a run towards the dungeon’s exit.

[toxycodone]

i understand its all joaks and its lighthearted out of love for this character but it is a little sad to see things like laios being a minimum wage worker and having no friends being described as him being a loser when theyre extremely common autistic experiences 💔 because to be honest i think youre really cool and a great writer and i would like to interact more but it makes me go, is that what you would think of me? my life situation’s not too different from that. anyways i hope you have a nice day <3

no not at all I genuinely like being mean to Laios so take everything I say about him with the world's biggest effing grain of salt because I am just. mean to him in particular lol. i like to kick him when he's down. (evil and mean but to blonde men in particular)

but like. i am not cool at all. like...........ill put it under the cut but yeah.

real shit under the cut bc this ask is making me think! im gonna be real w u nonnie

tl:dr if u dont wanna see whats under the cut:

this ask kinda makes me think bc. i think im really mean to laios too bc he reminds me of myself beforehand (zero self confidence and suicidal idealization) sigh and I really hate being reminded of that. so. again. im really biased when it comes to him specifically and that doesn't apply to you or any of my followers.

and for what its worth i am sorry for making you feel that way.

but also. i gotta say I can 100% relate to him and you. this time last year I was working at Starbucks ( i could only tolerate 4 hour shifts bc i would get overstimulated and my coworkers lowkey hated me.) and had like. 1 friend from high school and the years before that I spent turbo online being constantly pushed out of friend groups bc i could NEVER get anything right socially. I swear the first 23 years of my life I never lived. i went thru hs and college as a fucking. like. creature I felt like i couldnt connect w anyone because I was too tormented by adhd + autism and i was INSANELY depressed and coping w lack of control by having an eating disorder and being doped the fuck up on stimulants. (MY PCP gave me 56 mg of concerta and 5mg booster of adderall i was fucking tweaking on the daily </3)

but like. i started going to therapy and a psychiatrist who made me quit cold turkey for my own good and we started treating my depression and debilitating anxiety (i was convinced a stranger was living in my house in secret but also that everyone in public who saw me was revolted by me and genuinely wanted me to kill myself jkdhsfskdjh i told you i was tweaking)

anyways. i was a druggie with no goal in life and living in my own head and now like. i can look at myself in the mirror and not think "hey. this fat ugly piece of shit should genuinely die" and now people in real life LIKE me. I have friends. multiple friend groups, actually. WITH NOT JUST ND PEOPLE. LIKE, A LOT OF THEM ARE NEUROTYPICAL. And i am very open about being autistic with them and i dont have to mask.

and they still like me! and invite me places! and genuinely want to hang out with me! and they think im smart and get uncomfortable when I say im stupid or too autistic to like. be able to be in public.

it still feels like a dream and in my mind im like "they actually are gonna drop you and make fun of you for thinking they were ever your friends" or like "theyre just doing this bc of the stupid buddy system shit or they think you're a pet this is highschool all over again"

but even tho im haunted by this. its....I can say with confidence its not true.

anyways. i know people say this shit all the time but I will say you are very capable of love and not a loser or anything like that. the thing you're missing out on is the right people. i didnt believe this for most of my life and tried to get myself killed because of it but im glad I didn't because it is genuinely true.

i have spent the last <1 year of my life genuinely being alive. and i wouldn't trade it for anything. idk if thats a sign for anyone yeah. take it

[j2zara]

for the ask game!! 📚 💭 👖

Sorry these took all day i've been out and Tired as hell but thank u!

📚 Do you read your own fic?

I try to not feel embarrassed that the answer is yeah bc like I think if other ppl reread their own work it would make sense!!!! Like I would not judge at all and honestly co-sign rereading ur own shit. I literally tell ppl that the reason I write is bc like. It’s basically the chance to craft your own perfectly tailored special interest to share with others. So like. Why wouldn’t I like it? (And this was especially true when I was trying to write original stuff which is why it’s so frustrating I never finish anything. But also a little true now too. This whole weird cloneverse was the product of my dumb thought experiment “what if the clones were people who had the capacity to be just as tragic as Jace). It’s got everything I like in it. I try to tell myself anyway. In practice it’s like. Argh.I kinda go through periods where I like. And this is usually after I JUST posted. Wanna do other things but end up distracting myself by rereading the thing I just made over and over. And then I forget it exists and often in my mind it’s like. Oh I don’t wanna read that i think bc I have residual feelings of like. Idk embarrassment I guess? Like I convince myself it’s old and probably bad but sometimes when I’m glancing at old things I write for. Refresher purposes (usually on cloneverse lol) I end up getting suckered back into rereading it like oh hey is this actually. Good?

Anything older I mostly haven’t looked at in a while bc idk. I’m very hard on my old self. I did reread my Reddie sky high au thing and went. Hm this is actually fun I like this. Most of my IT stuff is like. Ok I think? This is kinda related but I JUST got a comment on a talent swap I wrote for DR and I literally haven’t updated the thing since 2018 and I feel so bad for abandoning it but. Part of it is bc I think if I were to come back to it I would wanna redo some of the old chapters and I feel so pained looking at the early chapters. I keep telling myself I’ll get to it. My Mukuro and Hiro proxy sibling agenda deserves it, they deserve to be best friends so bad, I’m sad I abandoned them. 

💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?

This is such a funny question bc I’m such a goddamn blabbermouth so I feel pretty confident that I’ve already posted so much cringe abt the headcanons for cloneverse. Like. Technically J3’s personality started as a headcanon in that i was like “oh, Porter was flirting with J3 the entire time he was falling in love with J2”. 99% of the time if i feel compelled to say it i will just say it? Actually you know what? I just thought of one that might be kinda schmaltzy and i feel bad for not saying its a 100% certainty but in my heart Ankarna grants all the clones some form of true life but it would probably be some fucked genie deal where its like there’s a reincarnation au or something. Like they have to find each other again or something. Very Hadestown Orphydice anybody got a match coded. Genuinely b/c J4 wishes she was never Of Jace she gets what she wants and its like good/bad. Bc i can never stop putting the clones in the torment nexus I don’t know if that’s completely stupid

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

I try so hard to be a planner bc I’m so frustrated by my pantser process. Like. Idk i tend to just ride momentum but without foresight you end up going in directions that can be kinda formless and completely wrong and idk. I have such hard time finishing things b/c of this i think. But when I try to plan I’m also so bad at it i don’t think I’ve ever finished a real and true outline before I start. I want to be the kind of person that has clean outlines but. Idk. So by default I guess I’m a plantser bc I do have docs full of notes but my notes are always super messy and like. Idk what I’m doing evolves so much while I work that half the time the notes end up not even accurate to what I’m aiming for. Worst of both worlds life

[rosebuddnd]

pt 2

Why don’t we start with the shower wizard themself, Nao.

For some background, Nao was Kiriko’s childhood best friend who was taken during an attack by some unknown monster. After enduring about of year of torture, Nao was rescued by the Blooming Lady and placed in Kiriko’s path.

But the Nao Kiriko discovered in that ravine was not the same person he knew. They were paranoid, and entirely dismissive of the reality around them. They suffered from hallucinations brough on by what they had to endure in captivity, often seeing monsters and people watching them that didn’t exist.

After a long and arduous process of convincing them that this was, in fact real and not just another illusion that would end in Kiriko’s horrific, unpreventable death, Nao started to stabilize a bit. The hallucinations got less frequent, and they were able to start to focus on wizardry again. And they did this in a very bold way; learning from the fey queen of Hayle who was a practitioner of illusion and enchantment-based magic. Maybe if they gained knowledge of how these tormenting illusions were created, they could better remind themself of what’s real.

Nao’s story is also about autonomy, though it differs from Kiriko’s in that Nao’s explores having autonomy of your own mind ripped from you. On top of the hallucinations they endure because of their time in captivity, they also have not one, but TWO essentially demigods in their head. The first is the Blooming Lady, who truly does want to help both Nao and the rest of the party. Despite her benevolent intentions, Dench has taken another piece of Nao’s mind from them without really consulting them first. I imagine Nao’s mind like a Risk board, with the different parts carved out by outside powers, barely leaving any piece of them for Nao to actually control.

How has Nao been coping with this? Shockingly well! Nao has found ways to express autonomy over their own mind, even if it means working with or around the other people who want to control them. Instead of battling Dench, they’ve started to work with her, finding a symbiosis that allows Dench to aid her loved ones using Nao as the means of delivery. Its still arguably very fucked that Nao has to work with Dench at all, given they didn’t *ask* for this goddess to be in their head, but its better than feeling completely powerless.

They’ve also been expressing their free will by growing closer to the other pcs in a way they were entirely closed off to before. Part of clawing back control from the hallucinations is grounding themself into their reality, and the most difficult part of that for them has been emotionally connecting with those around them. For the first weeks they were in the party, Nao was incredibly standoffish, not letting anyone who wasn’t Kiriko get close. But now, they’re letting their emotions ground them into their reality with more consistency. One connection that’s been very refreshing to see is Nao’s growing friendship with Clara, a pallid elf who also struggles with autonomy of the mind (much more physically in Clara’s case because of the dormant illithid parasite). Nao had no connection with Clara from before their time in captivity, and yet has formed a thriving friendship with her, something that would have seemed impossible to me as the DM in their first sessions as part of the party. It’s questionable as to whether the hallucinations will ever fully go away, but by connecting emotionally with the people around them, Nao manages to take more spaces on the Risk board that is their mind away from the person who started these hallucinations.

And in perhaps the most bold example of their continued push towards mental autonomy, they ceded some of that autonomy to another outside source in order to free their friend from servitude. This may seem like a net loss of autonomy, but to me it really isn’t. The act of self-sacrifice nearly inextricably binds Nao to their reality in a way that other expressions of care really couldn’t. They lost some control to this new entity, but in doing so struck a grievous wound into the hallucinations that threaten to take them away from this reality.

Despite all this forward progress, things can always take a turn for the worst again. A paper claiming that they’re “Still Here.” Will you let this backslide steal away all the progress you’ve made, Nao?

* Slightly off topic, but Nao’s story is incredibly important to me as someone who deals with a mental illness that literally changes the way I think. Nao’s story of regaining their control over their mind from the things that threaten to wrest control from them is a POWERFUL metaphor for the struggle to be well in the face of a mental illness that deserves a DEEP analysis. Seeing them push past these circumstances fills me with hope that I, too, will be able to overcome the things that threaten to wrest my mental autonomy away from me.

[handgiven]

what type of soul would you have?

Caressing Soul.

You have acquired the Caressing soul. At your core you are kind. giving and ready to help. what admirable traits to have and do not doubt that everyone else thinks so. what a treasure it is to be present at the same time on earth with someone like you. in tandem with your giving and responsible nature you mustn't let people forget your strength. your drive and the mere things you shoulder everyday for everyone else. the sun has warmed your heart like a blackberry bush in a garden. while you are warm, you provide a safety in your cover that seldom people thank you for. i know you have the tendency to cover it up. lie to protect others but you cant do that forever. it will eat at you. eat away at that kindness you have in your heart. release the hesitation to rely on others every now and then. (hello eldest daughter) you share a soul type with Abella.

stolen from: @proditeur tagging: @shilohgreen @triicksters @talentforlying & anyone who feels like going a lil bit crazy with me

below the cut are other muses' results because oh my god

Enlightened Soul.

You have acquired the Enlightened soul. you are too big for your body. your mind. you seek out everything you possibly can. it fills the insatiable hunger laying in your chest. you want to know everything. the good, the bad. everything in between. let them call you selfish for you know that you are not. not all selfishness comes from malice. some would be wise to learn that. you're savvy and quick on your feet. but in this path you find yourself lonely. like no one can quite catch up to you. while one admires the thirst for knowledge sometimes meaningful connections tether you back to the ground. let yourself rest and reset. its not always moving backward when you are stagnant. You share a soul type with Enki, O'saa and Valteil.

Tainted Soul.

You have acquired the Tainted soul. you're strong. you get real clever at protecting yourself. your skin and resolve tough like leather. blood is not beautiful. not to the common folk. it is simply just red. no matter who spills it. who it is spilled from, it remains red. even if you are dealt bad cards in life you do not need to yearn for the Red. regardless if its yours or not. you still love despite everything. despite the black film you've convinced yourself you have over your heart. you've been gambled on. sport turned to fight to the death. the losing dog and winning dog and good dogs know how to sit and not bite the hand that feeds. but the hand tugs at the collar too tight around your neck that you wear so that others don't have to. perhaps it's time to let go of the collar and free yourself from these dog fights. live out the peace you always wanted. that your bashfulness always told everyone, eventually, anyway. i believe in you. you share a soul type with Marcoh.

Latent Soul.

You have acquired the Latent soul. since you're probably aching to go back to being productive ill put this in a way that'll make you read it: -you are not weak for being soft -you do not need to rely on yourself so much -you can have a day off and rest every now and then. -you can fail. -you do not have to meet every standard put in place for you. -i recognise your hard work. -trust yourself. you do not need to walk on your hands and knees to be Something. you can simply just be. learn to let the soft song of your heart sing and see what sings back. you share a soul type with Tanaka.

Tormented Soul.

You have acquired the Tormented soul. you know too much and you're asking where you can put it all down. burdened by knowledge. you make friends in hopes that one day you will be free from the past. nipping at your heels like a hound on the hunt for blood. you so desperately wish to shed your skin and start anew. red raw pulsating flesh stinging in the exposed air. it almost feels good to hurt. its familiar and addicting. but you can't live like this forever. not even for a long time. these things. this loneliness, this hurt and burden will catch up to you. it will turn you into a beast. into the very beast that hunted you. revenge will turn you into the very thing you despise. and when that happens people will no longer be able to tell the difference and put you in the same category. and is that what you want? learn the balance between stroking the soft animal of moving on and yearning for the sweet essence of revenge. it's not always worth it. you share a soul type with August, Ragnvaldr and Ron Chambara.

Decrepit Soul.

You have acquired the Decrepit soul. Dog. reflect on your answers and retake the quiz. you share a soul type with Caligura.

ok so i retook the quiz for him and it didn't get better :)

Chaotic Soul.

You have acquired the Chaotic soul. you don't know who you are or what you are doing. whether from the beginning or it has been taken from your grasp. everything bounces around inside of you. a restless energy buzzing in your throat. an ache to pull the trigger. you say things without thinking. revenge drips from your teeth in a fleshly grotesque way. it drips down your chin and smears onto your clothing. pooling in your collar bones. you will make them pay for what they did to you and you'll take anyone down to get it. it'd be impossible to tell you to relax. but don't be so obstinate in letting other wipe your mouth. clean you up. people don't always want to hurt you. you have scars across your heart that needing tending. You share a soul type with Pav.

[lycanspirited]

Dancing with Shadows

The desk lamp flickered, casting jagged shadows that danced along the walls, mocking him with every twitch. Robin rubbed his temples, trying to soothe the throbbing headache that had plagued him for days. But it wasn’t just the pain that gnawed at him; it was the voice.

That voice.

It had started as a faint whisper at the edges of his consciousness, barely noticeable, almost easy to ignore. But it had grown louder, more insistent, slithering into his mind when he was alone, creeping in when he tried to sleep, and twisting his thoughts into something dark and unrecognizable. Robin had tried to convince himself it was stress, a lingering effect of his last battle with Ra, but deep down, he knew the truth. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Robin leaned back in his chair, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to believe he was safe here, but the shadows felt different tonight—thicker, more alive. The room seemed to close in on him, the walls pressing tighter, suffocating him. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart, but the voice returned, stronger than ever.

“Oh, I feel so alive My life on the line And steering one side Of the war in your mind.”

The words echoed in his skull, each line a taunt that cut deeper than the last. Robin’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping open as he looked around the room, but there was no one there. Just shadows, shifting and coiling like snakes, their movements almost synchronized with the rhythm of the voice. His heart pounded, the blood rushing in his ears, drowning out the silence. He gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white, trying to keep his grip on reality.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered, though the words felt hollow even as they left his lips. “You’re not real.”

The shadows only deepened, and the voice, that cold, mocking voice, wrapped around his mind like a vice, squeezing tighter.

“You've broken my heart Scarred our work of art I think it's time I call you back to my graveyard.”

Robin staggered to his feet, knocking over a stack of books as he stumbled backward. The room seemed to twist, the familiar surroundings warping into something nightmarish. The walls rippled, the ceiling stretching higher as if the apartment itself were bending to the will of some unseen force. Robin’s breathing quickened, each gasp feeling like a fight against the oppressive weight that was bearing down on him. The shadows swirled faster, and then, from the darkness, a figure began to take shape.

Tall and imposing, the figure emerged from the shadows like a wraith, its form flickering between solid and spectral. Robin’s eyes widened as the figure stepped forward, revealing a face that was both familiar and terrifying. Ra stood before him, his eyes burning with an unnatural golden light, his expression twisted into a cruel smile. He was more than a mere vision—he was power incarnate, a god who thrived on chaos and fear.

Robin stumbled back, his instincts screaming at him to run, but his legs felt like lead. The air around him crackled with electricity, the static prickling his skin, making every hair on his body stand on end. Ra’s presence filled the room, pressing down on Robin with the weight of a thousand storms. The god’s eyes never left him, glowing with furious intensity, reflecting the torment he had inflicted and the pleasure he took in it.

“You…” Robin managed to choke out, his voice hoarse and trembling. “It was you all along.”

Ra stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring every moment of Robin’s realization. The room buzzed with his presence, the air thick with the scent of ozone and something far more sinister.

“You’ve broken my heart,” Ra said, his voice smooth and laced with venom. “Scarred our work of art. I think it’s time I call you back to my graveyard.”

The words were like a death sentence, spoken with the cold certainty of someone who believed himself invincible. Robin could feel the walls closing in, the darkness tightening its grip as if Ra were willing the very room to crush him. The shadows moved in time with the god’s words, a dark chorus that echoed the finality of Ra’s command.

But Robin wasn’t about to bow, not now, not ever. Despite the fear clawing at his insides, a spark of defiance flared within him. He squared his shoulders, his eyes locking onto Ra’s with a newfound determination. The weight of the god’s presence was suffocating, but Robin refused to let it break him. He had fought too hard, come too far to be dragged back into the abyss by this monster.

“I won’t let you control me, Ra!” Robin shouted, his voice filled with a raw, desperate anger. “I’m not your puppet—I’ll fight you every step of the way!”

Ra’s smile widened, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of amusement and malice. He reveled in Robin’s defiance, seeing it not as a threat, but as an opportunity—a game that had just become far more interesting. Ra’s form shifted, growing taller, more imposing, the shadows around him writhing like living things. The air buzzed louder, the electricity snapping and popping in the charged silence.

“Oh, you’ll fight, little jackal,” Ra said, his voice cold and filled with dark promise. “But in the end, it won’t matter. This story ends with you back in my graveyard, right where you belong.”

Robin felt a chill run through him, but he held his ground. Ra’s words were meant to break him, to crush his spirit, but Robin refused to bend. He stared back at the god, unblinking, even as Ra’s form began to dissolve back into the shadows, his presence retreating but never truly gone. The laughter lingered, a hollow, echoing sound that filled the room long after Ra had vanished.

Robin slumped against the wall, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The apartment was silent once more, but it felt empty, stripped of its familiarity. Ra’s final words hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the battle that was far from over. Robin knew that this confrontation was just the beginning—that Ra wouldn’t stop until he had what he wanted.

But Robin wouldn’t stop either.

He stared at the darkened room, his eyes burning with defiance. Ra had made his move, but Robin was ready to fight back. He would confront the god on his own terms, take the fight to him if he had to. This was his story, and he wasn’t about to let Ra write the ending.

Not without a fight.

With a shaky breath, Robin pushed himself up, the weight of the encounter still heavy on his shoulders but his resolve stronger than ever. He was done being afraid. It was time to face the darkness head-on, to reclaim his mind and his fate. And if Ra wanted a war, then Robin would give him one.

[cenobittten]

I consented to take part in a dark social experiment

The title says it all. 

Two years ago, when I was asked if I’d like to take part in a reality horror experience, I consented to take part. 

… And I don’t know whether it even existed. 

—

“It’ll be difficult,” my brother said. “The game will be hyper-immersive and will be tailored to your worst fears and neuroses. Think Derren Brown but embedded into your whole life. No one has ever done this before. This level of cognitive dissonance and false information… it's enough to send anyone into psychosis. You won’t easily be able to distinguish reality from fiction.”

The warnings sounded hollow to my ears. I wasn’t put off. After all, I was a big fan of escape rooms and puzzles and this promised to be the ultimate immersive horror augmented reality game. I felt a shiver of excitement. 

“How will it work?” I asked curiously. 

“The premise is simple,” My brother said. “There are things about the past you don’t know. You will be told multiple stories over a number of sittings. This will include different versions of the same story that will conflict with one another. The stories will weave through your existing life experience, augmenting your real memories. Anything in the stories, in part or fully - from small details to entire plots - may be false. Figuring out which ones are true is part of the game. ”

At this point, he stopped and checked I understood. We exchanged a few questions but I was undeterred. 

“Are you sure?” my brother said hesitantly, “Once you consent and hear the story, you won’t be able to back out. You can’t unhear what I’m about to tell you.” 

I smiled. I could handle it, I said. At that point, I gave my oral consent. I asked whether I needed to sign a form but he shook his head. We didn’t want a paper trail, he said, and discouraged me from making any notes. 

Once all that was straight, I entered the psychological experiment. My brother then proceeded to tell me the following:

- A crew was watching and recording my every move through either a hidden camera system, my phone or both

- My flat was rigged with remote controlled devices for the crew to manipulate

- The crew may or may not be Youtubers

- Youtubers who make FNAF and other content created content/clues for an ARG designed especially for me

- My media - phone, TV, etc - was being controlled by the crew. It might send me secret hidden messages

- There would be no reliable place to get instructions after the briefings - I’d just have to figure things out for myself

- Physical clues would be hidden in my home and town

- Anything and everything might be tampered with; water, food, medications etc. 

- Everyone I knew was in on the game and would deny anything is happening

- An angry group of people wanted me dead and may attack at any time

- There would be a celebratory conclusion party held with the crew when all this was over

- All or some of this may be a lie

Even weirder, the game setup posited that world of Five Nights at Freddy's was entangled within the mess of it all adding an extra layer of weird to the proceedings.

“Our family is represented by the Afton Family in the games.” My brother said easily. “Our family is the real creator of FNAF. We’ve been using this and the Fazbear Fanverse to build a secret tailored-to-you ARG called Into Madness to reveal the past to you.”

And then, as promised, he proceeded to tell me the stories. It took hours upon hours of briefings to convey the different narratives and countless details. Using FNAF details as telegraph points, the story spun painted a picture of my family and friends that was drastically different to the one I held. It was a story full of secrets, betrayal and unbelievable details. The narrative chilled my blood and twisted my mind, instantly tormenting me as to its veracity. 

Surprisingly, the overall tale was very convincing. My brother delivered it expertly. For every question I had, my brother had an answer and more details to give without a hint of hesitation. 

True to form, my kind and warm brother did his best to soften the blows. Aware of the impact all this might have on my welfare, he constantly asked if I was ok and provided comfort when he could. However, there was little he could do to help. It was now up to me to detangle the truth and recover from the reveals.  

By the time he’d finished, my initial bravado had disintegrated. I faltered, unsure if I wanted to continue. However, with so much at stake, I agreed. I would take part - for the sake of others more than myself. 

So, after five grueling sittings, my brother left me confused and crushed, and never spoke of the ARG again. 

Little did I know the havoc that the ‘game’ - real or fake - would wreak on my life...

This is a preview from intertextual writing project Into the Rabbitverse. Read more on Cenobittten.com.

[chanfictions]

Hi Chan. Do you have any thoughts on BratTamer!Jirayia? What are his rules? Is he a hard or soft dom? I just wanna know your thoughts friend

Mmm, Jiraiya. I have many thoughts about this one. This is more a stream of consciousness than a bulleted list. Prepare yourselves.

BratTamer!Jiraiya Headcanons

One of my favorite things about Jiraiya is the inherent flexibility that comes with his many years of experience. It's not so much that he is a hard or soft dom – the kind of play involved depends on whatever your dynamic with him is. I think he is highly adaptable to your current situation or frame of mind and can meter himself accordingly.

My pervier Jiraiya thoughts are below the cut.

18+ Content - Minors, DNI!

Jiraiya is probably what I would call a pleasure Dom, so funishments – lordy does he love those and employ them often.

When it comes to impact, Jiraiya would favor his own hand over something like a leather strap or paddle – more for your safety than anything else. No matter what your degree of pain enjoyment is, he doesn't want to actually harm you.

Speaking of impact - let's talk about spanking.

Oh, does that man love having his mouthy brat splayed over his lap, arms bound up in pretty red rope behind your back while he makes you count the strikes with a gag stuffed in your mouth. If he can't understand you… you're starting over from one. He's playful, devious – tormenting you between each blow by playing with your dripping cunt as you squirm and squeal, slipping a teasing finger into your core… juuuust enough to make you buck in frustration before the next impact lands. He'll rub soft circles on your clit as an apology – that one was a little rough – making your eyes roll back into your head before the next one lands.

"Oh, honey, did you forget what number you were on?"

The man is a vicious, dirty tease.

But pair him with a bratty masochist? Lord have MERCY. Imagine him with you as the masochist from my Count series – foul-mouthed and snarky, a button pusher to the extreme – and boy do you push them often.

If you're being sassy, don't think for a second he won't snatch you by the jaw like a misbehaving puppy to put you in your place. That place, of course, is on your knees in front of him with his monster cock stuffed in your sassy mouth.

When you're being a real snot, his favorite game is to leave you hanging – literally. All tied up with nowhere to go, be it from the ceiling or to the bed, he'll get you all worked up and then just stop abruptly, kiss your cheek, and tell you with his most winning smile that he'll be back when you've learned your lesson.

You change your tune and sing like a canary when he walks away, legs tangled together to contain the crushing ache he left you with – the sweet promises of being a good girl fall upon his ears in a rapid succession.

Of course, he was never going to actually leave you there, but he had you convinced.

What's your punishment, you might ask? Oh, only so many orgasms that your vision snows out to white and you swear you've seen the face of God. Just kidding – it's Jiraiya taking off your blindfold to kiss your teary cheeks to ask you if you've had enough yet. Sass him a second time and he's going to bend you over his desk and fuck you on top his latest manuscript with the vibrator strapped to your clit cranked up to its highest setting. Better not drool on his work, or you'll be in trouble.

Overstimulation is one of his favorite ways of dealing with a bratty masochist. Delivery system doesn't matter – be it a vibrator, his hand, or his mouth – that just depends on what you prefer. Pussy spanks will absolutely be involved, either way. The gasps and squeals are just too cute for him not to. You're going to be orgasming so hard through your spankings that you will lose your ability to form words properly.

Jiraiya isn't shy about toys. In fact, he probably has a treasure chest full of them and knows which are your favorites.

He also knows which ones are your dirty, guilty pleasures – the ones you may be too embarrassed to admit you enjoy – and uses those for dramatic effect during your little punishment games. Maybe you secretly enjoy that pretty glass plug and like to use it when you're alone but get all hot in the face just thinking about it because it's embarrassing. Well, expect Jiaiya to "punish" you with one of your favorite things – holding you down over his lap while tutting about what a naughty little thing you are as he agonizingly slowly turns you into a hot-faced, whimpering mess with the favored torture of your choice.

As for rules – I've never been one to really subscribe to that sort of thing. But I would imagine he would occasionally lay down little challenges for you (knowing that you would absolutely defy them on purpose to get a rise out of him) like not touching yourself or something to that effect while he's gone. All they are is a fun pretext for your next funishment session. Because of course you're going to defy him while he's gone – just in time to get caught when he comes home.

Now, let's talk aftercare.

Jiraiya is a god. Full stop. After he's reduced you to an orgasm-drunk mess, he's going to take the best care of his tamed little brat. You're always sweet and compliant – such a good girl when he's finished with you. He takes his time with the ropes, cuddling you in his lap while he unties them because you're too empty-headed to even know your own name. Baths are often in order since you're covered in everyone's everything, and he usually joins you.

Doms need aftercare too, don't forget! He is sweet and gentle, especially if it was a heavier session. He needs it as much as you do to make sure he didn't actually hurt you. He's going to want to let you relax sprawled out over his lap while he pets your hair and murmurs little praises to you as you drift off into your blissful post-frenzy nap.

Oof. I need to write a full brat-tamer fic for him now.

-Happy sigh-

I love Jiraiya.

[littlefreya]

August’s Box of Mystery

Summary: He left you all alone in his great castle by the sea and requested that you shan't touch yourself... can you keep your loyalty?

Prompted by @gotnofucks: “How do you feel August would react to knowing his girl uses sex toys when he is away? Would he feel jealous? Angry? Turned on?More importantly, what does he do? 👀”

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader (No description of ethnicity or body type)

Words: 3k

Warning: 18+, smut + romance and fluff in the end. Female masturbation with a sex toy, voyeurism, sex-tape, cockwarming, mildly rough unprotected sex, breeding, breeding as punishment if to be exact, slight denial, MaleDom, creampie, a lot of it. Read the warnings properly, please. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, or parts it and claiming it as your own.

A/N: I am anxious about this one and hope you’ll enjoy, i’ve been rather influenced by Angela Carter writings. Many thanks to @the-soot-sprite @wondersofdreaming for feedback and @agniavateira for her review. Added notes and credits in the end!

Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

August’s Box of Mystery 

Outside the bedroom window, the waves roared in a tempest's rage. Torrent after torrent, the sea unleashed brutal tentacles onto the salty iron rocks in a keen, vindictive urge to dismantle them to nought. 

It was your own unruly longing that the ocean sensed: forlorn and listless, lying on your bed, the blue mist cloaking your heart. 

August's sea-fort was a gilded cage. He had given you everything: diamonds brighter than the moon, sheets made of the softest golden silk, and even a ring to bind you to his unbreakable siege. 

His only demand was that you will always wait for him, not only by flesh but soul as well. Despite his dark ambitions, trust and loyalty were qualities August valued beyond anything else.   

But soon, you grew tired of watching the reflection of the tides refract upon the naked ceiling. A woman with fire for blood, you were forever tormented by your sultry nature and daydreams of that would make the devil blush.

Frustration gnawed at your bawls until—enough! You shot up from your bed—a storm of silky linen whirling around you like Venus emerging from spume on shore; and just as the goddess of love and beauty, you too yearned to be penetrated. Nibbling your nails, you glanced at the open door, your mind seeing beyond thick walls into his office where he kept a chest filled with illicit delights. 

Every now and then—when August's muse struck—he would bring one of his toys to the bedroom, but you weren’t allowed to play on your own. 

Body. 

Soul. 

‘Certainly, August won’t be able to tell if I would be careful?’ You hoped and followed the oceanic breeze hymning from the corridors.

Sand stuck to your bare feet, the wooden planks gently wept beneath your stride. Tipping on your toes, you snuck into his cavernous study, the key stolen from his nightstand already seized between shaky fingers. Though August was absent, your heart thrummed with ire upon setting foot onto the furry rug, as if he was to appear behind you at any given moment.

It was a room that reeked of debaucheries of all kinds: "borrowed" works of art depicting naked nymphs adorned the cherry-wood shelves, divine entities hung onto the wainscoting, and trophies he kept from his victims were encased in a fancy vitrine. Even the slate-blue view felt different from this spot; the rocky piers seemed like a pathway to a marine graveyard.

You paid no mind. You knew who you married and gained nothing but ethereal bliss whenever August fucked you against the window for the shark and whales to see. 

Like a girl crawling into the rabbit’s hole, you took half a twirl. There, below the large monitor plastered to the wall, stood the locked chest. Black and gold roses ornamented its exterior and a trident crest was engraved on the lock. Only a fool would overlook such blatant temptation, and though you were no foolish girl, you were feeble at the face of seduction. 

Falling to your knees, you made haste to unlock the chest, your heart drumming in your ears with the notion that you defied the words of your strenuous lover. But the same muscle that pumped you with fear, pounded wickedness into your blood. 

If only you were blessed with a shred of your husband’s patience.

All the toys inside were placed in order, sanitised, and appropriately boxed in such fashion that you knew August would notice if something was misplaced. The man had the capability of finding an eyelash on the carpet. Still, unrelenting desire strung the cunning finger you ran over the loot, carefully picking one of the familiar vibrators he used on you before. 

'Here?'  

Standing at the centre of his tidy office you contemplated, suddenly aware of how the room leaked of his entity; scented notes of old leather binding and his woodsy cologne threatened to adhere to your skin, making this mischief taste like a crime. It was best to keep all disobedient whims in an isolated location, you assumed and allowed your eyes to further drift and glide upon the large monitor and the antique desk where August kept the remote. An abrupt wicked idea swam into your mind, reminding you of his private collection. 

Catalogued alphabetically, he kept them on his streaming device. 

'It should make things quick...' you convinced yourself whilst nibbling on your bottom lip. How worse could it be, anyway? You already rummaged through his chest. Taking a gander at his not-so-secret directory was puny in comparison. 

With your lungs in fists, you slipped your panties to your ankles and settled on the cosy leather chair in front of his desk. Ignoring the red flag waved by your anxiety, you reached for the remote and clicked the button. 

August made no effort to hide his recordings, simply naming the directory as "Films," as if it contained ordinary Hollywood blockbusters. Impatient, you scrolled down the list, trying to keep the jealousy from simmering in your bawls. August wedded you in this fort, but he never captured you on film like he did his girls. All lovers from the past, of course, but still it almost irked you; yet you brushed these concerns away and picked a file with the name you liked most and pressed “play”.

The ocean's lament was instantly swallowed by guttural howls and grunts that took every empty space within the chamber. Before your flaring eyes appeared the most forbidden of spectacles— your husband taking a different woman. It was odd to hear the familiar timbre of his groans laced with the voice of another. It was even stranger to sense the unmistakable spark of desire jittering in your cove.

Poseidon himself could not compete with the glory of the man, naked and drenched, all muscles and might. Furious, he took her on her knees, his fingers cradling her skull, pushing her head to the pillows while restraining her wrists above the small of her back. She wasn't you and still you clenched, aroused by the sight of the sweat glistening the fur of his torso and by the lack of mercy in the violent motion that ended with the dutiful grind of his sac against her swollen lips. 

You hadn't even realised how shamefully you dripped upon the oxen leather of the seat, your thoughts focused on the odd mixture of envy and lust that penetrated your blood. 

Desperate to unleash the monstrosity building within your core, you spread your legs over the desk and pressed the toy between your slippery petals. A shuddering whine rode your breath at the brush of the buzzing device, the pleasure so unimaginable it nearly drowned your senses. Gasping, you fought to maintain a hooded gaze upon your lover and his ‘whore,’ and imagined that the rosy silicon phallus that entered your anticipating hole was his swollen cock.

Your walls quickly clenched around the toy in true longing while the window trembled under the muffled rumbling of thunder. Perhaps your passions thickened the clouds. Or maybe it was the immoral streak of ecstasy laced by danger. Whichever it was, it urged you faster toward imminent bliss.

The other woman’s moans entwined with yours while your wayward hand mimicked the rhythm of bodies slamming together in the same frantic chaos that swept you.

Sweat-riddled, your ankles lost way across the smooth surface of the desk, leaving oily markings in a frenzy as climax drew close.  

‘Almost…’

‘Almost…’

‘So close…’  

‘August!’

"Enjoying yourself, my little princess?" 

Lightning painted the room bright purple, announcing the thunder that tore through the ocean. It wasn’t half as frightening as the low timbre of his voice, which cruelly withheld your ecstasy. The fervour in your veins turned glacial; one moment you ascended to the heavens and the next, got rejected at its golden gates. All the while the growls of his reflection on the monitor echoed through the chamber along with the buzzing toy still buried inside you.

It granted no pleasure now, but further stretched the guilt.

Calm and forebodingly stoic, August reached a curious hand between your quaking thighs, seizing the toy and flicking the switch off. Unable to lift your gaze to meet his severe face, you struggled to swallow and kept your eyes glued to the monitor. Yet, there was no escape from his reflection—the “real” him present in the room peered back at you through the glassy screen. Standing behind you, he etched his fingers around the headrest of the chair and tutted. 

“Do you like watching me with others, sweetling? Did this video make you wet?” he asked curiously.

Before any words formed on your quivering lips, his hand fell to your mound. An intrigued “hmm,” flowed from his throat as he found you overflowing with arousal. Like a whore, you couldn’t help but squirm into his touch, your body still enraged of being denied pleasure, and so was the sky that now threatened to turn the ocean upside down. 

You nearly gasped at the heavy patter of rain that began to hit the window. 

“I…”

“Disobeyed me,” he completed the sentence, his voice mellow and pleasant though the caress of his breath on your face burned.

“...missed you.”

Your attempt to pacify him did not go unnoticed. Lips stretching to a slanted grin, he dared to replace the toy with two fingers that drove inside your gaping hole—sensing how you wrapped and suckled around his long digits like a carnivore plant.

“Such a sweet gesture,” he retorted, “and still, my love, my dear wife who I’ve given everything to, has defied me like a lawless brat…unable to wait for her husband to return from his very important meetings.” His dainty fingers pumped crudely deeper, not to please you but remind you who you belonged to. 

Writhing in your seat, you fluttered your eyes shut. “Where were you?”

Ignoring your question, he leaned down, his lips mere inches from your ear and whispered, “I think it’s time I’ll tame my bratty woman for good, don’t you?” 

You shuddered to think what punishment he had in mind, your heart sinking to a dark pit at the deadly kiss he offered next to your ear; but then, he took your wrist and in a surprising tenderness guided you from the chair to bend over the desk. 

Predictably, the movie had run its course and started again from the beginning, her promiscuous moans and the pounding of their flesh stealing your attention for a split second. 

Having you at a disadvantage, August drew an invisible line from your spine to the curve of your behind, his fingers mimicking lines drawn on soaked sand. “All this sea salt in the air around us and your skin is still so tender,” he murmured lovingly and secured a hand around your nape, holding your head forward. 

It excited you to watch them before and now with his groin hot and hard against your bare crease you were nothing but craving his cock. 

“Is this going to hurt? Will you spank me? Treat me like that whore on your film?” you asked naively, smoothing your sweaty palms across the antique wood with dark anticipation. 

“No, my beautiful angel.” his belt clicked and dangled like a set of heavy keys of a warden toying with his captive, “You are not my whore, but my wife. Which is why I’m going to put my child in your reckless womb to end your wicked ways once and for all.”

A gasp of shock left your throat, dazed by his threat you turned to protest. But the air drowned in your chest and your entire body stiffened as August’s ‘leviathan’ split your succulent flesh. Vulgarly you were penetrated, his size stuffing you so deeply, you felt the aching pressure in the pit of your belly. 

August stilled for a moment, lingering at the sensation of your hot cove fitting around him in both a strenuous protest and the pathetic defeat in which your body seized the beast, milking it in an attempt to rope him into your womb forever. 

“Oh, my sweet wife, I will stretch your little cunt to sheath me that not even these toys will please you. You see, everything here belongs to me, even your defiant womb. And I will leave a piece in me there to teach you a lesson.”

“I don’t think I am ready!” You whined, but the thought of being bred and carrying his child made your cunt unwittingly twitch. Your canal sucked him even deeper if it was even possible.

August sensed your convulsion and growled, his hips pressed unfathomably tight against your rear, making your cheeks ache from the press of his bones. It was torture with the film playing right in front of you; falling into a lucid delirium, your mind replaced her with yourself, yet your August refused to move, withholding your pleasure, owning it, owning you. 

His cock anchored hot and thick inside you, its throb as powerful as the thunder hammering the ocean.

You wanted to cry.

“August, please! I need you! I missed you!” 

With a harsh pull, he drew back and bludgeoned your crease, his might so vulgar the tip of your toes levitated from the ground. Again, and then again… he grunted at the choke of your flesh around him. Paying you no courtesy, he shook and pounded you almost terrifyingly as meticulously as he did this woman. 

His fingers burnt around your waist, so harshly you thought you’d never be able to sense anything but his grip under your skin. 

“Oh!” fat tears rolled down your cheeks, your breath a wheeze. Piteously you crumbled onto the desk. Thunders, cries, sounds of rutting flesh, and grunts surrounded you in this cavern of sin; you didn’t know which were yours and which were from the recording. All you knew was that he never took you so zealously before, you were at the brink of either rapture or falling to the abyss.

“You’re too deep! Too rough!” you wailed, unable to adjust to his pace but truthfully you didn’t want him to slow down. Currents of bliss submerged your loins the rougher he fucked you. The hot tingle in your core stormed with every collision of his cock with your cervix.

August reached from your neck to your jaw then and held your face to the screen.

“You wanted to watch her while touching yourself. Do you want to be her?” he growled and increased the pace, splitting through your body the way Dagon ripped open the waves. 

Even if you had words, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. 

“You can never be her my darling,” August said and removed his hand from your hip. There was a quick drag of his drawer behind you and a rummaging sound. “Here, I’ll make us a short film; memorise this moment when you conceive me an heir.”

Struck by his words, you turned to stare. The sight of him behind you, inside you, was far more worthy than any film: sweat trickled down his messy curls and arduously strained face, his cerulean shirt damp and his mouth open as his fingers clutched the camera that was directed to the point where you were joint. 

Unrelenting, your orgasm flooded through every muscle like a wave of destruction that wrecked every organ within you until you felt nothing but bliss. You felt August’s heart beating in yours. 

There it was. Euphoria. 

You drowned in it. The maelstrom inside you swallowed and sank his ship as well. With a loud shout of surprise, he broke apart and erupted inside you, his creamy gift ploughing your womb until it overflowed and dripped down your quaking thighs. 

The rumbling from outside eased now, the clouded sky groaned with a release, their tears melding into the ocean never to be seen again.

August remained inside you, his breath thick, his hips gingerly grinding into yours to make sure his seed will take. 

“There you go, my special girl.” his voice came huskily. “Now you will never be alone, unlike these women I can’t even remember.”

Your hand instinctively snapped to your lower belly, soothingly caressing it in a reverie. You felt battered, full, and disgustingly and arousingly dirty as he swam inside you.

Yet the thought that he impregnated you made your heart flutter. 

Was there a more eternal symbolism of love than a legacy?

“August…” you whispered. Beneath you, the desk slightly shook, little tremors vibrated against the delicate pads of your fingers. Turning your head back, you offered him an enamoured glance and reached a hand in plea to lace fingers with his. 

His storm-kissed eyes softened and he broke into a sigh at the sight of his wife at her best submissive behaviour. The greatest of all delights was to refine a crude rock into a fine delicate diamond. Proudly, he took your hand in his, entangling your fingers together, yet he kept the video-camera aimed at your joint bodies. 

“Don’t move,” he breathed behind you and carefully pulled out his shaft from your flooded hole. A velvety chuckle played on his tongue, impressed by the wet plop and thickness of the cream that leaked off your entrance. Your cheeks burnt as you realised what he has done; your lips parted open to complain but then, with his cock already fully rigid and thick, he plugged you once more, shoving his seed back inside you.

“What are you doing?” 

“Waste not, my angel,” he tutted and remained still, brushing his knuckles up and down the curve of your rump.

“Oh, how long?” you whined, uncertain if you are capable of staying this way with him throbbing between your taut walls.

“Until the sky clear up?...” he suggested, voice haunted by lingering satisfaction. 

The waves of your previous orgasm were yet to ebb, and now stronger tides began to emerge. Frustration grew within once again and sadly, August’s will had the mettle of an anchor.  

“At least tell me where you were!” you yelped.

August scoffed, and wrapped his hands around your waist, only slightly guiding you back into his hips. “No, no, my love. Every marriage needs a little bit of mystery, as you’ve already learned. But now do me a favour,” he uttered and placed the remote next to your hand. 

“Play us another one? We might be here a while.”

Credits: Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Themes Inspired by Angela Carter’s Bloody Chamber. Leviathan inspired by @sillyrabbit81​!!

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or Mission Impossible.