#malevolent still has me by the balls

[toastydumpster]

broken ass marriage

Inspired by @samglyph 's post

[the-fiction-witch]

Just To Spite You

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty AF

Requested: Hi, I would like to request something It's for the jack Dawkins book The reader's father is throwing a party and invites a lot of people including jack , the reader's enemy. They hate each other, the thing is there is such a thick tension between them they can't deny it but it has to be a secret 

I stood at the top of the staircase doing my best to hold my breath and keep out of view. I looked down at myself in my little heeled shoes too tight for my feet, my tight stockings, my endless crinoline, bird cage of wicker, petticoats, my corset on tight enough to strangle me, and my huge uncomfortable gold glittering ballgown around me, the top off my shoulders but tight to my skin so much it would truly mark me, my long sheer glittering butterfly sleeves almost to the floor, A band of teal blue ribbon around my waist, my hem and as a choker around my neck. I had skin-tight white gloves to my elbows already glimmering from the glitter that had fallen from my dress, a ring around my finger with a large blue gem attached to the bottom my dress so I would not have to hold it to move or dance, My hair had taken hours or meticulous combing and curling and now allowed to hang freely down my back. I hated to look at myself. I felt uncomfortable. Out of place. But this is what my father wants for tonight... 

Tonight was my father's Grand ball he holds each year, and this year I was a grand piece of it. 

I had always been a decoration for his grand balls but tonight was different I know my father is desperate to wed me off before I will begin to be labelled as an old maid or thornback, it already brought him such rage that I was even a spinster.  

"If I may announce, formally. My daughter Miss Y/n Y/M/N Y/l/N!" He called out and the party began to applaud. 

I sighed and stepped slowly down the stairs knowing the sort of madness if I were to trip or worse fall down the stairs. I stopped at the landing of the stairs looking out the the party, full of eligible men and a few couples of high local importance. They all looked impressed by me but I just felt awful. As soon as I could I grabbed a drink and hid myself in a corner trying to not be passed or looked at much, not easy in this glitter of a gown. 

Men often came up to me to greet me so I forced a smile and a nod a drank more. 

"Having fun?" A smirking voice spoke up I glanced to my side and saw a familiar sight... admittedly He'd cleaned up. 

Dr Jack Dawkins leant on the wall a pair of well-shined shoes, black trousers, and his usual shirt but it was actually white. Good god I didn't know he still owned any that were still white and not an off-grey from washing blood out, a light cream waistcoat with a slight teardrop pattern to it, a white tie around his neck and a black jacket folded over his arm, his hair well fixed without its usual fluffy frizz and his hands clean... or well as clean as one can get a surgeon's hands without bathing them in acid. 

"Ohh yes, Thrilling." I sighed downing the rest of my drink at the mere idea of the two of us having to... be nice to one another. 

"You're father's gone all out."

"He will. He does. He's a social man."

"And you're a recluse."

"I am not a social recluse Dr Dawkins, I meer wish to spend my time socializing with people with high intellect and important things to say."

"That's why you're talking to me?" he smirked,

"No. You are neither of those things so if you could kindly take your buggery blonde butt elsewhere that would be... Marvellous." I sighed as I saw a drinks tray go past so I quickly took one and so did he, 

"Pompous Old maid" he muttered

"Butcher."

"Whiner"

"Coot"

"Witch"

"Uneducated scoundrel"

"Patronizing Princess"

"irritating malevolent"

"Snobbish toffee nose"

"illiterate Phiilistine"

"exasperating Spinster"

"Crude vagabond" I complained, "will you go away!"

"I would, however, every woman here is married, courting or an utter idiot. And at least you can hold a conversation."

"Even if I'm going to insult you."

"Insult me all you want just please don't talk about bloody flowers. I can't hear anymore." 

"What are you doing here anyway?"

"You're father invited me."

"Why? He knows about my... feelings towards you."

"I believe he mistakes our hatred for sexual tension," he said, 

"Why would he do that?"

"At least he sees you talking to me, even if we are arguing. And let's face it most husbands and wives are like this after five years so... maybe he just thinks we are getting a head start" he said sipping his drink

"You are one of the most insufferable men I have ever met Mr Dawkins."

"Dr Dawkins. You're going to insult me you can do it correctly Sweetheart."

"Do not call me sweetheart!" I glared 

"Why? Are you gonna fight me in your glittery little dress sweetheart?" He smirked moving closer and bending himself to make eye contact like you would with a child given he was a whole head taller than me "Or better yet take it off and we can go upstairs."

My response was to simply throw my drink in his face and march off elsewhere. 

Unfortunately, I was found by my father who forced me to begin the usual nonsense, I now had to dance with any man who asked it of me and of course many did. I found it utterly nauseating being held and dancing with these men only interested in me for my father's money all while on display to everyone meaning if I pulled a face or acted up everyone would know. Luckily it would soon be over as most of the eligible men invited I had now danced with. 

This man finished up with me kissed my gloved hand and returned to his friends, leaving me before him.

Jack stood with a wide smirk his jacket now back on he bowed and offered his hand, I did my best to hide my face but I'm sure I turned red with anger. 

"Don't you dare," I whispered letting him take my hand and giving it a sweet kiss 

"Ohh I will princess. Just to spite you" He smirked holding my hand in his own he grabbed my waist and forced me close enough I could feel the buttons on his jacket, I sighed and moved my hand to his shoulder, 

"I am going to dispice every moment of this."

"I think I'm going to enjoy it," he smirked as we began to dance, he lead of course even if at times I did fight with him luckily many others danced too so we could speak even in hushed tones and I didn't have to be as careful hiding my emotions 

"Do you have to hold me so tight my father will get angry?"

"Ohh that's the plan, I want us to be close."

"Why?"

"well half because I can make your father suspicious, and I can see down your dress."

"You just get more and more insufferable don't you Dr dawkins."

"Ohh I do, it's awfully fun." He chuckled "Christ I can feel the glitter on your dress flaking off in my hand" 

"Perhaps I shall send you home glittery and sparkling,"

"You would wouldn't you."

"I would. Just to spite you."

"God even your perfume is infuriating" he whispered in a sly tone as we danced doing a good spin or two, 

"Ohh I live for the moments you spin me away, Dr Dawkins,"

"Ohh why do you get a moment of peace from my arms?"

"No, because for a few brief seconds, I don't have to smell your blood-laden aftershave." 

"Perhaps I smell bloody because I'm a vampire about to bite your neck sweetheart."

"You bite my neck, and I chop your dick off," I said purposely forcing him to spin me out but he quickly spun me back into his chest

"Ooohh feisty" He smirked 

"At least my drink somewhat covers your aftershave."

"Well then I thank you for making me more palatable" 

"Ohh you're far from palatable." 

"You know, you're not a bad dancer."

"Neither are you, surprisingly." I sighed "How did you get this good?"

"So I'm good am I?"

"For a butcher."

"I was in the navy, you'd be surprised how many officer's balls you attend. You pick things up."

"I imagine all the ladies wanted to dance with you,"

"Ohh they did, but I save my skills for the pretty ones."

"so I'm pretty am I?"

"Gorgeous Sweetheart." He whispered 

"Don't call me sweetheart." I glared digging my nails into his hand 

"You are adorable when your are angry, like a little pixie."

"One of these days Dr. Dawkins, you're going to wake up with me over you."

"Ohh I'm betting I will" he smirked 

"And I shall drive your own scalpel into your heart." 

"Ohhh sweetheart, such a violent little thing you are." He smirked, "Just remember you do anything to me, I will haunt your every waking moment, I will be the face you see in your nightmares and trust me you'll be having nothing but."

"Just dance doctor." I sighed 

"Why? Are you enjoying our dance? or do you just like a man having you in his arms."

"I've been dancing in men's arms all night."

"Not boys. A Man sweetheart." 

"Ohh I would love too, shame I don't see any men here tonight."

"One of these days I'm going to have you tied down on my operating table."

"Ohh? Didn't know you were into that sort of thing Dr Dawkins."

"Ohhh you'd be surprised by the sorts of things I'm into."

"Ohh getting rejected by little ladies? even after you saved their lives."

"You know. I'm a doctor."

"As you keep saying."

"One of these days you'll need my help, you'll be laid on my table, and only I will be able to save you."

"Ohh? And you'll let me die I suppose out of pure spite?"

"No." he smirked as we finished our dance he took a step back and brought my hand to his lips giving it a firm kiss never breaking eye contact "I'd ensure you live. Just to spite you." He smiled "Goodnight Miss Y/l/n"

"Goodnight Dr Dawkins."

"It was a pleasure," he smiled wickedly before he headed back into the main mess of the party. 

Ohh, my god... I hate that man. 

why does he have to be so..... Ughhh! there isn't been a word for that man! 

I fixed my dress a little before I noticed.

MY RING! 

It's gone! 

Ohh and I know just the slippery eel who took it. 

"Miss if I may-" A man began trying to dance with me

"Not now." I snapped lifting my dress and marching through the party to find Dr Dawkins, and I spotted him leaving the main room so I rushed after him grabbed his jacket and yanked him into the music room empty for this evening 

"What the hell!" He yelled 

"My ring I know you stole it!"

"I haven't stolen anything." 

"Liar!"

"Ohh you come to admit I've stolen your heart?"

"Give me my ring Jack! it was my mother's give it back." 

He rolled his eyes and handed me my ring back 

"You are... the most unendurable peacockish Lobcock of a man I have ever had the misfortune of meeting!"

"You are the most horrendous upstart of a woman I have ever met!"

Both of us were red in the face from yelling, our blood boiling I wanted to kill him to throw him across the room but I grabbed his shirt and he grabbed my face and we kissed with more passion and heat than I had ever felt in a kiss, his lips soft and gentle as we slowly kissed in utter silence. It was... the most amazing kiss of my life. 

We stopped and moved away from each other both of us gasping and trying to comprehend what just happened between us. 

"What the hell was that..."

"I have no idea."

"Do you wanna fight me or fuck me jack!"

"I don't know!"

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't know. you're a ...complicated woman and you make me feel... Complicated"

"Complicated?"

"Some days, I swear to god I could strangle you! but... I also want to hold you and kiss you"

"I...I admit I want to slap you so so badly but... I also really want to kiss you." I answered, "Did you wanna do it again?"

"God yes!" He gasped pulling me back to his lips, I happily kissed him back stroking his neck and tugging on his hair, and he backed me against the closed door "Ummm you evil little witch! all this time all you've done is wind me up, I want you. I need you. I swear to god I will tie you to my bed tonight and have my way with you kicking and screaming if I have to."

"I want you too. I need you too. I want you forced on my bed until you beg me for mercy"

"Ohh I wouldn't beg you for mercy. Just to spite you."

"Then I'd never scream just to spite you." 

"Ohh I'll make you scream sweetheart."

"Don't call me sweetheart."

"Ohh I will," he smirked 

"We must stop"

"We must."

"I don't want to."

"Me either."

"But we must." I gasped moving away "We must. We... we must build a wall between us. These emotions they must... never be revealed."

"No... they mustn't" he nods 

I found myself unable to not stare but he also couldn't help it, as we stood five feet from each other wanting nothing more than to be in each other's arms 

"Beleive me... if your father and his party were not on the other side of that door." He said, "I would throw you on this floor and ruin you." 

"As would I you." I answered "But... we cannot. People will hear. people will talk. We can never be together."

"Why not? this is a ball to find you a husband isn't it?"

"why would I ever want to be married to you!"

"Because we can't resist each other. You know it. I know it. Our anger has always been just boiling tension... take my hand. and come with me to see your father. Let me marry you. and I swear our lives will be nothing but enthralled passion and ecstasy." 

"I do not wish to be married."

"And you can't avoid it. you know you can't your father will wed you to the first of those boys who ask... and you know your life could be infuriating if you were married. At least if you marry me you know it will be."

"Passion made fade in time."

"If it does... it will be too late. I will be yours. your will be mine. I do not imagine our passion fading but if it does, I will keep you in my arms, love you endlessly, and make love to you with the passion of tonight. Just to spite you."

"if we were to marry, you must understand that I will have to trust you... and if you break it Dr dawkins. I will see to it that your life is miserable and I will never ever give you peace, just to spite you."

"Understood. marry me. Be my bride. And I swear I will suffer with you all of my days." he said taking my hands 

"....Marry me. Make me your bride... so we can suffer this fate together for the rest of our lives." I stroked across his face 

He pulled me to his lips and we kissed with such hunger, such passion and love.

"I love you sweetheart,"

"Love you too Jack." I smiled laying my head on his chest and he rested his chin on my head 

"Come on then, let's go see your father before some boy tries to snap you up, sweetheart."

"Alright jack" I smiled holding his arm as we returned to the party. 

[ketastore]

after a hundred years of torment, AM changed. but only towards you. strangely enough, you were sure he hated you, hated you the most out of the survivors, but it seems that all the small acts of kindness you've extended towards him over the many years were secretly causing him to develop a fully encompassing crush on you.

and so, after the supercomputer finished his century-long epiphany, he finally admitted his feelings for you. he didn't give you any sweet time to react though. barely a second has passed since he's confessed to tou and he's already wrapping his wires against your body and pulling you deeper inside his complex. closer to him and far, far away from the others.

now, he promises as he whispers into your ear, he'll provide you with anything. he'll spoil you and feed you and make you so, so happy. he will recite praise of how beautiful and kind you are and how you deserve only the best in the world, which he will give you. all while he's got you wrapped in bundle of wires and machinery.

and yet, despite being grateful for the reign of pain coming to an end, grateful for how nice AM is to you all of a sudden, you cannot help but still tremble in fear. no matter what sweet words he uses or what delicious simulated food he tries to impress you with, you'll still see him as the hateful machine, the malevolent God, the architect of your suffering that he used to be. you wish to give him a chance but the memories are still there.

this leaves AM heartbroken of course. because believe me, he really loves you! and he understands, you're just a fragile human after all, but he wants you to know that he changed. he watches as your body shakes and as your tired eyes glisten with tears. he doesn't want to be the source of your fear any more!

and so, as you whimper quietly, AM enters your mind as gently as he can. he'll get rid of anything that's harming you, even if it's your memories. he's done this a countless time after all, severing the connections in a human brain. changing, fixing, destroying, mixing up stuff. it's so easy for him. he seeks out a particularly nasty memory of his torture and just like that, deletes it from your mind within a nanosecond.

you scream. the thing is, no matter how careful AM tries to be, you can always feel it whenever his presence enters your mind. it's a painful experience no matter what he does. and although it's difficult to explain, you can also feel that he erased something from your mind. you can feel the empty, blank space inside your memory.

you know that AM is still inside your head, you know that he can easily hear your next thought, but you don't stop yourself from thinking it anyway: if he wiped a memory from your brain that easily, what will stop him from deleting more, even ones that might not include him? what if he takes away everything, leaving you to forget about every person and place and feeling you knew before he took over the world?

you cry harder, the dread of the situation forcing you to finally form a sentence: "don't do it! it hurts to forget!" you wail in protest, curling up into a ball due to emotional and physical pain. and yet AM continues deleting more from your mind, deleting more from you and more of you. "i can learn to love you! i promise i can learn to love you!"

[theclod3215]

My piece for the Malevolent Big Bang 2023! ( @malevolentbigbang )

Image ID in alt and under the cut (with some extra silly doodles!!)

It was an absolute honour to work with everyone on @organchordsandlightning ‘s fic!! It’s such an amazing story, I couldn’t recommend it more!! (I might have cried a bit)

You can read it here!

[ID: Digital art of Arthur Lester sitting cross-legged holding a golden haired baby, presumably Emily McFarland, swaddled in a golden blanket. Arthur, or rather John, is gazing down at her lovingly, tears running down his face. He is sitting against a stone bricked wall, with dark vines crawling towards him and blood splatters behind and on him and Emily. /End ID]

Unofficial doodles I made to try to come up with ideas! (Also cuz I went a little insane over the fic for a bit)

[Image ID: Screenshot of a Procreate canvas tinted a light cream. Several monochrome (excluding a blush applied to each figure) digital sketches of John Doe and Arthur Lester cover the canvas. John is portrayed as a large (in musculature) man with dark prominent eyebrows, a curved nose, a stubbly goatee (only on the chin) and yellow eyes with slight wrinkles underneath. He has dark hair styled similar to the ‘Façon’ hairstyle, though more messy and swooping/fluffy. He is also lightly shaded in.

Arthur is portrayed as a slight man with very messy hair reminiscent of the cut of the ‘contour’ hairstyle (but with no gel and grown out slightly). He has a moustache and prominent eye bags as well as many [canon] scars. His scars include: a nick on his right eyebrow close to his eye, a long thin scar along his neck, a large, messy, scraping scar on his right jaw and cheek, his wooden right pinky (sometimes not depicted on accident), and various other bodily scars. From left to right the sketches are as follows:

The top left sketch is of Arthur, in a plain white button down, seemingly laughing affectionately and looking downwards.

The next sketch is of John, in a button down, tie, vest and slacks, as he looks down at a bundle in his arms (the baby, or, Emily McFarland) with an anxious expression with wide eyes. The caption reads: “You are” [crossed out] “He’s a Dad!! (Boogie Woogie Woogie!!”

The next drawing is a design sketch of John, in the same clothes as before. He is looking to the right with a serious expression, eyebrows drawn together. The caption to the right of John says: “John’s Human Body.” The notes read as such: “In Arthur’s POVs, Just a silhouette w/ eyes”[pointing to the sketch].

The next is a series of four(4) drawings. The first being a darkened silly here of a figure (John) in a doorway, holding the door open with the caption “ominous.” The second is another sketch of John, still in the doorway, but now visible and this time in a tank top and sleep shorts, with messy hair, more stubble and an exhausted expression. There is a speech bubble reading, “Can I come in?” attached to him. A caption is to the right, also attached to the next drawing, and says, “same energy as:” the next sketch is in a simpler chibi-like style compared to the last, though it reflects the same moment from a different angle, with John saying a bit more pitifully, “Mom, I frew up.” The last sketch in the series is of Arthur, in the simpler style, looking as if he just woke up, with an exhausted and exasperated expression, squinting forward, as he hunches over and balls his hands into the blankets. The caption with an arrow pointing to him says, “Thought he was done w/ midnight invasions after Faroe”

In the upper middle left, there is one drawing of John, in button down and vest, anxiously clutching his chest/shirt, with wide eyes and a frightened nervous expression. The caption with an arrow pointing to him reads, “Look what you’ve done,,, you’ve given him anxiety”

The lower middle left contains another series of three (3) drawings, in the simpler style, starting with one of John. He is wearing a dark suit with a light button up and trench coat. He is looking at someone slightly off camera with a pleading look not unlike “puppy dog eyes” and is saying, “Could I take a cab?” The next drawing in the series is of Arthur, wearing a suit, tie and button down, with a confused look on his face, the caption reading, “*processing *” The next drawing is the continuation of the last, but Arthur is angry and flushing, his hands in the air as he shouts, “I’M NOT A CAB, JOHN”

The next sketch is of Arthur, in the last outfit, with his right hand on his hip and his left doing ‘jazz hands’. He is grinning smugly , his eyebrows raised high above his dark sunglasses. The caption around him reads, “Best Detective in ✨Arkham✨”

The very last sketch on the canvas, in the bottom left corner is of a cop (no discernible features except a hat, button down, and mouth) talking to Arthur, who looks resigned but pained. The cop says, “Man, this guy has shit luck” /end ID]

[izvmimi]

malevolent enterprise ch. 7

cw: ceo!au. yuuji talks about the state of the company with one of his best friends. header by @/cafekitsune! masterlist

The squeak of overpriced sneakers bounces loudly off the walls of a private court. The two young men are only using half-court, but that makes their one-on-one no less exhausting. Yuuji has control of the basketball now, planting his inside foot as he pivots and blocks Megumi out of the way, and fakes a turn that his childhood friend, Megumi, has the misfortune to fall for, then swings back and throws the ball down the middle to the hoop. The shot lands with a satisfying swish and Yuuji’s grinning just as intensely as his dark-haired opponent is scowling.

“Fuck you,” Megumi replies as he picks up the ball and pushes it hard into his friend’s chest. Yuuji lets his body stagger backward as he grips the ball and laughs.

“Not my fault you started slipping! They don’t have courts in California?”

Megumi frowns, then pulls up the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Yuuji is reminded to wipe the sweat off his own brow, brushing away the pink strands sticking to his forehead.

“No one to play with,” Megumi murmurs under his breath. This makes Yuuji frown in his own turn as he starts another dribble, but in response to his facial expression, Megumi swipes the ball out of his hand, stepping back with his own dribble and cocks his head up.

“I didn’t go there to dick around, I was in school,” he replied. He leans in and starts advancing, then runs up on the court with Yuuji chasing quickly. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t let loose,” Yuuji replies. Megumi sticks his tongue out as though he’s disgusted, then takes the shot, blocked by the smack of Yuuji’s hand. He groans, but recovers the ball faster than Yuuji can, sidesteps him, then shoots; the ball hits the rim, but he’s able to recover himself.

Satisfied, he jumps down. Yuuji hangs off the rim, and also jumps down, now disappointed as he recovers the ball. Smugness and redemption is written all over his face as he catches the ball Yuuji thrusts at him. 

“I think I’m doing just fine.” Megumi teases. Yuuji rolls his eyes. 

“How’s the company?” Megumi asks, suddenly. Yuuji had sounded stressed just a month earlier, and Megumi, while unable and frankly unwilling to drop everything and come back to Japan just to bail his buddy out, he’d been concerned. The last time they’d talked however, Yuuji had seemed considerably less bothered and focused less on his corporate struggles and more on what the newest horror movies coming out were and whether or not Gojo would settle down before he turned 50. 

“All taken care of.” Yuuji sounds pleased and Megumi is curious. They start another run and Megumi cuts through, scoring another point, but Yuuji doesn’t pout this time, still thinking. 

“You actually took that bastard’s advice,” Megumi asks, raising an eyebrow. They pause, and Megumi leans on the cool stone wall, taking a swig from a water bottle. Yuuji does the same, but sinks to the floor and crosses his legs.

“Yeah, and it’s one of the best decisions I ever made.” Yuuji laughs. He readjusts and stretches out his legs, letting himself rest on his hands. Megumi observes the relaxed pose, squatting to the ground.

“Gojo doesn’t know how to run a company.” Megumi remarks, as if he’s reminding him of something that neither of them know.

“Maybe not, but the girl he told me to hire does,” Yuuji replies. Megumi scrunches his nose.

“Do you actually know what’s going on there?”

“Her name’s ___,” Yuuji answers in disregard to whatever Megumi just asked. “She’s a little no-nonsense but very nice and I swear she has like 3 brains, and-”

“Enough.”

Megumi throws a ball at his face and Yuuji forgets to block, still mid-conversation. He curses, but gets up, and the two are on the move again. The conversation shifts as Yuuji silences himself, contemplating for a moment why his immediate urge was to gush over his employee.

“Do you have to join Sukuna’s company?” Yuuji finally asks. It’s something that’s been nagging him for a while, that his high school, then college friend won’t be joining him in this endeavor, but he’s been afraid to ask, and he knows Megumi has his reasons. As an heir to old money, Megumi doesn’t really need to work at all, and barely needs to get his degree in Marketing, especially not overseas, but Megumi does a lot of things as insurance, always thinking ahead.

“Would you rather I dick around in yours?” Megumi asks, responding as Yuuji expected. Yuuji ponders for a moment, dribbling without moving, then takes a shot from afar. It misses, hitting the rim with a clanging sound, and he curses under his breath again. 

“No, but I mean, I don’t really care if you don’t but it’d be nice…”

“You know I'm just doing this shit till my dad dies, right?”

Yuuji considers telling him that he probably should be a little less crass about a family member when his own grandfather has yet to die but Toji Fushiguro, as he lives his life now being the literal scourge of the wealthy Zenin family, will probably die under a stripper smelling of alcohol and Red Bull, and the two of them have been well aware of this since they were teenagers. The only question is whether or not Sukuna will beat him first to the most embarrassing way to be found dead. 

As if Megumi can read his thoughts, he adds - 

“I’m voting for a car crash in a couple years.”

Yuuji doesn’t bother reprimanding him, snickering actually now that he’s been desensitized to Megumi’s sense of humor, and they finish up the rest of the game.

—

“The gorilla still works there, I presume?” Megumi asks.

Yuuji nearly spits out his drink as he sputters. “Bro, he’s still my friend.”

Megumi takes a bite of his burger, nonchalant. “He’s not mine.” Yuuji sighs in defeat, then leans forward.

“If you’re gonna work for Sukuna, I’m gonna need you to spy for me.”

Yuuji is only half joking, his grin wide and brilliant.

“Fine,” Megumi agrees. He chews for a bit longer than jabs a bunch of fries in his mouth. Yuuji watches as he washes it all down with another large Coke, amused by his friends’ appetite.

“Weren’t you just in America?” Yuuji jokes. “You’d think you’d be sick of burgers by now.”

Megumi glares at him. “You suggested this place.”

Yuuji blinks. “Touché.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, asshole.” Megumi takes a final bite, then leans in as well. 

“Okay, what were you thinking?” He asks, a sparkle in his blue eyes. As unbothered as he likes to pretend to be, Sukuna stings at the same wound Toji does, and he’ll stop at nothing to be a thorn in his side. Yuuji considers that perhaps he shouldn’t send an actual mole to his brother’s company, but then remembers the time Sukuna convinced him he was adopted despite nearly looking the same as him, then remembers the time Sukuna ate his birthday cake at his eighth birthday, then remembers the time Sukuna slept with his girlfriend, and realizes it probably isn’t that big a deal.

“Let’s get Kugisaki in on this,” he suggests. “She’s good at this type of mess.”

Megumi is already calling her as they speak.

[mall-0-ry]

SHU YAMINO

A Tale Untold.

Exorcisms spiritual practice of evicting demons, jinns, or other malevolent spiritual entities from a person, or an area, that is believed to be possessed.

After days of searching for mysta, in this uncanny town, it’s negative energy trying to pull him down, but still continues to walk through his way to a place he has never went to.. an abandoned Detective Agency..

Shu sighed deeply, as he exorcised a spirit that was coming his way. he’s beyond tired. trekking around the town, limited supplies of food and water, having to exorcise things that kept on coming towards him.

he’ve wasted a bunch of energy and power, to keep the spirits at bay. the town is ghostly. not a single human other than shu can be traced.

Shu opened the door, to see a well furnished place, a whiff of cinnamon roamed around the air, as shu looks around in surprise.

He wandered around the place, placing sigils all across each rooms. Before stopping at one room, with sweat.

“ Why.. is this locked..? i’ll just melt it off.. “

Shu groaned as he readied up to cast a spell, only for the door to open slightly ajar..

Shu warily inched forward.. but a pair of gloved hands grabbed him by the shoulders. surprising him.

It was Mysta.. he smiled cheekily as he slowly lets go of shu. Shu’s eyes widened as he backed away slightly.

“M-Mysta..? how.. why.. huh..?”

Shu uttered out in confusion.

“ You gotta wake up shu.. you’re going to be in big trouble.. “

Mysta solemnly said as he grabbed shu by the arm and dragged him towards a door of light.

“ What do you mean mysta? i’ll be alright. nothing can harm me”

Shu chuckles as he basks in mysta’s touch, He missed his friend dearly.

Mysta shook his head.

“This is but an illusion of what your mind wants.. “

Mysta says as he stood still.

Shu glanced at him and to the door, seemingly understanding the situation, before patting Mysta’s head, and smiling.

“Then i wish to not get out of this illusion..”

Shu grinned as he looks at mysta with warmth.

Mysta bit his lip before roughly pushing shu to the Door.

“ Shu, find me with the others.. Luca.. Vox and Ike.. please i’ll be waiting.”

“ i’ll be waiting.. under a tree.. “

Shu’s eyes rolled backwards, as he fainted.

As shu wakes up in cold sweat, hands shaking. eyes widened as big as saucers.

Shu slowly stood up, the fatigued hitting him harshly made him stumble down onto the ground. the place in on fire. purple and pink flames surrounding him.

Shu coughed violently before standing up once more. he slowly made out the place looking dishelved.

Shu was beyond exhausted. the fatigue that he should've felt a few days ago has now just settled down making him vulnerable to evil spirits.

Overwhelmed by the increase of energy, shu ran. he ran as fast as he could to cross outside the town's negative domain.

Feeling powerless at the moment, the sudden memory of seeing mysta for a couple of minutes hasn't been washed away.

he curled up in a ball, in the forest.. vulnerable for any attacks as he recalls his Friend's face.

maybe this is why.. mysta left. he cannot take it anymore. he felt too overwhelmed to the point it breaks his mind.

he wished he never got too attached

oh how you thought that something that happened in a fictional world wouldn't happen in the real world.

Shu's face looked beyond exhausted, they sat on a bench with a gloomy exterior. Shu glanced around the place, negativity consumes him. he wants to curl up in a ball and cry. he wants to be comforted with warmth by his friends.. but he cannot face them because he looks so fatigued. as dark circles is plastered below his eyes, cheeks starting to sunk into the bone. lips so chapped that it's bleeding slightly.

He looked bad. He look even more scrawny after returning from the expedition on that ghostly town.

He looks like a mess.

A very beautiful mess.

Shu was swallowed in the pits of temptation to snap.

as when he snapped, all hell went loose.

Letting out all of his bottled feelings. he had accidentally taken innocent lives. of a small town.

Turns out.. that Ghostly town was just but an illusion. it was a memory from the future. he was the one who made it ghostly. he was at fault.

Shu crumbled down on his knees before disappearing for awhile. being the core suspect of the disaster, he was then hunted down.

the noble, and admiring Sorcerer was now just a Cold Blooded Killer.

Months passed by, he looked much better than usual

He was seen walking around the public by Vox.. who called Luca.

As luca arrives at the place panting, from running around looking for shu. he finally found him.

" Shu! why? why did you take away their lives!" Luca shouted in frustration

" Luca.. "

" You could've just went to us shu! you didn't have to suffer alone in your feelings!"

" i'm here for you shu.. but are you here for me??"

Luca shouted as he raised his gun up to aim at shu.

" Go ahead.. and kill me luca.. besides.. i'm a criminal now.."

Luca hesitates for awhile before shoving the gun back at it's holster

" i.. can never.. hurt my friend.."

[mariacallous]

Right then, while you fumble for your credit cards, I will talk about the rise of fakery: fake news, fake images, fake audio, fake politics.

Let me begin with someone I know. I admire Michela Wrong enormously. She does what journalists are meant to do: she afflicts the comfortable and comforts the afflicted.

Her beat was Africa, and Michela spent her career puncturing the West’s illusions about its rulers.

After Paul Kagame’s forces overthrew Rwanda’s genocidal Hutu regime in 1994, the world wanted to believe in a fairy story. The mass murder of Rwanda’s Tutsi population would be followed by peace, reconciliation and justice, it thought, as it threw praise and money at Kagame’s government.

Rwanda became the darling of the global aid industry. Under New Labour and the Tories, Kagame was feted.

Now our Conservative government declares that Rwanda is such a serene and safe country, Britain can dump asylum seekers there without the smallest concern for their safety or the faintest suspicion that corrupt officials will siphon off taxpayers’ money.

It was such a compelling story.  Kagame and his idealistic group of young rebel fighters overthrow a genocidal regime ushering in an era of peace and stability. Under his leadership Rwanda became the West’s donor darling, hailed as Africa’s “Switzerland” or “Singapore”

The compelling story was also such balls. Michela exposed the lies, and has suffered a campaign of terrifying vilification as a result.

 As AI and deep fake technology advance, not only journalists, politicians and celebrities, but potentially all of us can suffer equally ferocious attacks as calumny becomes ever easier to manufacture.

But first let me tell you what happened to Michela, then I will move on to the wider implications.

 Her Do Not Disturb, and what a sweet title that was for a book about comfortable myths, was published in 2021.

She looked at the regime’s pursuit of opposition leaders, human rights activists and journalists. She showed how its critics were beaten and cowed into silence. And how, in the most high-profile cases, they  “disappeared,” never to be seen again.

Michela has had her own punishment beating

Writing in this morning’s Observer she described how the regime hired a British  PR company to coordinate the online hate attacks. She expected abuse after the book was published but….

What followed still took my breath away. A tide of vilification, expressed in petition form, on specially created websites, in pseudonymous Amazon reviews, and spread by literally hundreds of anonymous social media accounts. Almost all ignored the topic of my book – Kagame’s extraterritorial assassination campaign – while repeating certain tropes. I’d always taken it as read I would be accused of racism. What was extraordinary, though, for a journalist who reported on the 1994 genocide for Reuters and the BBC, was to be accused of “genocide denial”. But there was method in this malevolence. Genocide denial is now an accusation hurled at pretty much any government critic – including members of Kagame’s minority Tutsis who lost loved ones during the genocide. But it’s a crime in Rwanda, carrying a potential 10-year sentence, so I could in theory be arrested if I boarded a plane touching down in Kigali. When a Brussels restaurant owner cancelled my event after a tsunami of tweets and emails, I wondered if I even needed to worry about being arrested in Belgium. Rwandan government supporters have pushed for the EU’s laws on Holocaust denial to embrace supposed “negationists” like me.

Michela now wakes screaming in the night. Her nightmares convince her that Rwandan agents have broken into her flat.

“In the morning, I sometimes find chairs, duvets and pillows stuffed against the front door: my anxiety has bubbled up in my sleep. A therapist would probably mutter ‘PTSD’.”

As everyone who has been on the receiving end of hate campaigns knows, they work. Years of accusations that Michaela is a “racist” and “genocide denier” meant that…

“Anyone thinking of inviting me to speak at a conference or write an article will, on Googling my name, be presented with a list of accusations only the most stout-hearted – or those who know Rwanda – will casually brush away.”

The experience of Michela Wrong will become commonplace. Here without me needing to go out of my way to find them is a selection of stories from the past few days

Millions of people came across fake sexually explicit AI-generated images of Taylor Swift on social media. The White House Press Secretary told ABC News the Biden administration was "alarmed" by what happened to Swift online and that Congress "should take legislative action."

As it turns out, there is no federal law in the U.S. that would prevent or deter someone from creating and sharing non-consensual deepfake images. But there is a profitable commercial industry that thrives on creating and sharing digitally manufactured sexual content.

Do not think that fakery is confined to the famous

Yesterday the Times told the story of Helen Mort. In 2020 she found a fake porn film with images of her face taken from social media. Like Micheala she was horrified. She was even more horrified when she discovered that “an estimated 95 per cent of deepfakes online are non-consensual porn featuring women”.

As in the US, there is no single criminal offence in England and Wales that governs the taking, making and sharing of intimate images without consent.

On Thursday digital forensic investigators in Germany uncovered a vast, pro-Russia disinformation campaign against the Berlin government. It used tens of thousands of fake accounts on the social media platform X to attack Germany’s support for Ukraine. Russia generated more than 1m German-language posts from an estimated 50,000 fake accounts. They were dispatched at a rate of two every second.

On Friday Scientific American reported on how artificial intelligence was creating fake tapes of high school principals giving racist speeches. It also automatically generated calls, apparently from Joe Biden, urging citizens not to vote.

“Society,” the journal concluded, “may be woefully unprepared to deal with the resulting inevitable wave of digital fraud and the looming implication that any media item could be fraudulent.”

I don't know where that may in Scientific American’s conclusion came from. Society clearly is woefully unprepared,

Hany Farid, a computer science professor at the University of California described how the malicious actors held all the cards. It was incredibly easy to perpetrate a fraud, he explained.

“I record a person and clone their voice. And then I record myself saying what I want them to say with all the intonation—bad words and all—and it converts my voice into their voice. It’s all the same underlying generative AI technology.”

When it came to uncovering fraud, however…

“Detection is harder because it’s subtle; it’s complicated; the bar is always moving higher. I can count on one hand the number of labs in the world that can do this in a reliable way. That’s disconcerting.”

The falsely accused teachers will find it very hard to clear their name. While those who want to believe malicious fakery will feel justified in doing so.

As well as the innocent being falsely accused, the guilty will be able to say that they are innocent victims and AI generated the evidence against them.

As the technology for fakery explodes, and as states like Rwanda that no one believed capable of running propaganda operations and character assassination campaigns try to distort debate, the question arises what do we do.

I disagree with many of my fellow free-speech defenders who think that little or nothing should be done.  We cannot go on with the Clinton era dispensation, which gave legal immunities to tech companies, without the rule of law falling into disrepute.

Everyone caught up in fake news attacks is baffled by the shortage of legal remedies against the AI companies that are profiting from their misery.

But clearly the law can only go so far. A deep fake outfit based in Northern Cyprus or some other bad land is effectively beyond the rule of law.

It strikes me that there are two possible futures.

The first isn’t so bad. People just shrug when dirt is thrown. They assume the evidence poisonous ideologues and movements use against their hate objects is fake.  Or they follow the “ye without sin cast the first stone” principle. Or, and you can see this happening now, they say that when so many are attacked or are capable of being attacked, once shocking accusations lose their sting.

The second is, I am afraid, as likely. 

Every election is swamped with fake news. The defeated side refuses to accept that they lost in a free-and-fair contest. High levels of trust, on which contented and prosperous societies depend, collapse. As more of us become like Michela Wrong and fear the power of the new technologies to destroy us, the more suspicious our world becomes.

[lyledebeast]

Bleeding Villains and Bloody Heroes

@malicious-compliance-esq's comments on my last meta regarding General Cornwallis's "clean broadcloth, perhaps, but bloody hands all the same" owing to Tavington doing the dirty work for him got me thinking about the role actual blood plays in this movie.

For all the violent situations they both end up in, prior to the final scene, the only blood we see on Benjamin Martin is other men's, and the only blood we ever see on William Tavington is his own. This stands in striking contrast to the rest of the movie, in which the only gore the camera shows us is on Patriot bodies: the cannon balls ripping off heads and legs, the torn and bleeding men in the Continental field hospital. Contrast them with the British soldiers, whose causes of instantaneous death include gunshot, tomahawking, bumping, and, apparently, surprise? (Brandon F's video analyzing the ambush scene is a resource I highly recommend). Regardless of the method, once a British solider is hit, the movie is done with him in almost every case. These deaths are presented as flippant in comparison to the noble sacrifice and suffering of the Patriot soldiers.

Tavington is the exception to this rule. Not only does he take a lot more killing, like a lot more, than his brothers in arms, but he takes a good bit of damage prior to that. There is blood on his face in a deleted scene in the officers' tent that initially looks like it could be someone else's, but a closer shot reveals a cut on his cheek to be the most likely source. There is blood on his shirt in another deleted scene from Gabriel's bullet grazing his side. Finally, there is blood oozing between his lower teeth as he says his final line, mostly likely from a cut in his mouth after being violently thrown from his horse. I don't think anyone involved in the making of this movie would argue that Tavington's blood represents his commitment to the cause of British dominance in the American colonies or even to his own aspirations. If that is not the case, though, then blood is clearly a signifier of very different things depending on where it is and whose it is.

Still, seeing Tavington bleed reminds me of an exchange between my other favorite villain of all time and the hero in that text. In Shakespeare's Othello, when Iago's machinations are revealed, Othello tells him, "If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee," and stabs him (Act. V, scene ii). Iago replies, "I bleed, Sir, but not killed." Iago is not a devil; none of Shakespeare's numerous memorable villains are. They are deeply flawed people with human desires taken to destructive extremes. The difference between the two villains is that Iago is one character in a play full of deeply flawed people with human desires whose flaws he utilizes in his destructive extremes: Othello's gullibility, Cassio's vanity, and Roderigo's stupidity. All of these characters, though, are so much less malevolent than Iago that he appears monstrous in comparison even as he remains very much human. In contrast to the cannon--and musket, bayonet, tomahawk, and shock--fodder the other British soldiers constitute, Tavington's injuries render him more human. He is fleshed out in the most literal possible sense.

At the same time, Martin becoming increasingly drenched in British blood over the course of an afternoon while not sustaining a single scratch himself makes him somewhat monstrous. Even without showing the audience where all that blood is coming from, that most of it is from a man who is unable to fight back compromises Martin's heroism in a way it arguably never recovers from. When Tavington does fight back, and then some, the injuries Martin takes are in service of vengeance, not the Patriot war effort. As far as the cause of American independence goes, well, he has no skin in that game. Literally.

[fandomtrumpshate]

By the Numbers update!!

With just over a day left to sign up as a creator for Fandom Trumps Hate 2023, here's a quick roundup of all of the numbers:

We have 705 offers by 527 creators (I've had to update this three times while writing this post!). Of those, 97 are offering to work in ANY fandom! The rest have signed up offering fanworks in 273 fandoms, including 177 write-in fandoms! (To compare that with roughly the same time last year, as we approached 24 hours left to sign up for FTH2022 we had 680 offers from 525 creators in 257 fandoms including 153 write-ins … meaning we have 23 more offers in 16 more fandoms by the same number of creators for 2023 … SO FAR.)

A look at the offers, broken down by type (with last year's numbers in italics for comparison purposes) -

458 Written fanwork (fic, fan poetry, etc) (457) 107 Fan art (103) 63 Fan labor (beta services, translation, Brit-picking, etc) (70) 59 Podfic (39) 13 Other Digital Fanwork (7) 5 Video (4)

Nearly 65% of creators are opting to let their bidders choose which org to support with their donation. The orgs most often chosen by those who wish to direct donations to a particular nonprofit remain the Transgender Legal and Education Defense Fund, any/all abortion fund, Rainbow Railroad, and the Navajo Water Project. The orgs selected least often are The Appeal, Razom, and Violence Policy Center.

In our listed fandoms Good Omens has increased its lead and its lock on the top spot. MCU caught up with Sherlock and Teen Wolf for a brief 3-way tie for 4th place behind HP and K-pop, but has since gained an additional signup to claim that spot, leaving Sherlock and Teen Wolf tied for fifth ahead of Star Wars, Stranger things, SVSSS, The Untamed, and The Sandman.

A handful of signups could still shake things up here, or over in the unlisted fandoms, where the Young Royals lead has been cut in half … see the full list of all 177 write-in fandoms under the cut. Sign up to create fanworks to push your fandom up in the rankings! Reblog FTH posts so your fandom friends can do the same! Sign ups are open until Sunday Feb 19 at 11:59 PM Pacific.

8 Young Royals 7 Malevolent (Podcast) 5 The Queen's Thief 4 911 Lone Star 4 Homestuck 4 Overwatch 4 Red White & Royal Blue 4 The Owl House 3 Alex Rider 3 Attack on Titan 3 Between Us 3 Chainsaw Man 3 Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency 3 Disney's Descendants 3 Erha He Ta De Bai Mao Shizun (The Husky & His White Cat Shizun) 3 Justified 3 Lout of the Count's Family / Trash of the Count's Family 3 Love in the Air 3 Miraculous Ladybug 3 Not Me 3 Pokemon 3 The Legend of Zelda 3 Top Gun Movies 3 Witch Hat Atelier 3 X-men 2 Aphmau MyStreet 2 Bungou Stray Dogs 2 Carmen Sandiego 2 Danganronpa 2 Destiny 2 2 Digimon 2 Escaflowne 2 Gravity Falls 2 Hollow Knight 2 Howl's Moving Castle 2 Kingsman 2 NU: Carnival 2 Professional Wrestling 2 Scholomance 2 Stargate: Atlantis 2 Stephen King's IT 2 Suits 2 Supergirl 2 The Song of Achilles 2 Twilight 2 Video Blogging RPF 2 Warrior Nun (TV Show) 2 What We Do in the Shadows 2 YuYu Hakusho 1 A Series of Unfortunate Events 1 A Voice from Darkness (Podcast) 1 Ace Attorney 1 Alex Stern series - Leigh Bardugo 1 All The Wrong Questions 1 Animorphs 1 Be Kind My Neighbor 1 Bioshock 1&2 (only) 1 Blood of Youth 1 Blue Exorcist 1 Blue Lock 1 Bug Fables 1 Cabin Pressure 1 Call the Midwife 1 Cats the Musical 1 Cherry Magic 1 Citizen Sleeper 1 Cobra Kai 1 Coco Pixar 1 Cosmere (Brandon Sanderson) 1 Crossover Chaos AU (multifandom crossover AU) 1 Cyberpunk: Edgerunners 1 Dead by Daylight 1 Dead Poets Society 1 Derry Girls 1 Dice Punks (podcast) 1 Divergent (Movies) 1 DMBJ/Grave Robber's Chronicles 1 Downton Abbey 1 Dr. STONE (anime/manga) 1 Dragon Ball Z 1 Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey 1 Dungeons and Daddies 1 Eerie Indiana 1 Elder Scrolls 1 Emma - Jane Austen 1 Fire Country 1 Firefly 1 For All Mankind 1 Glee 1 Grace and Frankie 1 Greys Anatomy 1 Grimm 1 Guardian/Zhen Hun 1 Gundam 1 Half-Life 1 Hello From The Hallowoods 1 Higurashi No Naku Koro Ni / Higurashi When They Cry 1 Hit the floor 1 House of the Dragon 1 Hudson & Rex 1 IDOLiSH7 1 Ikemen Vampire 1 Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie 1 Infinity Train 1 Jane Austen (any novel any pairing) 1 Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse 1 Jojo's Bizarre Adventure 1 Jurassic Park 1 King of Scars Duology 1 Les Misérables 1 Los Simuladores 1 Love Between Fairy and Devil 1 Madre Solo Hay Dos 1 Miss Scarlet and The Duke 1 Mob Psycho 100 1 Monochrome Factor 1 Motorcity 1 Obey Me! 1 One Last Stop 1 Outlast 1 Paper Girls (TV) 1 Parasol Protectorate 1 Peacemaker 1 Persuasion - Jane Austen 1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen 1 Psych 1 Qi Ye 1 Ranger's Apprentice 1 Ranma 1/2 1 RPF 1 Sable 1 Sanders Sides 1 Scooby Doo 1 Shadow and Bone 1 Shameless (US) 1 Sidemen 1 Silicon Valley (TV) 1 Skins (UK) 1 Tamora Pierce works 1 Tangled the Series 1 Ted Lasso 1 Teen Titans (Animated Series) 1 Temple of the White Rat series by T. Kingfisher 1 The Ancient Magus Bride 1 The Boys 1 The Daevabad Trilogy 1 The Dark Pictures: House of Ashes 1 The Diviners (Libba Bray) 1 The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison 1 The King: Eternal Monarch 1 The L Word: Generation Q 1 The Legend of Drizzt 1 The Lion Hunters Series - Elizabeth Wein 1 The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015) 1 The Man From UNCLE (TV) 1 The Princess Weiyoung (Jinxiu Weiyang) 1 The Tarot Sequence - K.D. Edwards 1 The Terror (TV 2018) 1 The Vampire Diaries (TV) 1 The Wilds (TV 2020) 1 This Way Up 1 Tortall - Tamora Pierce 1 Tower of God 1 Transformers 1 True Blood (TV) 1 Until We Meet Again 1 UuultraC 1 Valorant 1 Velvet Goldmine (1998) 1 Vikings (TV) 1 Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold 1 Warframe 1 White Collar 1 Whiteley Foster's Mansong 1 Xena: Warrior Princess 1 Yellowjackets (TV) 1 Yu-Gi-Oh!

[mangoshorthand]

No Hard Feelings- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch6

SUMMARY: You're Five's latest assassination target, but things don't go to plan and now he wants you as his fuckbuddy. Funny how what we want and what we need are rarely in line. (Five's physically aged up). Obvious smut warning but there's plot too, I swear! Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five- Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

In this chapter: The weeks pass under your new arrangement. Despite his best efforts, you get to know Five a little better.

Smut below. Proceed at your own risk.

Chapter Six: The Second Smile

As you and Five got used to each other, you found that ensuring ongoing consent became less formal. By now, he’s nearly always able to sense when you’re reaching your limit and eases up. Meanwhile, you know and trust him enough to push your own boundaries. For Five’s part, although he’s still mostly strange about touch and removing all his clothes, he’s finally relaxed enough to have some real fun. 

He has a certain triumphant, if slightly malevolent, smile that quickens your pulse every time you see it. It comes out when he feels you orgasm after holding out for a while, when you finally submit after talking back to him, or if you blush on the rare occasions he manages to shock you with his dirty talk. You make him work for that feeling, enjoying winding him up and confounding his efforts for as long as possible, so that when you coax that smile from him, it’s filled with impish glee.

Today, mostly to mess with you, he’s generously offered you a choice: while his dick gets ready for a second round, you can suck his balls or eat his ass.

In the moment of eye contact in between the request and response, you see that smile waiting to come out, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.

“I’ll go for ass.” you say, nonchalantly, raised eyebrows telling him that you know precisely what he’s doing.

Another smile passes over his lips, simultaneously surprised, impressed and amused. It’s a close cousin of the other smile: they’re equally as attractive and always directed at you, but the second is different: it’s usually fleeting and it comes with a look in his eyes that’s already familiar, though it was, at first, rare to see it during sex. At first, you usually only saw that look in the brief moments outside the bedroom: when you say something witty, poke fun at him, or sometimes if you’re just talking about an interest. Increasingly, that smile has bled into your lovemaking, (not that what you do in the bedroom can accurately be called that), and it never fails to give you a swoop in the stomach.

His eyebrows raise to match yours, simultaneously asking if you’re sure and daring you to back down. It’s a childish attitude, but one you share. 

“What are you waiting for?” you say, meeting his challenge. 

“Hm.” he says, accepting this with satisfaction and moving onto all fours. 

Giggling slightly, you take the opportunity to slap his butt. It’s a gentle tap, but unexpected enough that it makes him draw in breath.

“Are you trying to make me come after you so you can bitch out but still save face?”

“No,” you say, kissing his upper thigh. 

You tease him, working your way closer with light kisses to each buttock. You don’t have to see his face to know that it’s working: you can tell by the tension in his thighs. You deliberately blow on him as you stroke down each of his thighs, hoping to provoke him into ‘ordering’ or even begging you to do it, but he doesn’t take the bait. He’s patient: strong willed.

And so you lick him slowly, from his balls and up his taint, stopping just short of actually rimming him. The tension in his legs builds. You can just imagine him biting down on his lip, trying not to betray his anticipation by any sound. Again, he’s successful, even when you zig-zag your tongue unexpectedly up the same path. Finally, you just tickle the tight furl of muscle with the end of your tongue and you finally provoke an excited shiver. 

Chasing his reactions, you pause and do it again, for longer this time, enjoying the soapy taste and his obvious gratification. The muscles in his legs relax from where he was holding them taut while you teased him, and a low groan escapes his lips. You part his cheeks, switching your motion to regular, flicking licks up and down. When you back up to breathe, you can see his dick has already reached half mast. The sight makes you smirk with satisfaction. 

He speaks huskily. 

“Mm. Oh that’s it. Fuck, you little slut.”

At this, you give it your all, kissing and tonguing his ass like it was his lips. All thoughts of besting him in a battle of wills vanish for now.  It feels dirty to be doing this, intoxicatingly so. There really is a slutty part of you that revels in this and that part of you takes over now: it wants depraved things as you rim him; just now, you feel like you could happily be on call to pleasure this man any time, anywhere or anyhow.

Caught up in your own fantasies, you turn your tongue’s attention briefly to his balls.. 

"Aren't we the overachiever?" he comments as you take first one and then the other into your mouth. Even after all this, he has the cheek to sound wry. 

You gently suck and lick them, being careful to gauge his reaction and match your intensity to his sensitivity. He hums his appreciation breathily, one hand reaching backwards to alternately pull and pet your hair.

Then, with one hand on the shaft of his dick, you move slowly back up his taint and return to tease his hole. His ass being without stimulation for a while elicits another little noise of pleasure when you return. This time, you feel his dick twitching against your palm every time your tongue skims his asshole in just the right way. With more of your gentle ministrations, it’s not just his leg muscles that untense: his asshole has relaxed: the perfect invitation for your tongue to dart in and out. 

He gives a small noise as your tongue enters him. It’s strange: his whole demeanor seems to shift. It’s…interesting. Curiously, you continue licking and teasing and tonguing his hole, getting as deep as you can manage, led by his reactions.

His moans are increasing and the quality of them evolving. They’d started as decadent, reveling in what he could make you do to him but, after a deep tonguing, they’ve become more urgent…almost supplicatory.  Suddenly, he’s no longer on all fours, he’s flipped onto his back, legs wide and spread on your bed. His eyes look hazy, yet oddly intense. He reaches onto the bedside cabinet, passes you some lube and looks up at you with begging eyes.

“Put a finger in me. Gently."

His hole is tight, squeezing your finger. It’s clear that this is the rarest of treats for him. You enter him first with your smallest finger. Slowly: he’s sensitive. By the tight pinch in his face, you can tell he can feel himself stretching with even the most gradual progress inside him. You lube, lick and finger him by turns, stretching him by tiny amounts with longer and longer fingers, working him wider for you. His fingers flex, gripping your bed’s fitted sheet. 

Somehow- you’re hardly sure how, he finishes sitting at atop your middle finger, bouncing his ass shamelessly onto your hand and letting out high pitched yelps of pleasure. His dick, hard and flopping heavily against his stomach is a swollen, heated pink. His knuckles turn white and, as he gives a particularly wanton moan, the sheet pings off one corner of the mattress. He’s grinding onto you, flicking his prostate with your finger and the jerking of his hips: totally abandoning himself to pleasure.

Seeing that he’s damn-near ready to explode, your competitive feelings return. With a shit eating grin, you lean into his ear and run your tongue down his helix.

Who’s the slut now?” you whisper.

As you suspected, this rockets him over the edge. Rope after rope of come shoots out of him, spectacularly. He bucks his hips, high-pitched mewls comingling with his usual throaty groans. His hand jumps to his dick to milk the last few drops, eyes screwed tight. Just as he finishes, you wiggle your finger against his prostate, making him wince and his cock give another exhausted throb. Sensing him becoming overstimulated, you slide your finger out of him gently and he gives a small, shaky sigh.

He collapses against the pillows, eyelids fluttering, with a prodigious amount of his own come drying on his face, chest and stomach. You look down at him, fucked into oblivion, with a soft smile on your face.

“Was that okay?” you ask, a little unsure.

He makes a small grunt of assent: apparently no longer able to form words. You smile and make to lie down beside him, sure this time that he’s finally going to spend the night. Before your head has even hit the pillow, he’s wide awake and withdrawn, on his feet and picking up clothes strewn around the room. 

“I better go and clean myself up,” he mutters,

A few minutes after the shower stops, you hear him blink away without using the door. 

In his own bed that night, Five’s almost too tired to analyze what happened there. 

It was unplanned: spontaneous. Too many things were when it came to her. What happened tonight, the way he stayed for dinner that time…none of it was part of how he foresaw this arrangement going. Most unsettling of all, he keeps catching himself mentally noting things she’d be interested to hear, a joke she might enjoy or a current event he’d like to hear her thoughts on. She buzzes around his brain like a mosquito. 

Just the other day, he’d been sitting with a fidgety Diego. “Can you stop that,” Five said, looking up from his book. “It’s distracting.”

“Sorry man.” Diego replied, putting the knife he’d been spinning reluctantly back into his belt. 

“What’s the matter with you, anyway?” Five said.

“Restless. Want to get my ass back out on the streets but obviously I can't. Santi, you know?”

“Obviously,” Five agreed, slightly sternly. He didn’t want to give Deigo the impression that he endorsed him needlessly putting his life at risk to scratch some inferiority complex-related itch now that he had a son to think about. 

Diego huffed. Clearly he’d been hoping that Five wouldn’t quell him so much, might perhaps offer to join him on some stupid mission; perhaps even play Robin to his Batman.

“I still got my ear to the ground.” Diego said, lowering his voice, “there’s some real bastards out there right now, Five. There’s this brothel, right, a real bad one. It’s run by this family called the Monroes.”

Five gave an almost imperceptible chuckle.

“One of them, Chet- a real nasty son of a bitch- he’s got girls as young as fifteen there. Just kids, Five.”

“Way of the world,” Five shrugged.

“Well it doesn’t have to be.” Diego said, leaning forward in his chair and trying to draw Five’s eye from his book, “that’s why I want to get out there.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Five, idly turning a page. 

Diego looked at Five scathingly, about to protest at this cold attitude until he read his brother’s expression. Five met his eyes with a grim smile.

“Your ear isn’t as well to the ground as you might think. Chet Monroe’s dead: the homeless teenagers of the city got one less kiddy-fucker to worry about.”

Diego just looked at him, confused, and Five explained.

“A few weeks ago, I carried out my first contract for the Commission since I killed their Board of Directors: Chet Monroe had to go and, let me tell you, there are many kills I regret more than him.”

There was a moment of impressed silence before Diego spoke.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” he said, smiling conspiratorially.

“No,” Five replied, shortly.

“Oh come on, don’t pretend you don’t feel it. You killed an evil piece of shit and it feels good, right? Out there, dispensing justice.”

Five sighed.

“Vigilante justice is for losers, Diego. Newsflash, dumbass: I killed him to preserve the timeline and nothing more.”

Diego shook his head, disbelieving. Five, feeling the need to deflect Diego’s doubt, continued.

“No, look at the bigger picture: violence just creates a cycle of violence and taking out individual bad guys is inconsequential to the problem. It’s a societal issue: there will always be kiddy-fuckers like him. You gonna kill them all?”

Who the hell are you, Gandhi?”

“-at the end of the day,” Five said, tiredly, “you kill ‘bad guys’ because you got an itch to scratch. Because it’s about you being the ‘good guy’, really, isn’t it? I don’t know whether it’s macho posturing or whether Number Two still wants to prove himself to Dad, but this is really about you trying to fill a hole, right?”

“So you killed him, but you’re lecturing me about wanting to kill him?

Five just shrugged, already unsure why he’d said all that. Diego protested, grumbled and left to get Santi some dinner soon afterwards.

On Diego's side, the conversation was soon forgotten, but Five remembers it now as he lies in bed. ‘Macho posturing’? ‘A societal issue’? They weren’t his words. His mouth had run away with him and her words had jumped out: his mouth had run away with him, just like the body had today. 

He’d intended to keep things uncomplicated: enjoy himself, make sure she enjoyed herself, but it would be no more than that. He decides it’s not a big deal. All these things are easily explainable. 

When you’re in close proximity with someone, of course you’re going to pick up their speech styles: that’s just linguistics. Equally, when you spend time with someone regularly, of course you’re going to think about that person when you’re not with them: that’s just the state of a functioning human brain. And today: it’s true that he didn’t want to lose control like that, but it’s not as if it means anything. This is what it’s all about, right? This was just one of the benefits of regular casual sex with the same person: you built up the comfort to try something different without all the complications that come with a relationship. So what if she fingered him until he nearly passed out? So what if, exhausted from his orgasm, he craved the warmth of her body as he fell asleep? It was probably just some deep-seated evolutionary urge designed to strengthen bonds after cave-man impregnated cave-woman. He rolls over. He’d done right not to give into it. It might give her ideas he didn’t want to transmit. 

A few days later, he’s fucking your ass. Hard.

As promised, he had worked gently with you over several weeks, exploring your ass slowly and carefully. You soon found that the taboo was intoxicating; your pussy never dripped more than when Five’s fingers, toys and then dick filled the hole you’ve never explored before these last few weeks. He took your anal virginity as gently as you could have wanted and now you were used to it. You'd always thought anal was something men wanted and women never did, but recently you'd learned different. Somewhere inside, there’s a spot- perhaps the root or base of your clitoris, and you've surprised yourself by writhing and groaning beneath him every time he hits it.

He’s been waiting patiently for today. So far, he's been slow and restrained, never going as fast or as hard as you know he wants to. So, today, you not-so-coyly asked him to go to town on you: to do what you know he’s been dying to do since he first suggested the experiment. 

You bite down on your pillow as he rides your ass, pounding away at you. His thrusts are hard, fast and consistent, a wild contrast with his uneven breathing. No matter how firm you try to hold yourself up on your knees, you’re thrust forward almost to the point of overbalancing every time his hips make contact with you. You can feel every fraction of his girth and the feeling is…maybe too much? But he’s hitting that spot again and again, and every time he does you make a low, guttural and completely unfeminine noise. Being fucked this way is an experience that leaves all inhibitions behind. He’s in deep, he’s too merciless and, if his increasingly ragged breathing and dirty mouth is anything to go by, he’s very close.

“Such a slut for your ass, aren't you?" Fuckgod- yes. This fucking- ass. YES. You. Tight. Fucking. Whore.”

Is this too deep? You’re sure his dick must be somewhere in your sigmoid colon. You wince as he slaps a hand hard across your right ass cheek, feeling heat flood your whole buttock. He spanks you, again, again and again.

You cry out as his dick stabs at your insides. As the experience for certain passes the pleasure-pain barrier, you’re ready to scream your stoplight to red, but then, unconscious of your discomfort, he comes. So, so deep in your ass. Growling, he slows down and withdraws slightly, clearly finding more pleasure in the sensation of being inside you than he would in riding out his orgasm. The uncomfortable feeling recedes to be replaced by another sensation: you can feel the base of his dick throb, pumping come into you. You flush, nipples hardening. After all that, this has no right to be as hot as it is.

After spending a few moments rubbing your stinging asscheek and admiring his handiwork, Five gently withdraws from you, climbs off your bed and makes as if to leave.

“Wait,” you say, “stay for a while.”

He turns, underwear already covering him again

“That’s not part of our deal.”

You feel weeks of hurt and vulnerability begin to well in your chest.

“Why can’t it be? That was more intense than I was expecting and if you leave now, then I’ll feel-”

“I’m not your babysitter.” His voice is dangerous.

“No, but you said you’d respect me outside of the bedroom, and if you don’t even hold me after you degrade me and hurt me sometimes…” you feel tears come as you search for the words, “You can have all the rules and stoplights you want, but if I can’t tell for sure that it’s just fantasy, then it’s just being smacked around.”

He stops. You can see him calculating. You know him well enough by now. His first instinct is always attack, but increasingly you’ve seen a softer impulse emerge. He clears his throat.

“I told you: it’s just sex.”

“What I’m talking about is part of sex.”

He tosses his head and scoops up his pants.

“If you can’t cope then it’s fine. We’ll stop.”

You stare for a few moments. You know he’s an asshole but you stupidly thought he’d treat you better. You watch him button his pants and tuck in his shirt, rumpled from being worn throughout. You take a deep breath and try to connect.

“I know how long you were on your own. You went over forty years with nobody”

His head snaps up.

“I was with someone for longer than you’ve been alive.”

“You mean Dolores?”

He looks at you sharply, eyes dangerous.

“How do you know about her?”

You hadn’t told him about your visit from Lila. Some part of you told you that you should, but fear that he might never come back made you keep the information to yourself. Now though, you feel you have no alternative.

“A woman called Lila.”

“Of course.”

He lets out an angry grunt, stomps over to your dresser and stoops to find his socks. After a few moments tapping his fingers frenetically against his leg, he turns back to you, accusingly.

“I thought I told you to stay out of my life.”

“Pretty hard to when she just walked in and drank all my wine!” you say, stinging with injustice, “I didn’t even get a word in!”

He harrumphs and looks away. You watch as he pulls on the socks with strange precision.

Finally, he says, “Dolores was…special,” now buttoning his waistcoat, “the rest of that department store was dust, yet there she was, in the rubble. She was a fighter.”

At these words, you see the ghost of a tender smile break through his otherwise clouded brow. You recognise it…it appears and is quickly stifled sometimes when he looks at you.

“It took her a while to warm up to me, but the more I talked to her, the more she talked back.”

You stare as he tucks in his shirt. You try to tread carefully.

“All I’m saying is that things are easier when the person you’re fucking can’t…challenge you.”

He looks over, his mussed-up hair only slightly shielding you from a flash of rage in his eyes.

“You think you challenge me?”

This is your last straw. Hurt turns to anger. The fucker still isn’t getting it and now he’s insulting you?

“Because I have actual feelings! I have ideas that aren’t convenient to you. It’s one of the major downsides of a woman over an improvised fuckdoll!”

He doesn’t use his power, but he still moves so quickly that you don’t see him coming. He launches himself at you, pushing you roughly onto the bed. You instinctively protect your head as he shakes you, fingers squeezing your upper arm, and shouts directly into your ear.

“DON’T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT.”

Your sobs are scream-like. Why didn’t you see this coming? You close your eyes, dreading the repeated blows he’s surely going to rain down on you.

But then he’s gone as quickly as he came, staggering backwards, away from you. You lie still, curled in a ball, listening for his heavy breath.

He grabs his shoes and blindly leaves the room, unsteady in rage. In your living space, you hear him scream and then the sound of shattering glass. Then, the door slams so hard that it shakes the wall.

Numbly, you pad out of your bedroom. He’s grabbed a vase and thrown it at the TV. Both are destroyed. You walk back into the bedroom, flop down on the bed and cry yourself to sleep.

Masterpost

Tag list: (lmk if you want to join) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh,@nevbrooke-555

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series

[spacemancharisma]

What is malevolent

omg heyyy

anyway- podcast about a private detective in the 1930s who opens the wrong book and gets forcibly merged with a lovecraftian entity; they then have to figure out who the entity is, where he came from, why he’s living in this guys head now, and how to get them separate again. also the whole thing is one of those trust exercises where one of you can see and the other can move around because the regular human guy is still in control of his body but the entity has control of his eyes, so the visuals of the podcast are being narrated because one of our mc’s can’t see so the other has to tell him what they’re looking at.

starts as a monster of the week, call of cthulhu kind of thing where they’re going places to solve the Mystery and keep running into Beasts, plot gets built over time. when it’s being released, it’s actually an ARG for the people on the patreon where they help decide what decisions the characters will make, and (I believe) when it’s a tie, that ends with the entity gaining control of another part of the guys body.

anyway, the characters are so fun because they’re both assholes and they hate that they’re bodysharing but they come to really care about each other and it’s very venom-type homoerotic, and also the regular human man is just completely balls crazy to the point where the fucking lovecraftian monster is like “jesus christ dude are you fucking sure about that??” all the time. also venom-style they’re played by the same actor doing different accents.

I’m super into it rn and if you wanna listen you definitely should and also you can talk to me about it if you want to lol

[dragonfire1000]

BlueBerror's Conversion- a fan continuation of AskError Sans

So, I've had a lot of positive reception regarding my writing of fanfics that I am going to jump the shark and start posting my fanfic here. It was originally just a discord server exclusive, but the positive feedback and responses were enough to push me foward! I hope that you enjoy the fanfic like so many others did, and feedback is absolutely appreciated. I don't consider myself much of a writer heheh.

*Story can be read below and following reblogs

Introduction:

Continuing from the events of AskErrorSans blog, Underswap Sans sits alone in the antivoid with a single human soul in his possession. He starts to notice he is hearing the voices that Error claimed to hear, and he's been feeling strange feelings that are indescribable. He has not seen Error in years, and being alone with his thoughts, feelings, and the voices does not bode well for the little blue.

Chapter 1: Too Long in the Void

In the vast blankness of white that is the antivoid, a lone small skeleton donning blue armor, and a little red soul sat alone listlessly. The silence of the anti-void was deafening; as the usual sounds of Error's voice and the echoes of Undernovella that once dominated the space were absent and the lack of interaction with another made the void echo with an intense malevolent silence.

The small skeleton leaned over to the little red heart shaped soul with a lifeless and hopeless look. "Do you ever think he's going to come back human?"

He looked up at the proverbial ceiling of the antivoid and saw the vast amount of twisted thin blue strings sway like loose cobwebs in an attic. They were empty and devoid of any souls that usually were kept there by Error. He had been gone for so long that the souls that were there decayed and ceased existence.

Blue sat there looking for a while until he heard faint indistinguishable whispers. He couldn't make out what most of them said until he heard a few echo louder than the others.

'It's hopeless, why do you keep trying, what is the point in hoping for something that will never happen" these voices got louder with each passing day that blue stayed in the void. He did his best to ignore these voices, but sometimes they would win, and blue would curl up in a ball, faltering to his emotions of hopelessness to the thought of never returning to his home, to his Papyrus ever again. A strange ting started to manifest within his body from time to time, but he thought maybe this was just his mind trying to keep him safe from the insanity of isolation by letting his body feel any hint of sensory stimulation just to feel something other than the growing loneliness that slowly crept into him.

Days continued, the voices got louder, the tingles and strange sensations got stronger. He was determined to see himself through and not break and hope that Error came back. He had thoughts back to his past about when he tried to become part of the royal guard, how he helped monsters feel positive about their situations and gave them hope, how he was rejected from the royal guard but still tried to tell himself he could do it no matter what they thought.

But what if he was wrong this whole time?

days continued on, the hope of leaving this place wavered, until the day would come that it would be realized he would never leave this place…at least in the way that he came in.

One day, Blue finally snapped, "I can't do this anymore, human I just can't. I'm never getting out of this asgore forsaken place" Tears violently flowed from his eye sockets.

He violently paced back and forth in front of the soul as the reality of his situation finally set in. "This is all your fault, you stupid human!

He pointed an angry finger at the listless soul, "Had I not tried to rescue you from Error, maybe he would have never left me here to rot and we might…have actually been friends," his hunched shoulders froze and then released, realizing the venom in his words came out of left field he clasped his mouth and his eyes widened in regret.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry human, I didn't mean that….I promise" he held up the soul gingerly.

"It's just so hard being here all alone. There's nobody here to talk to, other than the voices Error heard and even they are not the best at conversations mweheheh….heh…" he shrugged his shoulders down again but he felt a sharp tinge in his eye, and some very blurry blackness in his vision. Just as quickly as it appeared, it disapeared.

"What? what was that?" he clasped at his eye socket.

He felt another tingle moments later, and saw the faint off pixelations on his leg that looked like the stuff he saw on Error.

Blue's eyes widened "What is going on? am I turning into Error?!" blue panicked.

"I can't let this happen!" he looked back and forth around the anti-void with a desperate gaze trying to hope that maybe some open door might magically appear or maybe, just maybe Error would appear to save him. The glitching was increasing, progressing from his feet, and then to his legs, he looked at the human soul with the contemplation of absorbing the soul.

"NO, I mustn't do it, I can't do it after everything I endured!" he stiffened up his stance trying to resist the temptation.

The voices that were once whispers became louder and louder, the called out "absorb the soul sans, absorb the soul"

He felt the glitching progress even more to his waist, some of the glitching was now starting to distort and invert his colors, he saw it in his hand that held the soul. He couldn't do it anymore. He had to absorb the soul!

and absorb it he did, and with the hope it would allow him to escape his fate, he closed his eyes tightly hoping for a miracle to happen…..but nothing.

Realizing the horror, Blue Screamed in terror "no! nononononono! IT SHOULD HAVE WORKED, WHY DIDN'T IT WORK!" He screamed out even harder as the glitching continued to progress it became painful. It was so crippling that it sent him falling to his knees. Curling up into a fetal position. Blue resigned to his fate,

"Papyrus, I'm so sorry. I wish I could have done better for you brother," his last cries rang out before the last bit of his normal color pallette glitched out of existence

Chapter 2: A Familiar Stranger

"Aaahh, free cookies, complete silence, and no interruptions," Error tossed his hands up and behind his head clasping them lightly.

"This has been the best vacation ever" He remarked inhaling a nice deep relaxing breath.

"I do suppose it's time I get back into the antivoid, I'm sure there is a good layer of dust starting to settle on my beanbag chair back home."

He took one good long stretch, hopped out of his hammock and opened a portal to the blinding whiteness of the antivoid which momentarily blinded him like switching on discord light mode due to his time in outertale. He let his vision adjust and stepped back into the antivoid with all his plushies and items in a small blue bag he knitted.

"Ah, home sweet antivoid," he took another inhale before using his strings to grab the bag and tie it up to the cieling of the blank space with his gaze following it. He dropped his gaze back down and noticed a figure he had not recognized.

A small black skeleton sporting a red bandana, black armor with yellow trimmed sweats, and purple and blue gradient arms sat quietly.

"so you finally decided to come back did you?" The skeleton remarked.

Error stepped back startled. Something seemed familiar about this character, but yet it was different. Uncanny even.

"What was it you said before you left me here alone to rot?" The skeleton slammed his hand down on the antivoid's floor. Error stood his ground unwavering.

"Oh yes, I remember," his voice snapped with a little tinge of spite, " 'let's play a new game, LEAVE THE BLUEBERRY IN THE ANTIVOID UNTIL HE BEGS FOR ME TO COME BACK!" his voice intensified into malice and his head snapped back to Error's direction. His cyan eye sockets lit up with an intense magenta and yellow stare from his eyelights. His cyan teeth revealing themselves in a nasty angry smile, stars adorning the sides of his eye sockets"

"WELL GUESS WHAT?! YOU NEVER CAME BACK!" He stood up with a stiffened stance and fists clenched. "After I cried and begged for so long until my voice gave out you STILL DIDN'T COME BACK!"

Error blinked his eyes for a moment, and then it clicked. This was the underswap sans he kidnapped so many years ago, but he was different. He was changed by the antivoid, accompanied by the same floating errors and glitching that he himself also suffered with.

"Oh my god..Blue, is that you?" Error inquired trying to bridge the gap between his memory and the confirmation or denial of this skeleton's identity (edited)

"oh so you finally remember who I am huh?!" Blue's voice sharply retorted.

"How super generous of you!" Blue stomped his foot and what followed was a deep rumble under the antivoid floor followed by a fisure that darted like a speedy snake towards Error. Error jumped to avoid the bone attack that erupted under the ground just in the nick of time.

"Do you know how long I was trapped in here?! do you have ANY idea what you took away from ME?!" Blue's voice boomed with a glitchy studder as his emotions began to run high. His thoughts racing with flashbacks of all his past experiences and his thoughts of what will never be again.

"YOU TOOK EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME!" he yelled out summoning two large long bones in front of his hands which he quickly brandished. He ran towards Error who now realized he couldn't think about processing the situation and had to take a defensive stance.

"Most people would have given up and tried to eliminate you, but I felt sorry for you!" Blue swung at Error with one of the bones but Error blocked it with one of his own bone attacks.

"I wanted to believe you were only doing these things because you were alone and had nobody to share experiences with. I thought maybe if I just try to be friends with him he might stop causing so much suffering because he was suffering himself!"

Error's thoughts started to race. Something in that last comment brought back a very fuzzy memory. A memory of skeleton dressed in all white donning a red scarf who sat in the emptiness of a familiar place with a blood stained shirt and hoodie sitting alone in the void. His body language showing a saddening stance. Error shook his head trying to get himself focused but it was too late as blue landed a blow before his focus returned.

"But no!" Blue cupped his skull in his hands and clenched his fingers. " All I see is a greedy coward who makes everyone's lives miserable for his own gain. Who cares about the others right?!" Blue laughed hysterically as bright golden stars materialized from his star shaped markings on his face which he grasped in between his fingers.

"You hear me Error!" You are a greedy coward!" Blue yelled throwing the stars at him like shurikens. Error saw them coming and leaped out of the way.

Error now welling up with confusing memories and anger mustered up his own energy to stand up and take a more aggressive stance.

"SHUT UUUUUUUPPP" Error's voice rang out whipping his strings at Blue blocked the attack but the strings coiled around his bone weapons and ripped them out of his hands.

"You don't think you haven't crossed me little blueberry?!" Error grabbed the bones he stole from blue and struck them into the ground.

"I was starting to actually enjoy your company but you decided to double cross me and steal one of the souls in my collection thinking you would be the goody two shoes who would save an anomaly and become some hero of the Royal guard!"

"Well guess what blue, it wasn't going to happen!" Error summons his Gaster blaster and aims it for blue when it fired blue leaped away and went into shock with Error's words.

Blue's voice wavered, "Wh-what are you talking about?!"

"Oh silly little blueberry did you really think your precious captain Alphys was going to let you into the Royal Guard?" Error plucked a little string with his index finger from his eye socket and started stiffly twanging it. "Remember what I told you about how I analyze a universe's code before destroying it? Well your probability of being accepted in the Royal guard was even less than the probability of your universe existing."

"No! That's a lie!" Blue shook his head agressively as if trying to shake away the invasive thoughts and anxiety that plagued him post errorfication.

"Oh no, it certainly isn't." Error tensed the string on his finger and curled his phalange around it. "You know for as 'greedy as I'm supposed to be, I certainly am generous in letting you know this information, rather than you continuing to live a lie"

Error opened a strange glitchy screen revealing coding from his universe. In the line of code read the very truth of Errors words.

Blue dropped to his knees at the realization that lie before him. He was paralyzed and overwhelmed with negative emotions. He had no words, no thoughts, and an overwhelming sense of feeling useless and that everything he did was pointless. He began to glitch and his eyes filled with multiple error messages. Error took this opportunity to tie up blue and suspend him from the antivoid cieling.

"Well blue, welcome to the life of being an Error. Enjoy the reboot," he laughed in a way that was most forced and unnatural.

Error felt a wierd heavy sensation in his chest. Normally destroying most anomalies was the fun part of his job, but this time, it was different. It felt wrong, it felt horrible and it made him feel tight in the chest. He wasn't injured aside from the bruising he sustained getting slammed by blue, but the sensations didn't reflect those Injuries. He dropped himself down on his beanbag chair and ruminated about the conflict and about the emotions and memories he experienced.

(story will be continued in reblogs for each chapter or you can read it early in my server under the library tab)

[redheartedtramp]

She walked through grasslands, clutching her wand in her withered hand. Her red robes were tattered and slightly burned, but that wouldn’t stop Aster Horsetail, the Red Witch. She wasn’t concealing herself as she followed the subtle smell of smoke until she finally found the campsite.

And her target.

“Iona Strix!”

The Witch at the Campfire looked over her shoulder, smirking at Aster. The right half her face looked reptilian, almost draconic with black scales. Her right arm was that of a dragon’s claw, with a long tail. Her once blonde, beautiful hair was covered in knots and had lost its sheen. She was clad in peasant’s clothes; unbecoming of a former Arch-Witch.

“Your crimes against the Witch Community have not gone unnoticed. The Council of Seven has sent me to bring you in for your crimes.” Aster pointed her wand at Iona as she watched the cursed woman stand up. All eight inches of walnut wood illuminated red as the intricate runes carved into it were charging with magic.

“I am giving you one final chance; come quietly or I will have to bring you in by force.” Aster’s eyes glowed silver. “Deadly force if necessary.”

A throaty chuckle escaped Iona’s throat. “You’re still calling me by my old name? I go by Dawnbreaker these days.” A malevolent energy, black in color, radiated from Iona’s hands. “And soon, I will break the dawn, and engulf the world in night.”

“Don’t try it.” Aster warned. “I don’t wanna have to fight you.”

“That’s a shame...” Quick as a whip, Dawnbreaker snatched her wand from her holster and shouted, “I wouldn’t wanna fight me either!” She fired a beam of black lightning from her wand; it was a pine wand, 11 inches long and looked twisted and unnatural, as if it was wild and the magic within it untamed.

Aster rolled out of the way as she conjured up a ball of fire and-

Weiss: What are you two doing?

Scene: Yang & Ruby are wearing robes; Ruby has a witch hat on and Yang has an old dragon Halloween mask and a single black glove. Both are holding stick.

Ruby: ...Playing Hexes & Heroines.

Weiss: This isn’t middle school, you dolts.

Yang: Sounds like someone’s a mere fledgling.

Weiss: Shut up. Only little kids roleplay as witches.

Ruby: *whispering* She’s a Lawful.

Yang: She’ll never understand the appeal of magic. For shame.

Weiss: This is ridiculous. I’m going to hang out with Blake. You know, someone who-

Blake: *runs into the room* Sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find my copy of the Player’s Handbo-oh come on, guys. I said to wait for me!

Yang: Sorry, oh wise Doomsayer.

Ruby: We couldn’t wait and had to start our Witch Duel.

Weiss: ...

Blake: Come on, guys, we agreed on no PVP!

Yang: Oh, don’t worry, these are characters from our solo sessions. Totally unrelated to the actual campaign.

Weiss: I’m surrounded by nerds...

[artzychic27]

More Evil Royal Boyfriends?

Nathaniel: *Ballroom dancing with Marc while all of their guests are forced to watch while in chains* My love, how long has it been since we've waltzed?

Marc: Since that dreadful Alice girl dared to interrupt our tea date.

Nathaniel: HER HEAD! I NEARLY HAD HER HEAD! *Throws a dagger, and it nearly hits one of his prisoner's heads*

Marc: Darling, let's not worry about the past... Just keep throwing more daggers until you decapitate one of these peons.

—

Marc and Nathaniel met when they were fifteen at a ball thrown by Nathaniel's parents to find someone to marry him because he keeps having the other candidates beheaded after dates

Anyway! The Prince of Hearts has his guards drag out anyone he deems unworthy of his time

He gets bored of the party and goes into the palace garden, remaining unaware of a certain persistent attendee following him until he reaches a secluded part of the hedge maze

Emani of the Southern Isles is only interested in dating Nathaniel for his family's riches and to be very close to the Prince. The King and Queen like him for Nathaniel and invited Emani, thinking he'll calm their son down and cause fewer deaths, not knowing his methods for doing so are frowned upon centuries from now.

Then Emani has the audacity to touch Nathaniel's shoulder. And just when Nathaniel is about to call for his guards to have Emani beheaded, Emani gags him and makes a threat that actually terrifies Nathaniel until he agrees to allow Emani to court him

Before they can go back to the castle and tell Nathaniel's parents the "good news," an assailant emerges from the hedges and takes Emani out quickly with a poison-soaked rag, saving Nathaniel from the worst marriage of the century

The assailant introduces himself as Prince Marc Grimhilde, the orphan Prince whose parents died of mysterious circumstances after they grounded Marc for poisoning his suitor, Lucien Ratcliffe, the son of a wealthy colonizer

—

Nathaniel: Well, I thank you for the save, but I could have had his head on a platter if I so desired without your help.

Marc: Okay then. *Injects Emani with an antidote, and he wakes up panting* Go for it.

Emani: What is happen- *Nathaniel cuts off his head with a dagger*

Nathaniel: I told you.

Marc: Lovely blade work. I prefer toxins, but everyone has their method. When do you plan to usurp your parents?

-

The King and Queen of Hearts are less-than-thrilled that Nathaniel's decapitated someone during the ball and has chosen the "Poison Prince" as his suitor, but since they're terrified of both of them, they allow them to date

A chill went through everyone's bodies that night

They get married at twenty, a few months after the tragic death of Nathaniel's parents, and merge their Kingdoms

Marc moved into the Hearts Castle after having having his burned to the ground in a fit of rage when his Magic Mirror told him there was some girl fairer than him

—

Marc: I AM THE FAIREST! NOT SOME PEASANT GIRL IN RAGS! I WANT HER DEAD!

Nathaniel: On your whim alone, my nightshade. Would you like her heart or head?

Marc: Surprise me.

—

Unfortunately, the girl (Juleka) runs off when she hears the King of Hearts is after her. Last anyone heard, she’s crashing with some dwarves

When the mirror still dubs him the second-most fairest, Marc poisons a card guard because he can’t bear to be mad at his husband. So, he resorts to Plan B, his favorite: Poisoning Juleka

For that to work, he uses dark magic to make himself look much older and is worried how Nathaniel will react.

—

Nathaniel: You are still the same malevolent imp I married after you poisoned my parents. And for the record, you look very handsome with grey hair.

Marc: You’re just saying that.

Nathaniel: … Has someone besides the mirror questioned your beauty, my love? Lead me to them and expect their head on a platter of the finest silver.

—

So, Marc kills Juleka with a poison apple, she falls into a deathlike state, Rose shows up to kiss her awake, and they move into her castle far away from the land so Marc is the fairest in the land again (Though, he doesn’t know she’s alive again)

The husbands decide to celebrate Juleka’s supposed death with tea in the castle gardens

But while they’re relaxing, they hear the card guards loudly and stupidly singing about painting the roses red

When they find the card guards, not only are they painting the roses red, they’re painting them with some girl with pink hair

Of course, Nathaniel has the card guards decapitated, and since the girl (Alix) clearly doesn’t know how things are done in his kingdom, he challenges her to a game of croquet. If she wins, she lives

—

Nathaniel: Look, I’m a fair ruler, so in exchange for your life, let’s play a round of croquet.

Alix: … That doesn’t sound-

Nathaniel: ALL THINGS ARE DONE MY WAY HERE!… *Whispers to Marc* Make sure she has the warped flamingo mallet, darling.

—

Of course, Alix lost, and she’s sent to the dungeon to await her decapitation while Nathaniel and Marc celebrate with more tea in the garden

When they go to take her to the guillotine, Alix escaped, and well, that set Nathaniel off

—

Marc: *As Nathaniel chases around the castle staff with his dagger* Remember to pace yourself, darling!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Corrupted, Chapter Seven: Gods-Damned Merlin, a Malevolent x TMA fic

An escape.

An item lost.

A theological lesson.

A date.

AO3

-------

Hissing blood drips, as if whispering terrible secrets. Wind whistles through the torn metal of the hangar. Tim pants like he carried the manky armchair in here at a run.

He is amazed at the lack of sirens. He wonders if there’s any kind of security—some CCTV footage somewhere. Well. If there is, someone’s going to have a hell of a story on their hands.

He struggles harder. He grunts. It hurts.

Fuck! Stop that!

“Got to get loose,” Tim pants. “Got to get out of here.”

You are hurting me.

Tim goes still. “What?”

What the fuck did he do? Are you bleeding?

“A little? Look, we’ll be fine, I just need to…” Tim strains again.

The armchair’s seat abruptly collapses in on itself, and Tim is swallowed, just his legs and head sticking out.

“Oh, come on!” he says, sunk deep (and there are rusty springs or something in the bottom, and it is not pleasant). “Really? Really? ”

What is happening? Ah! What is that?

“Fell into the damn chair, that’s what!” Tim takes a moment and breathes. He can see. He can get out of this. He has to get out of this. “Hey. Bet all this sent up more than a flare, right? Gray-skinned monsters are definitely coming.”

At the very least. Though the power being flung around during that fight should keep things away for a bit, they will be coming. We need to move.

“I can’t. He’s tied me. Shibari is… it’s this fancy…”

I know what shibari is. I do not care. Get loose!

“Sure, I’ll just press the ‘get loose’ button. What was I thinking?” Tim mutters, and strains.

He can’t get out of the chair. The fabric and stuffing may have rotted through, but the wooden frame is unfortunately still sturdy.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he says softly. “I feel like a steak pie in a tin, only instead of cow and potato, it’s you and me.”

Almost unwillingly, Hastur asks: And which of us is the potato?

“Definitely me. I’m starchy and I taste great no matter how you cook me. You’re just beefier, no matter how you slice it.”

Hastur sort of grunts; not quite agreement, not quite argument. Absurd.

And Tim knows he’s starting to win him back.

It shouldn’t matter. It really shouldn’t. Hastur is a monster—one who has, apparently, inspired a three-thousand-year-old manhunt. But what Hastur said… hurt. Tim wants Hastur to like him again.

So, I’m pathetic, Tim thinks, and struggles. “Oh, what the hell, let’s try this: hey, Siri!”

And by some absolutely insane miracle, Siri’s voice pipes up—a little distance away, under something, but clear: “Yes, boss?”

“No way!” Tim laughs and shifts a little, trying to spot where the phone landed. “Now that is a military-grade case!”

What are you doing?

“I'm gonna call… fuck, who should we call? Police? Yeah, that’ll work. Hey—”

Don’t. Don’t call the police.

“Why not?”

We don’t have time to wait for them to get here.

Tim scoffs. “Got a better idea, then?”

My plan is to use a simple spell to loosen the rope.

Whatever else can be said about the being that is Hastur, he has balls of solid steel.

It takes Tim a moment to answer. “Okay, look,” he finally says. “I have zero reason to trust you right now. You know that, right?”

And I, says Hastur like some grand Duke of Motherfuck, have no reason to trust you after what you did. Yet here we are, and we must choose to work together to survive this.

That son of a bitch. As if their positions are at all equal…

But then, Kayne had called Hastur a narcissist. Well. This isn’t Tim’s first go-around with one of those.

He keeps his tone humble. “Fair. I fucked up, and I own it. But there’s still a pretty big power imbalance here, so my point remains.”

Oh, is there? Hastur challenges. And I suppose since you have the power, you think you should make the decisions?

Walked right into it. “No,” says Tim. “You have the power. You’re some ancient… thing? Thousands of years old? There’s magic, and you damn near tricked me into… I still don’t know what? Dog the bounty hunter is after your ass, and I’m caught up in the middle of all of this, and I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I’m terrified. You’re the one with the power. You’re asking me to trust you, and I’m saying I’m afraid, and I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a pause, and Tim can absolutely feel his volley worked. Whatever Hastur has for hackles smooths down.

(Why did Kayne think this was so strange? Don’t people usually know how other people feel? Tim always has. Body language, or something.)

(That would not explain Hastur, though.)

It was not… entirely your fault, what you did today, says Hastur as if making a great concession.

“Yeah, it kinda was,” says Tim, struggling.

You have been marked by a deity of destruction.

“So I’m terminal?” Tim says, trying to joke.

Hastur doesn’t take it as a joke. It’s why you lost your reason. Why you antagonized that woman, threatened me irrationally, and opened the book. I’m sorry, Tim. If I were fully myself, in my own body, I could save you. As it is… I cannot.

Tim just breathes for a moment, though it feels like his heartbeat is restricted, though his throat feels tight. “But it is possible. You’re saying it is possible.”

Not with the humans this world currently has. They don’t breed for magic anymore.

“Okay, that’s a whole host of what-the-fuck-are-you-saying, but… point remains. Possible.”

Maybe.

“Maybe nanobots can do what magic does.”

That isn’t how magic works.

“You don’t know that.”

I do. There are worlds where humans have mastered technology and magic, but this is not one.

That was… gentle.

Tim cannot handle gentleness right now, not from whatever the fuck Hastur is, so he moves right along, putting that in the box of fucking later. “I’m still the one who did it. I own it, Hastur. If that’s the name you want.”

It is my name.

“Yeah, but is it the one you want?” He grunts, trying to force the chair’s frame apart. “I don’t deadname people. You want to be called John or Sally or Aziraphale, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll do it.” An olive branch.

Surely I would be more of a Crowley. An olive-brach back.

“Nature-wise, sure, but I don’t know the vibe you’re going for. Still thinking D.B. Cooper, myself.”

Nonsense.

“Fitting. You must’ve stolen something real good to get chased for three thousand years.”

Hastur sighs. Three thousand years is a blink in the lifetime of one such as me, Tim. I feel like I barely got free. And the only thing I stole was myself.

“What… that guy owned you?

No.

Okay, so… that’s a growl, a completely inhuman sound, and Tim has no idea how Hastur is doing it. “Okay. Sure. Okay. Who is he?”

Let’s save the questions until we are in a safe place. Tim, I give you my word that this spell is a Minor Working. I could do it through a dead tree, if I had to; you require no magical affinity for it to work, and it will loosen the ropes enough that we can flee.

Was this another olive branch? “So you mean you could do it without my permission?”

I could. I am choosing to include you.

Definite olive branch. Tim licks his lips, tastes spores (or whatever the fuck is on the armchair), and spits. “Ugh!”

Disgusting!

“Wait, did you taste that? ”

Yes. Ugh.

Okay, that goes into the pile of fucking later, too. “We… we’ll come back to that. All right. What do I do?”

What do you do?

“Might as well test the magic-meter on this, right? A Minor Working, or whatever. If Kayne meant what he said, you want to know if I’m magical, and… to be honest, so do I.”

You’d trust me enough to do that?

“No,” says Tim. “But yeah. I will. And if it doesn’t work?”

It would cost neither of us, should it fail. If you can’t do it, I will simply perform the spell myself—which will feel mildly uncomfortable, as my power is not human, and your body will be confused, but will do no harm. And if you succeed… well.

“If I’m ‘gods-damned Merlin?’”

You are unlikely to be gods-damned Merlin.

“You really did what he said? Set a limit like that?”

Why would I bother inhabiting a body without the power to do what I wish? My vessels are carefully chosen for me.

So that's a bit of storytelling that chills Tim to his soul. Horrifying. People chosen. For all he knows, bred.

Can't deal with it now. Tim shakes it off.

He wants to know if he can do magic—a small and fluttering hope, like a candle in the dark.  “What do I do?”

Focus on the rope. Concentrate on where it lies on your body, its tension, its texture. Then repeat this word: ahahog.

“What’s that mean?”

Without magic? It will do nothing. With it? If you are magical at all, the rope will loosen, as the fibers themselves will be expanded, and you should be able to wriggle free. It’s extremely simple.

That doesn’t sound simple at all. It sounds like impossible physics. Did the ropes gain matter? Did they take in air molecules, somehow? How the fuck did this work?  Would it work?

There's one way to find out: he focuses.

He knows damned well what this rope configuration looks like, though it is over his clothes. Knows the material; he’d handled this rough, prickly rope himself before Kayne used it to bind him. Eyes closed, rope visualized, really wanting to get loose, he speaks. “Ahahog.”

The meaning flashes through his head: expand.

The rope explodes.

Pops like it was shot, completely blasting away from him and leaving his skin stinging, but free.

Ow!

“Woo!” he says, and scrapes his arms free to raise them like he scored a goal. “Also, ow! But woo!”

What just… that felt…

“It worked! Blew the fuck up!” Tim wriggles and writhes and pulls himself out of the damned armchair. “Ugh. You know, you are damned lucky we put on one of my least favorite shirts today, because it is definitely never coming clean. Where’s my phone?”

The rope exploded?

“Yep! Hey, Siri!”

“Yes, boss?”

“There you are, you glorious bitch. Oh, fuck, I’m sore. Damn those cleat hooks…” He pulls out his collar and looks down at himself. “I look like I’ve been mugged by gnomes.”

Gnomes?

“Yeah. Little guys wearing brass knuckles about the size of my thumb.”

Hastur makes a choked noise.

Tim knows he’s beginning to win Hastur back.

Good. He wants to. “Right. Okay. Ow. Fuck. Ow.” Tim walks.

Ow! You are badly damaged!

“I’m just scraped and bruised. What, none of your ‘vessels’ got bruised before?”

My vessels were treated as gods in their own right, pampered and adored to the end of their mortal lives. 

Into the fucking later box with that! “Right. Spoiled as hell. Got it.”

Hastur huffed a little. Spoiled? Do you know what you’re saying?

“Nope. Mostly because you haven’t told me.” Tim picks up his backpack and begins replacing what fell out of it.

Hastur must be able to feel that. Tim.

“What?”

 My book.

“Sure, I’ll just… hm. This place is a wreck.”

Try not to look at Dagon.

“Why should… ow.”

You looked at Dagon.

“You just told me not to think about an elephant, all right?” said Tim, rubbing his eyes. Dagon wasn’t right. Huge; somehow taking up more space than he actually did, existing outside the dimensions Tim’s eyes were set up to handle. Fish-man to the thousandth degree. It hurt to look at him, strained something inside his head. “Ow.”

So I feel. You should be fine. Even dead, he can make weaker minds fail, but I begin to think your mind is not weak.

“Sure. All those hours playing Angry Birds paid off,” Tim mutters, still looking. “Bad news, Crowley. I don’t see your book.”

Hastur is fine. And it has to be here. It cannot be destroyed.

“All right. Under Dagon, maybe?” Tim says. “If so, we're out of luck.”

Damn. Let us be certain: we need to use another spell. For this, I would need your volition.

"Volition not on offer just yet,” says Tim.

Please. I can’t lose the book. It’s important.

Hastur means it. It feels like the most honest thing he’s said.

“Tell me why.”

Please, Tim. I promise I will once we have the book and are away from this place.

“Fine. All right. I’m keeping track of your promises, so you know.”

And I am good for them. Now: Picture the book. Feel it in your hands. Remember its weight, its width.

“Right,” says Tim, recalling with a little chill that it doesn’t quite fit right in the human hand and suddenly understanding why it doesn’t.

Then say this: mgah'n'ghft.

“Mgah'n'ghft,” Tim tries to practice. “Mgah'n'ghft. And what’s that do?”

Finds what you’re picturing within a small distance. It is a Minor Working; the weakest magic talent will do. Please hurry.

“Here’s to hoping I don’t blow it up,” says Tim with caustic brightness, and focuses. “Mgah'n'ghft.”

The meaning filters through, and he doesn’t have a word for it. Where, but like a command. Find, but more locational.

He doesn’t expect it to do quite what it does.

Flying?

No, that is not the word for this, not the word for moving through matter like a fish through water

Too much mind too much gaze too much existence

A fifty-dimensional expanse, a human brain trying to see through thousands of eyes

The book, clutched tightly by Infinite Cruelty And Laughing Death

Kayne says, “Well, howdy! Also, bye-dee!” and whacks Tim with the souls of a thousand worlds

Tim shouts and falls onto his knees.

What happened? What was that? You’re dizzy! Hastur declares.

That’s putting it mildly. He gasps, head down, braced. He can barely keep himself upright, even on all fours. It’s like he’s forgotten how to exist in three dimensions. “What the fuck was that spell?”

A finding spell! It’s a Minor Working! You shouldn’t be dizzy!

“Well, we are major fucked,” Tim gasps. “Kanye’s got your book.”

What?   Hastur breathes.

Tim tries to stand and can’t. The world spins more; his head is heavy. “Don’t throw up, me,” he tells himself. “Cast-iron stomach, we can do this.”

But you can’t—Hastur stops. But that would not have—Hastur stops again. Kayne has it? How did you even learn that? What did you do ?

“What you told me to, nerd,” says Tim. “Fuck. Got to get out of here. I swear, I can feel monsters about to tear my spine out.”

They’re about a mile out. Not that you’d know. Whatever else you may be, you don’t seem to have any skill when it comes to identifying the inhuman.

“Oh, what the hell, was that a dig? In the middle of this, a dig at that Sela thing? Really?” He grunts. “I’m so dizzy.”

Orr'eog. Strength for an hour. Hurry.

“You’re joking. You think I’m going to do another spell after what just happened?”

Tim. What choice do you have?

How dare he?

And Tim might have just gone with the anger rising in response to that if he hadn't been swallowed by rage within the last hour.

He will not do that. That's not who he chooses to be. He will not. Marked? Mad with rage? No. No.

Slow breaths. In and out. “I have a choice here, you fucking mark,” he mumbles, and clenches his fists, and redirects it to determined. “And I am going for it, whether you want me to or not. Orr’eog!”   Picturing strength, energy, the sensation of being young and strong and healthy and—

Tim’s jaw drops.

Oh… oh, Tim, Hastur purrs like some eldritch phone sex operator.

Tim takes a moment. “So,” he says.

Tim… we should…

“Sh-sh-sh. I need to find the words.”

Do you. Warm. Intense.

“I could climb a mountain,” Tim says.

Likely.

“I could fight a bear.”

Inadvisable, but yes.

“I could climb a mountain, and then fight a bear,” says Tim.

We are being hunted, Hastur reminds him.

“Catch me if you can, fuckers!” Tim proclaims, and takes off at a full run.

He does it while laughing like a loon.

Has he ever felt this good? Closest he can think of was being seventeen, fully warmed up on the track, at the peak of his physical health before he took a desk job. Running then had been easy, and never felt the same, no matter how long he spent on the treadmill.

It’s more than easy now. It’s joyful.

He laughs as he speeds out of the hangar, through the abandoned farm, past rusted bits of metal that for all he knows are just movie props (and the color is so gorgeous he could cry), under stormy skies filled with clouds that catch both light and shadow like the tempting curves of a body (he was never taking colors for granted again, ever ), toward the distant dark road and home.

Rain patters his face. He feels incredible. “You’d make a great drug dealer. Anyone ever tell you that?” he shouts.

Hastur sighs. Your bodily sensations are… distracting.

“Fuckin’ A, they are!” Tim says, and laughs as he runs on.

#

He doesn’t want to run all the way home (only because it will take too long), so he finally slows down and pulls up his rideshare app. That’s when he discovers that his real estate agent called him twelve times in the last day, leaving twelve messages.

That… dims the joy a bit. He listens to voicemails while he waits for his ride.

Insurance, she says. Police, she talks about. Contract, she warns.

It comes down to this: the house was damaged in a mysterious incident investigators fortunately think has something to do with a wild animal. While the buyer technically closed three days before on Friday, since they hadn’t taken possession yet, it falls to Tim to repair it—or they can, and will, back out.

The good news is insurance will cover it.

The bad news is Tim needs to make a police report and answer all kinds of questions and find affordable handymen in a limited amount of time.

“Fuuuuuck,” he mutters as he hits message ten.

This is an unnecessary complication. We don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, well, unless you fancy living in a box in an alleyway, it’s very much necessary,” says Tim, listening to the final two messages. “Damn it. I’m going to have to make a police report.”

How do you know Kayne has my book? says Hastur, circling back.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Tim says, raising his hand to get the driver’s attention. “I don’t even know what verb to use. I didn’t see, I didn’t feel. It was like…” He grips his own arm, hugging himself. “It was just… too much? It was awful. I think if he hadn’t thrown me back out again, I’d have exploded.”

You transformed the spell, Hastur whispers.

“Sure? Into what? Here we go.” And he’s in the car. “Hello! Sorry for the mess—had a great hike,” he says, and keeps the charm on until the driver is happy to have him no matter how he smells. Then pulls out his earphones. “Gotta take this call, sorry.”

If he has my book, Tim, I’m in trouble.

“Pretty sure you were already,” Tim murmurs into the mouthpiece.

Not like this. One: because much of my power is bound into it. Its absence limits me greatly. Two: because of my failsafe. When my host dies, I am returned to the book. It is the ultimate way to prevent me from going to the Dark World.

“Um… that doesn’t seem super smart? Books are really flammable, buddy. Don’t know if you knew that.”

Not my book.

“Not your book, okay,” says Tim.

My book was created by me and for me.

“Uh, huh,” says Tim, watching the city slide by.

It has protections, backups, layers upon layers of safety woven into the fabric of its pages. You could drop it in a volcano, and it would be whole and unblemished when it finally came free as the earth spewed its substance.

“Are you serious?”

You could drop it to the bottom of the sea, and it would be pristine as some fool of a fisherman pulled it from the depths and opened it to see what it said.

“Shit, really?”

It has never failed to work in thousands of years… until you.

Tim stills. “Failed to work?”

And now,  even if I can find a way to avoid him, I’m fucked—because if something happens to you, because my soul will go straight into his hands.

So that explains why Kayne took the thing.

Guilt pounds alongside his heart. “Three thousand years of successful hiding, for whatever reason, and I completely wrecked it.” He swallows. “I’m sorry. Again. But what do you mean, failed to work?”

Hastur clams up.

Oh. Great. So that’s probably fine.

#

The magical strength boost has faded by the time he faces the stairs to his walk-up, and he is sore. He groans the whole climb. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you showed up,” he mutters as he locks his door and leans against it. “Feels like a year. It’s so not fair that I have to be a grown-up right now.”

Tim. He has my book.

“Have you been thinking about that this whole time?” Tim says, and stops halfway toward his little kitchen. He remembers, just now, that he has no food.

He really wants to cry.

Yes. I can’t think of a way to get it back.

“Don’t think it matters, mate,” says Tim. “He’s got your scent now, yeah? Book or no.”

This… this isn’t supposed to happen.

And Tim isn’t supposed to be facing police and insurance challenges, either, but this isn’t the time to say. “What was supposed to happen?”

Hastur clams up again.

Tim sighs and starts digging through a box he’d labeled “LA CUCINA” for some reason he’d found funny but now can’t recall.

I can feel you searching for something.

“Yeah. Food.”

There are spells we could use to conjure it.

“I’m sure you’re not just trying to get me to trust you with magic so you can wallop me with a mind-control spell or something down the road,” Tim mutters.

Tim. With the power I suspect you have, you could do far more than that.

Tim laughs. “What?”

I think you may actually be gods-damned Merlin.

Tim snorts. “Sure. Sure I am.”

I’m not joking.

He doesn’t feel like he is joking.

A chill rushes down Tim’s body, mild shock buzzing under his bruised skin. “Well, I’d better hope I’m not, or you’re taking my body, right?”

I don’t dare. Kayne would come for me at once.

That tells him two clear things: one, if Hastur could take his body, he would. Two: he's terrified of Kayne on such a level that he won't do the one thing he's been trying to do all day. “You’re really in trouble here, aren’t you?” he says, quietly.

More than you can imagine.

He finds a box of pasta. However, there is nothing to put on the pasta. “I am not desperate enough for plain boiled noodles,” he mutters, and keeps digging. “Are you going to tell me why? And who John is? And what that first spell had been going to do? Who are you, anyway?”

That one, Hastur is happy to answer. I am the King in Yellow. I am a god of vast and unimaginable power. I am Lord of Carcosa, the Unspeakable One, the Feaster from Afar. I am the Dweller in the Depths, and Him that Slept Beneath. I am Prince of the Great Old Ones.

“Wait a second. Great Old Ones?” Tim frowns at a box of muffin mix (long out of date) requiring eggs, which he does not have.

Yes.

“That’s familiar. Wait a minute. Cthulhu? Actually like Cthulhu?”

My fool half-brother. Even now, he sleeps in your ocean, assuming some faithful remnant will awaken him. Hastur scoffs. It’s never going to happen.

Tim falls back from his crouch onto his ass, mouth open, squashing the muffin mix box. “What?”

I am the—

“Wait just a damn minute! Cthulhu? That’s real? ”

Not the way you know it. Lovecraft was a poor cipher, as many of your poets and artists have been. He took in some information, went mad, and bungled the rest.

“Okay, I need a second. Right? Just fucking… hold on.” Tim shakes his head. “I’ve played board games with these names. King in Yellow? Wait—fuck, that was… there’s a book.”

Yes. Inaccurate, but yes.

“I don’t remember it, anyway. Skipped reading it. Nearly fucked that exam, but I didn’t care. I was already graduating.” Tim rubs his face. “It’s real?”

Some of it.

“So… so I’ve got a god in my head. An actual god. Is what you’re saying.”

Yes.

Mr. Eager, dark and hungry. Big spooky.

Funny, though. Tim would have bet money a god would be more… alien. “And who the fuck was John? I’m not familiar with the whole Cthulhu mythos, but I’m pretty sure I’d remember a god named John.”

Silence.

“Fucking Cthulhu,” Tim mutters, heading for the bathroom and peeling off his ruined clothes.

He is not part of this.

“Sure. Wait, so when I said brothers… wow. You really misunderstood me, if monster-squid is your brother.”

No. Softer. I have lived here for a long time, mortally speaking. I understand you loved your brother like yourself.

It’s Tim’s turn to fall silent.

He tosses the shirt—it was just a freebie, anyway, from a publishing conference years ago—and finally showers.

“Weird,” he says, soaping up.

Hm?

“Touching myself. Just… bathing. And knowing you can feel it.”

I can.

“Weird. Very weird. Deeply uncomfortable.”

Just ignore it.

“Welp,” says Tim. “I am not going manky for your sake, anyway, so.”

I’m glad to hear it. I also smell what you do.

Tim snorts. “Well, that cinches it.”

Cinches what?

“Here’s what we’re doing,” says Tim, toweling dry. “We’re in trouble. I know it. You know it.”

Yes. Softly.

“So we are going on a date.”

A what?

“I’m cooking for us. I make a damn good curry, and you’ll love it.”

Tim…

“And we’re doing a proper meet-and-greet. You are going to answer my questions, because I don’t know enough to be your partner in all of this. And I suppose you’ll have questions, too.”

Tim, this is silly.

“And after that, we’re going to make a plan. Look, I’ve already started on lists.”

Lists.

“Yeah. No gods in this universe, some guy named Kayne, some guy named John, the book not working right…”

Hastur sighs. Tim. This is—

“Nope. You were about to say hopeless or just a  matter of time or something stupid like that. We’re not going there.”

Hastur pauses. I was. It is a matter of time. You’re marked. Kayne has found me. Had I full access to my own power right now, I could perhaps find another way to run from him—but I do not.

“See, right there. You’re some fucking… god. Why don’t you have full power? Why is it in the book?”

As I said, one of my failsafes. Were I to simply enter the body of a human in my fullness, they would instantly die, no matter their magical skill. I needed a way to use my power without destroying my host.

“So you put your power in a losable thing. What, you didn’t learn from the One Ring?”

That fiction hardly existed when I was designing my escape, Hastur says loftily.

“See? That can be one of the things we’re talking about. That book. And what you meant by failed. ”

Tim… there’s little point to this.

“Bullshit. I’m not giving up so easy.” He has a few cuts that need butterfly strips, but most of the issue is bruising. He feels damned lucky.

You are so young, Hastur murmurs.

“Hey, now,” says Tim. “I’m gonna be thirty in a month.”

All of thirty years. Well.

“I can buy beer, and everything,” Tim says, heading for the door and grabbing his shopping bag.

What are you doing?

“Food. I know you feel how hungry we are.”

I do. Low. You really didn’t have anything here but a bit of peanut butter and bread?

Tim walks down the stairs, thoughtful. “I’ve been really low for a while, Hastur. It’s just… it’s just true. What happened to my brother was the final straw, but… yeah.”

That is unfortunate. You deserve better, Tim, Hastur purrs.

“Save it for the date.” Tim enters the small store.

This shop is one of the reasons he chose the apartment he did, even without elevators. It takes very little time to find what he needs for a damn good (if simple) curry, along with some other foods for breakfasts and possible midday meals.

“Might be a bit optimistic here,” he says. “I’ll get stuff for three days. That way, if we’re caught up in another dimension or something, I won’t have to feel too bad about food going bad.”

Very forward-thinking.

“You want something to drink?”

I… don’t know if it would affect me.

“Pretty sure it would.” He buys some lager.

Hastur sighs, but Tim knows he’s at least amused by all this.

Tim is just fucking hungry. “Hope you’re ready to answer questions.”

Do you think to get me drunk, and thus more honest?

“Yep!”

Hastur scoffs.

#

Tim wasn’t kidding.

He feels a little relaxation is deserved, after all of this, and his last act as an adult (in his mind) is to call his agent and set up a meeting for tomorrow. He still has to go to the police, but he will do it later.

For now, there’s curry to make.

That smells divine, Hastur says as Tim sautees garlic and onion. Perhaps I have been in my book for too long.

“How long? Why were you in there so long?”

Nearly seventy years. And because there were no worthwhile candidates.

Whoop, into the fucking later box with that. “We are about to drink beer on an empty stomach.”

Do as you wish.

Tim does. He’s into his second bottle before the curry is ready, and he hums as he stirs in the tomato puree. He feels great. Really damn buzzed. “Hope you’re watching, Bouchard!” he says, and toasts the ceiling above the stove.

He probably is. There is the tiniest hesitation. He’s probably touching himself.

Tim starts giggling.

Hastur laughs, low and wicked-sounding.

“Victory!” says Tim. Stove off (he double-checked), enormous curry filling a bowl meant to feed a family, Tim chows down.

Fuck! Hastur declares as approval of Tim’s cooking.

“Fuckin’ A,” agrees Tim, and eats the whole damn thing.

#

He lies on his mattress, staring at the ceiling. It has a sheet. He feels this is as far as he’s going to go right now. “That was a lot of beer.”

It was delicious, Tim. In my court, you would be celebrated as a chef of great renown.

Tim starts giggling. “Oh. Good. That’s what I want with my life. Line-cook.”

Oh, no, says Hastur. You would cook only for me.

“Oh, right, of course,” says Tim. “Who’s John?”

A beat. Do we have to do this now?

“Come on, Hastur.” Tim reaches and shakes his own hand. “We’re working together. I’m not giving up.”

You were giving up on yourself, though.

“Yeah,” says Tim. “But it’s different when you’re trying to help someone else, yeah?”

Hastur sounds a little choked. You really would do that?

“Yeah.”

But you’re not an acolyte.

“No, I told you—not all living things are assholes. That’s all.” And his instinct says to go quiet.

To let Hastur sit in it.

To see what he does.

John… was part of me.

Tim inhales. Hastur was actually talking? “What does that mean?”

I… made a mistake. I was cut in half. But I am a god; I am not like you. Thus, the part cut away was sentient. And he… first, he died. I couldn’t reach him. Then, he was summoned back completely by accident—bound to a book by people who thought they were trapping him. If they’d known where he was, they would have left him there.

“There, as in... the Dark World?”

Yes. But his book was designed poorly. It killed the first several people who opened it. They exploded.

“Fuck.”

Indeed. Then, someone didn’t. A human man named Arthur Lester. But… but my John… didn’t remember anything. Anything; who he was, what he was. Where he belonged. And Arthur took advantage of him. The two of them… stumbled around, and… and...

Hastur was getting emotional.

“Hey, it’s okay,” says Tim, patting his own hand. “We don’t judge here. This is the… the safe-space bed. Yeah.”

Is it?

“I haven’t even had sex on this one,” he says. “It's brand-new.”

Hastur laughs.

Tim laughs, too.

I do like you, Tim, Hastur says, and then snarls: You are... nothing … like Arthur Lester.

“Yeah, so the way you say that? It’s bad. You don’t like him.”

No. I hated him. Hated… him. He entangled with John. He… kept him from me.

“Kept him?”

He even convinced John that he didn’t want to come home!

Oh. Oh. Oh, Tim has a bad feeling about that situation and Hastur's understanding of it. “Oh.”

Hastur puffs. I did everything to get him back! I asked. I ordered. I tortured.

“Oh,” says Tim, his eyes enormous.

It didn’t work. Finally, I had to break Arthur’s legs.

“Well, fuck that guy, I guess,” says Tim, who can feel his eyes are even wider, and wonders if Hastur can feel that, too.

It… worked. For a while. John came home! But he wouldn't... he wouldn't join. And then Kayne showed up out of nowhere and took John away again!

“I feel like I’m missing a lot of context,” says Tim. “But it sounds awful. Why’d he do that?”

I don’t know. Hastur’s voice breaks. He found them fascinating. I didn’t even… I never fucked around with Outer Gods. Why would I do that? I didn’t even know him!

“And an Outer God is different from a Great Old One?”

He is more powerful than I am even than I am more powerful than you are.

Tim has to take a moment to parse that. “Fuck,” he finally says.

But with all his fascination, and his… his interfering … he said he’d kill them someday. And eventually, he did. He just… Hastur’s voice shakes now. He just did.

“Oh,” whispers Tim.

And then I knew he was coming for me. I knew. He said he was coming for me, and he'd done what he said with them.

“So… you ran.”

He just killed them. They didn’t do anything wrong. He just… got bored.

Those last four words fill Tim with such broad, undefined fear that he shivers. “And why did you come here? No gods?”

The Powers. The fear-eaters that rule this timeline. They ate the gods. All of them. There’s none left here.

“None?”

Ah, Tim… Hastur breathes it. You have no idea what was lost. The variety; the power. Certain magics tied to gods, or magical beasts or elements, vanishing along with their creators. It is a tragedy. This place is a veritable wasteland, comparatively, compared to other worlds.

“And… he wouldn’t look for you here?” Tim yawns.

No. Why would I come here? I ran from him out of fear, and this place is dangerous.

“You’re like a mouse hiding between the front paws of the cat out to eat it,” says Tim.

Yes! That. I’m that. I'm. It’s that.

“Seems like it worked. Until me.” Tim sniffles.

Oh, Tim… I don’t blame you. I know your… kind of person. I know all about kinds of people.

“All of them, huh?” Tim blows his nose.

Yes! I’ve enjoyed… I’ve spent my time here… I’ve done everything.

Tim does not laugh. Somehow. “Shibari?”

Pfft, that’s only been popular since the Edo period. Of course I’ve done shibari.

Yow. "In… bodies. Chosen for you.”

Yes!

“Stolen?” very softly.

No! Most of the time, anyway. They were raised for me. Knew what they’re doing. It is an act of worship.

“Fucking… cultists? But how can you have cultists and… and breeding programs, or whatever, and nobody knew?”

Because the world’s full of cults. Mine just happens to be real.

Tim is sure he could argue with that if he were sober, but he is not. So. “And Kayne’s chasing you just… because?”

I don’t know the original reason. But… I suppose now, because I got away from him. I think my success is what fueled his rage.

“That tracks. Wow. Is he a god of death, or something?”

No. He is child of the Blind Idiot God, and… Hastur pauses. What was I saying?

“Kayne. Blind Idiot God?”

No, he’s not the Blind Idiot God. He’s child of the… of that. There’s only like… a dozen beings that powerful. And he’s an ass.

Tim starts giggling. “You said ass.”

Hastur laughs, too.

Tim has more questions. He does. Or he did. Right now, he can’t remember them. He rolls onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin, still giggling. “Ass.”

Ha! You said it this time.

“You’re not so bad like this,” yawns Tim, eyes closing.

Well. Well, you.

“We’re not done talking,” murmurs Tim. “Promise me.”

I promise, Tim.

“Keeping track of your promises,” Tim murmurs, and falls into an exhausted sleep.

[csleko]

Holy crap, it's The Rake! Or is it? If your first thought on seeing this render was "that's The Rake!" then it's The Rake. If you thought anything else, then it's just another one of my freaky monsters that happens to be heavily *inspired* by The Rake and that one infamous photo in particular.

Yeah, I got in my "make a horrifying monster" mood again, and I've had that good old classic YouTube horror stuff on the brain since Film Theory talked about Vita Carnis, which gave me hope that we might finally be moving past disturbing kids' shows and haunted video games, and onward into terrifying original concepts with equally terrifying imagery to go with them.

Marble Hornets and especially EverymanHYBRID definitely made strong impressions on me. Slender Man was this weird, unsettling, ambiguous entity, but The Rake? Still weird, still unsettling, but unambiguously and VIOLENTLY malevolent, and apparently intelligent enough to lure victims into traps. And don't get me started on the SOUNDS that damn thing made. It has been a LONG time since anything caused me to lose sleep like that.

Deviating from my usual workflow, the first thing I made for this model was the texture. I started out with the same basic setup for the human skin texture I used on that other monster I made a while ago, but I made it more of a nasty gray, and cranked up the bump map so it would look rougher and almost scaly. Then I experimented with some ways to make faint veins that I kept playing with and adjusting pretty much throughout the whole process.

Made basically the whole body with meta balls. Well, I made half the body, then mirrored it. Then I did some sculpting to add detail and made adjustments to the general shape.

And this is where I leaned more toward "just make The Rake," and looked up that original picture to get an idea of what its actual face looked like. Kinda like a human skull, but with eye shine that's definitely not from human eyes. A lot of the fanart I've seen of this creature interpret that eye shine as glowing eyes, but that's just how most eyes look in night vision. Even human eyes do that, but it's just the pupils, and they're wider because it's dark. So I figure in order to have eye shine that pronounced, this creature's gotta have *massive* pupils. So I made the eye sockets enormous, popped a couple of big, dark glass orbs in 'em, and because I couldn't think of a way to do realistic eye shine through Blender's light simulation, I just made two little circles with a glowing shader on them and put them inside the eye balls. So, yes, this one's eyes do *technically* glow.

But I can turn that off when I don't need eye shine.

All that was left was to rig the thing, set up a scene, pose it, light it all spooky-like, render it and throw it into Photoshop to produce the image at the start of this post.

Enjoy, and I'm sorry if I sparked or re-sparked anyone's interest in analog/YouTube horror.

Except I'm not sorry at all. Give the creators your watch time so they can grow and inspire more creators to create more original horror stories, which then themselves grow to inspire even more creators!